One day that summer, when I went to the bathroom and saw a small red splotch on my underwear, I stared at it for about five minutes straight. It didn’t seem all that important. Was it a life-changing event? Or was it just shark bait? I was pretty confused about what was going to happen to me now that I was a “woman.” I would never be a real kid again. I was some sort of mutant—half kid, half woman.
Mom took me out to a special dinner that night to celebrate. She said, “Your new name is woman. And at this time in history, more than any other, we have the opportunity to affect our world by being educated, loving, strong, nurturing, creative and powerful women.” No matter how corny that sounded and how hard I tried to feel like ordinary old me, the pride and wonder I felt about the whole world swelled up inside of me, and I actually cried over my raspberry cheesecake.
Now that I’ve made it through the changes we heard so much about, I try to remember through all the menstrual cramps, breakouts and chocolate cravings that they’re all physical markings of womanhood.
And at last, I don’t cringe every time I hear the word “ovary.”
Tasha R. Howe
[EDITORS’ NOTE: For more information about menstruation, log on to www.girlpower.gov/girlarea/bodywise/yourbody/period/index.htm.]
NO RODEO ®
NO RODEO. © Robert Berardi. Used by permission.
Hair Horror
The key to realizing a dream is to focus not on success, but significance—and then, even the small steps and little victories along your path will take on greater meaning.
Oprah Winfrey
There were times when I totally, completely disliked Julie Chartrand, and this was definitely one of them. She had a knack for stealing boys right out from under my nose. Not really stealing them (I was not exactly overflowing with opportunities to date), but completely destroying my chances of ever having a boyfriend. She would always say the worst thing about me at the worst possible time, scaring away any potential interest.
And now, in the middle of science lab, Julie decided to strike again. My lab partner was the cutest boy in school—Tim Anderson. I had developed a massive crush on him and had successfully managed to get past the giddy, weak-kneed, tongue-tied stage to the point where I thought I was actually flirting intelligently. Even more amazingly, Tim seemed to be returning the interest! I never dreamed in my wildest dreams that I could actually be excited about science class, but Tim made all the difference.
As I held out a test tube for Tim to put over the Bunsen burner, I flashed him a smile, and he grinned back; a cute, boyish grin that made me melt. Unfortunately, Julie saw it too, and eyes narrowed, she chose that exact moment to make a shocking announcement.
“Michelle, is that hair on your upper lip? Do you have a mustache? You DO!!”
I stopped in complete horror. I had noticed a few days before that soft, downy hair was beginning to grow on my upper lip and was thoroughly distressed by this turn of events. No one else I knew had hair on their upper lip— not even the boys! Was I some sort of freak of nature? I had no idea how to get rid of it, as tweezing really hurt and I was scared shaving would make it grow back even thicker. I hoped and prayed that no one would notice. However, I had forgotten to factor in the Wicked Witch of the West.
“She does? Let’s see!” Tim suddenly morphed from my idol into an annoying, embarrassing, typical eighth-grade guy as he dropped the test tube to crowd in for a look. I ducked my head and stumbled for words.
“No—I don’t! Julie’s a dork. Why would I have a mustache?” I dropped into my seat and feigned great interest in my science textbook, praying that an earthquake would hit and swallow me up—or better yet, swallow up Julie. My heart sank as I gave up all hopes of ever having Tim as my first boyfriend.
After school was over, I raced to the drugstore.
Scouring the hair removal aisle, I finally settled on a hair removal cream. I took my purchase home and hid it in my dresser drawer until it was close to bedtime, savoring the knowledge that soon my problem would be solved.
After brushing my teeth, I got a washcloth ready to wipe the cream from my silky smooth lip when I was done. I was sure it would be a lip so soft, so clear—so kissable fresh. I opened the tube and spread a liberal amount onto my lip. It BURNED. My eyes started to water as the sensitive skin on my upper lip seared with pain. My lip smarted and tears poured down my face as I scraped the cream off with the washcloth. I splashed my face with cold water until all the cream was gone, but the damage was done. My upper lip was free from hair, but the problem was now much, much worse than I ever could have imagined. The skin between my nose and my mouth was an angry red, swollen and blistering on one side. I pressed another washcloth soaked in cold water against my lip, but it did little to abate the throbbing pain. Sneaking back down to my room, I picked up the box and read:
“If you have sensitive skin, be sure to do a test on a small patch of skin to check for allergic reaction.” Having ignored the instructions, I ended up calling more attention to my upper lip than my wispy mustache ever had. How in the world would I ever explain this to my parents? Even worse, how would I face everyone at school the next day? I got into bed with a wounded soul, tears pouring down my face from the pain of my burning skin and the sure loss of my crush. Why, oh why, had God placed Julie in my world?
When I woke the next morning, I was relieved to find that the pain, swelling and redness were gone, along with the hair. A nasty scab had formed over the blisters on one side, but it didn’t look too bad considering what my face had been through the night before.
