I was sitting alone on a bench at the apartment playground. My three year old daughter was playing in the grass with another child a few feet in front of me. My wife and six other women conversed on two benches about thirty feet to my right.

I was absorbed in a book when a child said hi. I looked up. An eight year old girl stood in front of me. She lived in the building across from us with her mother and much older sister. She was very outgoing. I’d had a couple of conversations with her. She stepped in between my legs, leaned back against my knee, and rested her hand on my bare thigh. I was wearing running shorts and a t-shirt.

I turned my head to look at the women. They were staring at me. The girl was talking animatedly. I didn’t hear a word she said. My heart was racing. My breathing was shallow and rushed. My entire body tensed. Thoughts of someone pointing a finger at me and yelling pervert flooded my mind. The police would be called and I’d spend the rest of my life in jail.

She pushed off my leg, said bye, and ran off. The women returned to their conversation. I returned to my book.

I put my daughter down for a nap and came down the stairs. My wife said, “we were all talking about you and that little girl.” She stopped talking as she walked into the kitchen. I sat down on the couch. Why was I feeling so guilty? I hadn’t done anything wrong. Women don’t have these problems. Children climb onto their laps and no one thinks anything about it. If anyone does anything a woman doesn’t like she lets them know. She screams and people come running to rescue her.

Men don’t scream. We’re helpless, clueless as to how to handle any uncomfortable situation involving the opposite sex. You don’t need a court of law to prove we’re guilty. Everyone knows it. There’s something wrong with us. That something is called a penis.

My wife walked back into the room. “We were all saying how sorry we felt for you,” she said. “That little girl desperately needs a father in her life.”

If she were my child I would have listened attentively to her every word. I would have held her hand. I would have hugged her and flooded her with kisses. I would want her to know how much she is loved. I couldn’t show any hint of affection to that young girl, not even a gentle touch (heart-felt kindness). Why? That’s right. I’m a man.