Show me the sexism
I was 11. The boys in my sixth- grade class held a copy of Britney Spears' first CD. They ogled her toned belly, her sweet, pretty face, her hair, her clothes, her body. I stood in the classroom alongside my fellow hormone-driven, confused, prepubescent girlfriends, watching the boys. At the time, we probably giggled at the boys' expressed sexual interest, not knowing any better.