Predictably, Julie was there to greet me in science lab that day. “What did you do to your face?” she asked loudly, glancing to see if Tim had heard.
“Oh, my curling iron slipped this morning, and I accidentally knocked myself in the face with it. Stupid, huh?” I tossed out casually, flipping my hair over my shoulder.
“Must’ve hurt,” Tim said, sliding into the seat next to me. “Did you get those questions that were assigned for today? I couldn’t figure out number seven.”
“Sure,” I said, flashing him a smile, and then, looking past him, I smiled sweetly to Julie who returned my smile with a scowl. Somehow, the memory of my swollen, burned lip dimmed in the moment of victory.
Michelle Peters
Strapped for Cash
A wise parent humors the desire for independent action, so as to become the friend and advisor when his absolute rule shall cease.
Elizabeth Gaskell
The stereo was blaring when Deb entered my room. She stood beside my bed, hands on hips, piercing blue eyes focused on me intensely.
“What?” I asked nervously. Deb didn’t usually come into my room, or even have that much to do with me.
“I need to talk to you.” Deb was my sister, actually my half-sister, and older by ten years. She took it upon herself to look after us younger kids, and I suppose that is why she was the one to come to my room instead of my mother.
“What?” I asked again, fidgeting with my pillow.
“I’ve been noticing that you’ve been changing,” she said.
“Changing?” I asked innocently, but I knew what she meant. I had reached puberty and wasn’t too happy about it, even going so far as to wear oversized T-shirts to hide it. I was a tomboy and proud of it. I didn’t want boobs like some girly-girl.
“Robin Lynn, it’s time you got a bra.”
I rolled my eyes in embarrassment.
“I was thinking we could stop by Dad’s office today and get some money. Then we could go to the mall and see what we can find for you.”
“I don’t want to ask Dad for money,” I whined. “He’ll know what it’s for.”
“No, he won’t. He never has before,” she said, looking toward the ceiling in thought. “Besides, if he does, you can just tell him you need it for something. He won’t ask.
Now get going.”
“Is this really necessary?” I asked, wishing the whole situation would ju
st disappear.
“You are not a boy, and it’s time you started looking and acting like a girl,” she advised. “I’m not going to argue about it. Get ready!”
As Deb shut the door, I flung myself backward, hitting the mattress hard and bouncing slightly. I closed my eyes and continued listening to my music until a sappy love song came on. That’s when I grabbed my tennis shoes and headed downstairs.
Our fifteen-minute drive to town was unusually quiet. I was too embarrassed to talk about it, but nothing else was on my mind. A bra. What would be next? A dress or pantyhose!?
Womanhood was not something I was looking forward to.
“I’ll wait in the car,” Deb said. “Hurry.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I answered unenthusiastically.
Dad’s office was on the second floor of a huge building downtown. The building was old, and the dark stairwell gave me the creeps. I always took the stairs three at a time to hurry to the landing at the top, but each step still left an eerie echo.
Once at the top, I went into Dad’s office. Dad’s secretary was sitting at her desk. “Your dad is with a client. Let me buzz him,” she offered.
She announced, “Robin’s here.”
“Send her in” was Dad’s happy reply. He always told us we were more important than anyone else and could always come right in, but I was glad she checked first.
Dad sat behind his huge desk, which took up at least half of the room in the office. One side held pictures of us kids. Yellow legal pads were scattered in front of him, and a sign that read “J. R. Sokol, Attorney at Law” clasped the edge of the desk for all incoming clients to read. The faint smell of leather from all the law books filled the room.
His client sat in front of the desk in one of the four green leather office chairs. He was a round man in a blue three-piece suit. His thick black hair was slicked to his head as if he had used glue.
“Hello there, Robs. Where’s your mother?” Dad asked casually.
“At home. Deb brought me to town.”
“What do you need?” he asked, removing his black-framed glasses and rubbing the corner of his eyes. He had a permanently tired look about him; trying to raise seven kids would do that to a person.
“I need some money.”
“For what?”
I thought, Oh, no, now what? I looked at Dad’s client, who seemed to be interested in what I needed the money for, too. I looked back at Dad. “I just need some money, that’s all.” I felt my face start to heat up like a hot coal.
Dad’s voice rose slightly, “What do you need the money for?”
I couldn’t take it anymore, “Never mind,” I yelled and turned to leave. I could feel the tears swell up in my eyes but tried to fight them and not be a sissy.
“Young lady, you come back here this minute and tell me what you need the money for!” From the firm tone of his voice, I knew I had to tell him.
I walked back to the corner of the desk, tears now running down my face, and yelled at the top of my lungs, arms waving, “I need a bra!”
Dad’s eyes widened in surprise, “Oh, I see.” The corners of his mouth curled upright, and he started to laugh. So did his client. They both roared with laughter, which only made me madder.
