The memory of the closest I ever came to sexually harassing someone has imprinted a crystal clear lesson on my everyday life.

I was at a Boy Scout dance, back when my parents were trying to instill good wholesome values in me.

My friends and I were doing 10-year-old things, like bothering the other party guests. One of them happened to be an older sister who we were all decently familiar with. For some reason, in the moment, I grabbed her from behind in a headlock of sorts, and held her still. I remember her looking extremely uncomfortable, but 10-year-olds tend to have poor social intelligence. All the young boys laughed.

My mother then grabbed me by the collar and dragged me back to the table where her and my father were sitting. They sat me down, and my father looked at me sternly.

“Stephen, you don’t ever grab a woman like that,” he said.

I protested that it was all in good fun, we were just playing, but he knew more than I did, and rightfully insisted otherwise.

“Now go apologize to her,” he said.

I did as I was told, as all good little boys do, and the lesson stuck.

But a lot of other parents apparently decided to forgo teaching those good, wholesome values. I hear about my friends being followed around by strangers, catcalled and harassed. I hear about them worrying about walking home alone at night and carrying pepper spray with them. And I hear that they worry that standing up for themselves against any of these actions, because it might result in an assault, verbal or physical.

No one has ever publicly harassed me. I have staggered home at 3 a.m., walking from Melwood to Bates by myself, and never felt threatened. And if anyone ever tried to bother me, I would have no qualms pushing back.

I am also a man.

And this dichotomy is starting to irritate me.

You can read as many articles and find all the stats you want about the issue of sexual harassment. According to surveys conducted by Stop Street Harassment, a nonprofit organization dedicated to documenting and ending gender-based street harassment worldwide, 87 percent of women have reported being harassed by a male stranger, while only 25 percent of men reported being harassed. And, 45 percent of women would feel unsafe walking home alone at night compared to 27 percent of men.

But my male privilege has never seemed as apparent to me as when I had close friends tell me their stories, or witnessed men harassing them.

This summer I held a Fourth of July barbeque in my backyard. I was out early, heating up the grill, running the usual errands, and on a porch overlooking my backyard sat a group of middle-aged men, drinking beer and grilling. I gave a them a wave.

Then two of my friends — both female — showed up, ready for a fun summer day. A few words drifted down from the porch.

“Ohh, little mamas.”

My friends immediately became concerned and left the backyard. I hadn’t even registered what the men had said until I went in and talked to my friends, puzzled why they had retreated back into the house so abruptly.

When I entered the backyard again, I eyed the men on the porch wearily.

A voice in the back of my head screamed for me to say something. The men looked down at me.

I grabbed my spatula and didn’t say a word.

I am a pain to every boss I’ve had at The Pitt News for how outspoken I am. I will play devil’s advocate against a position I agree with for the sake of a good argument. But faced with an honest situation to stand up for something more concrete than a cause — my friends — I did nothing.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Why did I back down in a moment where using the frank voice my parents instilled in me as well would have been 100 percent justifiable? It is inexcusable.

The problem is another of those wholesome values I was taught was to treat other people with respect — don’t start something that doesn’t need to be started.

Saying something doesn’t mean I’m trying to start a fight, though. It can just be a critique, an observation to point out what they are doing is wrong.

But in that moment, that respectful instinct took over. And, to respect others, I ignored a battle worth fighting.

I’ve argued harder against headline fonts in one of my columns than over the right of my friends to be treated with respect.

This has to end. I know I am not alone. There are plenty of good natured people out there — beyond any classification — that need to realize if you are disrespectful of other people, you don’t reserve that respect back.

If you’re a man walking down the street and see someone catcalling or any other sort of behavior, call it out. You don’t need to be aggressive about it. Just stop and say, “Hey, that’s disrespectful, and you shouldn’t do that.” If the perpetrator takes any offense from you calling them out, too bad. If they get confrontational, don’t respond.

By speaking up for women, we can also create an environment where women who speak out aren’t alone.

For those who are outspoken, make sure you call catcalling and any other harassment out. 99 percent of the time, your outspoken, confrontational qualities can make you a jerk. One percent of the time, they can enact some real change.

Building a strong person means they must not be afraid of being heard while staying respectful of others.

All the -isms of the world — including sexism — can’t stand up to the weight of a million consciences saying, “This is wrong.”

I know a lot of what I said probably seems like condescending, chivalrous sexism that is just as pernicious as aggressive macho-sexism. But as Frederick Douglass, an escaped slave turned abolitionist and author, said, “It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.”

My parents only had sons, me and my brother. I don’t know how they would have raised a daughter. I like to think they would not have changed a thing if we were born with matching chromosomes, but I can’t say for sure.

If I have any children, I’m teaching them to be strong. I’m teaching them to stand up for themselves, and I’m teaching them to be respectful. Regardless of gender.

Society’s norms are what we, the people, let them be. And I’m tired of a norm where my friends can’t mind their own business safely.

Stephen Caruso is a senior columnist for The Pitt News who writes on social and economic issues. He is also the Production Manager. Email Stephen at [email protected].