Hello Readers!
The book is in the rewrite stage, preparing for final editing! It's been a long journey (12 months) but I am very proud of the work. I thank God for bringing me on this journey, and for all He has done for me; not just in my creativeness...but in all aspects of my life. He is awesome! Read on to enjoy a sample chapter from the book. I will be posting at least two more "teaser chapters" as a preview. Above this post is a video that I have posted on YouTube as a book trailer. Simply click on the arrow to watch it. Please watch, and if you are so inclined...leave a comment, or at least a 'thumbs up' for me!! You are welcome to comment as 'anonymous' if you're a bit bashful! Anyway; enjoy both the trailer and the sample chapter. Until next time...take care and happy reading. Remember to support an author and buy a book.
I have heard other people say that the middle
school years are the best years of a child’s young life. I have even witnessed other people saying
this and saying it with a blissful and almost reverential remembrance. Sure, it
is a time of higher learning, and it is wrought with indecisiveness,
self-consciousness and an overall sense of awkwardness, but it’s supposed to
all be balanced out by the fun side right? The years when kids enjoyed stuff
like football games, pep rallies, parades, bonfires and such. It can be
described as “tantalizingly tumultuous”, or maybe a case of a “love-hate
affair”. No matter how you describe it, it was not a fun time for me. At least,
most of it was not.
First of all, I had two very strong
factors in my life that were against me. Number one and the most important was
that I was fat. I was fatter than all of the kids in my class. No, I was not huge, but to a ten year old girl
whose closet friends were at the most a pre-teen size 10, and you are a ladies size
14 that can be a tragedy. And add to that tragedy the fact that your parents
could not afford to give you a stylish and pretty young girl’s wardrobe, and
then what you end up with is a real heart-breaker.
I was riddled with self-consciousness. Number
two, I got my period when I was only nine years old, and when I discovered the
blood on my panties after a trip to the bathroom, I went to my Mother afraid
and confused about what was going on. I thought that I had somehow been hurt.
Her first reaction was to run to her room, shut the door and bawl her eyes out
with exclamations of “Oh God; My baby! My baby!” over and over while her ‘baby’
was left standing in the hallway scared and bewildered.
This certainly did nothing to help my
situation at all. I started to cry, my Mother was in the middle of a fine show
of histrionics and my younger brother stood at the doorway of his room looking
like he would burst into tears at any moment. All of us except Mrs. Duncan our house guest were about to come unglued.
Mrs. Duncan was the woman who was
temporarily renting a room from us at the time who actually took me aside and
tried to calmly explain to me that I had started to “menstruate” or get my
period and that it was a natural process and I was not hurt nor was I dying.
She assured me that the same thing would eventually happen to all of my friends
too.
Mrs. Duncan took me into her room,
removed some items from a dresser drawer and laid them out on the bed. She
talked to me about how these were a few of the necessities I would need now and
for the foreseeable part of my future. She showed me how to use a sanitary belt
and to attach the sanitary pad to it.
Afterwards, she spoke to my Mother and
firmly told her that her hysterics were not of any good to me, and in no
uncertain terms she needed to get it together and get out there and be a Mother
to me. When Momma came to my room and sat down on my bed to give me the “talk”
which included her version of the “coming of age” story, she was indeed a far
sight more calm than she had been. Although her voice still slightly trembled,
there was no more weeping and wailing. I didn’t receive the full birds and bees
education at that time, but she emphasized in no uncertain terms that boys were
absolutely NOT to come near me while I was ‘on my period’.
The next day, Momma prepared a special
bag for me to take to school. In this brown paper bag (same as the one I packed
my lunch in) she placed an extra sanitary belt, a washcloth and about six
sanitary pads; called Kotex back then. There were no choices of sanitary pads
then. There was Kotex and that was it. There was nothing available on the market
with wings or adhesive strips. The ultra-slim fitting barely noticeable and
comfortable little pads of today had not even been dreamed about.
Kotex was bulky, thick and each one felt
as if an intruder was in my underwear next to my body. They made me feel clumsy
and extremely shy when I had to wear one and to say nothing of the
embarrassment I felt at presenting my fifth grade teacher with my bag each
morning for safekeeping. My Mother had asked her to look after me and to send
me to the bathroom to change my pad often enough to keep me clean.
For three to five days each month, my
humiliation at being subject to this curse was complete. While the other girls
giggled and went about happy and carefree, I concentrated on the fact that I
was wearing a thick, uncomfortable and twisted piece of cotton inside my ladies
panties. I couldn’t even wear my frilly nylon regulars, because my mother told
me that they were not “fit” to protect me during my cycle. So, she bought me
several pairs of the heavy-duty cotton kind in plain colors. No lace, no
patterns, no thin prettiness.
I would think back on these days later on
in my life during the times when I’d be hard put to understand some things
about myself. And after intensive retrospect...the pieces would fall into place.
The early onset of menstruation, the unfortunate disappearance (and subsequent
explanation for) of my Father would then be recognized as building blocks for
the many chinks I’d find in my armor.