“It’s not funny!” I yelled.
“Young lady, you settle down.” Dad said firmly, trying to tone down the situation. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and handed me a couple of twenty-dollar bills. “Here Robs,” he said, still chuckling.
I grabbed the twenties firmly, spun on my heels, ran out of the office and bounced down the stairs.
I stopped on the landing at the bottom, cried a little more and then wiped the tears away. I was not going to let Deb know what happened.
At the supper table that night, I waited for Dad to say something about the day’s events. I knew once the rest of the family knew, they would tease me relentlessly. But he never said a word about it.
Later that evening, there was a knock on my door.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“It’s me. Can I come in a minute?” Dad asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He opened the door and stood inside, glancing around my room like he had never seen it before. I sat on the edge of my bed thinking I was in trouble for acting up today.
“Honey, I have an idea.”
“Yeah,” I answered, trying not to look him in the face.
“From now on, if you need money for something personal, why don’t you just say it’s for ‘girls’ stuff.’ Then I’ll know.”
I felt my face get flushed again. “Okay.”
“It’s a deal then,” he answered, lowering his eyes, as embarrassed as I was.
“A deal. Good night,” I answered trying to end the conversation.
“Night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
We both smiled as he shut the door.
I took the two new bras out of my drawer and laid them on my bed. One had two bears, dressed in jeans, kissing. The other had a moon and a sun imprinted on the front.
I put one on and pulled a baggy T-shirt on over it, looked in the mirror and smiled. Deb thought getting me a bra would turn me into a girl, but with a baggy shirt on no one would ever even be able to tell. This won’t be so bad, I thought to myself.
Not so bad, that is, until my brothers found out I had been bra shopping.
The teasing lasted for weeks.
Robin Sokol
I Learned the Truth at Thirteen
You never find yourself until you face the truth.
Pearl Bailey
Big things were happening in my life the summer after I turned thirteen. I had just graduated from junior high, and I’d finally had a chance to dance with John, the boy I’d had a crush on all year. In the fall, I would begin high school. It was all very exciting, but a little scary, too. At least I knew I could always return to the safety of my family if things got rough.
Then, in the middle of summer, my parents shook my entire world and turned it upside down when they told me they were getting a divorce. When my mother said, “We think it’s for the best,” the words rang hollow in my ears. For the best? How could that be? I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that our family was going to break up. Of course, at some level, I always knew my parents weren’t very happy. They were rarely affectionate with one another, and they often fought. But I still didn’t want anything to change. I wanted my family to stay the same—it was all I had ever known.
My life changed quite radically after the divorce. My mother and I moved into a small apartment across town, while my father and brother stayed in our house. I now became a visitor whenever I went to see my dad and brother on the weekends. I was at an age when I might be expected to start dating, but it was my mother who began going out for dinner and to parties with men she’d met at work or through friends. Then she did the unthinkable— she became engaged! I was immediately suspicious of my soon-to-be stepfather, Dan. I resisted all his attempts to get to know me. I was, in fact, pretty rude to him. Things were definitely bleak.
At the time, divorce was an uncommon occurrence. Since all of my friends’ parents were still together, they couldn’t relate to my situation and wondered why I was now quiet all the time. I still got together with them to go out to football games or dances, but I found I wasn’t enjoying life the way I used to. I was clearly depressed, especially after Dan and my mother married and I realized that there was no way that things could change back to the way they were.
My salvation came from the last person on earth that I would have expected—Dan, my new stepfather. Even though I wasn’t very nice to him, he never gave up on me. Gradually, I began to trust him. I realized that we actually had some things in common, especially when it came to movies and TV shows. We spent a lot of time together hanging out watching TV. That gave us a chance to talk and get to know each other. Then Dan invited me to go running, and I connected with it.
Better s
till, Dan showed an interest in me that I had never experienced from my own father. Dan was always around when I needed advice on school, friends or boys. I also learned a lot by watching Dan and my mom together. They were often playful and affectionate with each other, so I saw firsthand what a good marriage looks like. Once I began to warm up to Dan, the three of us began spending a lot of time together. We often went out to eat, took short trips, and Dan and I even entered races and ran together. Eventually, I discovered that I finally had the happy family that I had always wanted.
I now realize my parents were right about getting the divorce. Their breakup was the best thing to happen for all of us. My father also found happiness—he remarried and had another child, my half-sister, Michelle.
At thirteen, I learned an important truth—change is not always the worst thing that can happen. Sometimes, it is just what we need the most.
Carol Ayer
FREE TO
BE ME
C is for the Courage to not be embarrassed
O is for my Outstanding body and mind
N is Never saying never
F is for Finding out who I am
I is for Individuality
D is for celebrating Differences
E is for an Everlasting smile
N is for Nobody else quite like me
C is Congeniality
Chicken Soup for the Girl's Soul Page 22
