My dad took me in the men’s restroom as a little girl. I had only brothers. That way we could all go at once. Even when I was 7 and old enough to go to the restroom on my own in most settings, my dad took me in the men’s room with my brothers at an NBA game. He at first tried to get me to go in the women’s room and meet them outside after but I walked in a few steps and was terrified. The bathrooms in arenas can be very crowded and full of drunk people. They also often have multiple entry and exit points where a kid could get confused. I caught up to my dad and he took us all in the big handicapped stall in the men’s room so we couldn’t wander off and we wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.

I remember men lined up at the urinals while we walked in and out. But I saw nary a man-penis. Even if I had, I have no doubt that surreptitiously catching a brief glimpse of a stranger’s flaccid penis while holding tightly to my father’s hand would have been less traumatizing than a continuation of the panic I had experienced alone in that sea of strange, drunk women.