Thursday morning was a busy day for a lot of people. Freshmen were moving into dorms, parents were busy saying goodbye, and the newsroom in Franklin Hall was bustling with reporters working to have this paper out on the first day of school.

And the sleazy were licking their chops at a new wave of unsuspecting girls.

I live in a house that is divided into five apartments on South Lincoln just down the road from Franklin Hall. The view from my front porch that morning was an interesting one.

In our front yard hung two large signs, one spelling out “You honk, we drink” with a can of Natural Light next to it. Behind that, a sign hung between two trees that read, “Fathers, thank you for your daughters” in all caps and in the distinctive Kent State blue and yellow.

I don’t care who you are, if a time comes when you decide to breed and you see your offspring off to school, that is the last sign you want to see.

I knew my neighbor would be throwing this party, but did not remember when it would be. So, when I walked across an empty front yard at 10:30 a.m. Thursday, I had no idea that shortly after my 11 a.m. return I would be greeted like I was.

All day I was in and out of my house and Franklin Hall, and each time I set foot in the front yard a strange feeling came over me. It’s the feeling you get when your roommate comes up to you and says with a straight face, “People are gonna think we are rapists,” and all you can do is shake your head in agreement.

It’s the feeling you get when someone drives by in an SUV and a presumably younger sister of some freshman rolls down

the back window and stops to take a photograph of the front yard and you hold a notebook in front of your face as soon as you see the camera.

It’s the feeling you get when a parent approaches the front yard and says he will never allow his daughter to live around that area, and a yard, full of people celebrates the occurrence.

If you have never had the pleasure of feeling like someone expects you to be openly scouting opportunities to commit rape, then let me tell you, it’s unlike any other.

A Massachusetts Institute of Technology student organization called Stop Our Silence that was formed to combat and educate about sexual violence, provided statistics on it’s Web site from a 1984 book called “The Longest War: Sex Differences in Perspective” which states 51 to 60 percent of college men would commit rape if they knew they could get away with it.

It may not be 1984, but something tells me the evolution of the male brain hasn’t come very far since then. And the fact the only deterrents from being a rapist for more than half the male population are that it is illegal or that someone might find out is a little unsettling.

Apparently, basic human decency is not a compelling-enough argument.

And it is not limited to forced intercourse.

A statistic provided by the National Center for Victims of Crime says that one out of four women will be sexually assaulted on a college campus.

Conversely, according to the American Association of University Women, alcohol is involved in 75 percent of these incidents.

As I examined the boy-girl ratio in my yard and waited for the kegs to be tapped, I was unaware of these numbers. I can’t help but wonder which of the men present were salivating at the thought of showing a wasted freshman girl the worst night of her life, and which of the girls would come across this bro.

Now I am in no way saying anyone who was at that party or any other is a rapist. I would like to make that very clear. People were just having a good time.

And I’m not saying that all the parties in Kent that are attended by girls are nothing more than $13-for-a-30-pack traps set for booze-addled females.

And as it would appear, about half the men in this world have no problem with using people like they are something less than human beings.

As the sign on the sidewalk in front of Campus Book and Supply reads, “Getting used is a good thing. Fall ’09.”

Oh yeah, get your hustle up. It’s party time.

Nick Baker is a senior magazine journalism major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact him at [email protected].