So, my early childhood was frelled. I didn’t totally understand it, obviously, I was just a kid. But I did know something was off.
I didn’t get many toys as a kid. I had books, intelligence was encouraged even though grandma told me I was stupid a lot. (Contradiction much?) What toys I had were boy toys. I had Construx and Legos, and even Lincoln Logs. (Or was it Linkin’ Logs?) I got a microscope one year. I only ever had Barbies because I got them second-hand from my older cousin. Of course she butchered them first, but we’ll get into her mania later.
Christmas wasn’t fun when it came to presents. I usually got socks and underwear which I was forced to open in front of everyone like they were something cool. I hated it. My joy at Christmas was decorating the tree. They did allow me to take large part in that, and it was one of my favorite things all year long. I can remember some of it with crystal clarity. I guess my mind held on to some of the little good that I had.
I remember that the making me a boy thing became a serious issue later on. It made me a total outcast at school for one thing. Add to that the fact that we were poor and my clothes were always out of style and I got taunted a lot. I also always stank of cigarettes. The kids made up the “diarrhea song” about me, because they said that’s what I smelled like. So I was a poor, skinny, ugly, boy/girl in old clothes growing up in a mostly black and Hispanic area. (There were maybe a dozen white kids in a school of 900.) I know all too well what bullying and torment at school is.
I can also remember the big to-do when I started growing breasts. I was never allowed girl clothes and had never had a bra. My eldest aunt finally shamed my grandmother into getting me proper undergarments. She said it was disgusting for my breasts to be visible, and making me wear two or three layered shirts to school wasn’t cutting it. I was made to feel bad about my breasts too. Girl parts were a bad thing.
When it came to my period… I hadn’t been taught about it. I had a vague idea from health class at school. I was not prepared at all when it happened. I was wearing white parachute pants the day it started. I got up at the end of class and there was blood all over my seat. I was so scared. I used my huge, hand-made denim book-sack to cover my backside as I begged the teacher to get me to the nurse.
When I got there and they called my grandmother and she made me walk home. Yes, she made me WALK through the city like that. I took off my shirt (luckily I was wearing more than one), wrapped it around my waist, covered it with my bag and walked home bleeding. When I got home a package of sanitary pads was literally thrown in my face and I was disgustedly instructed to “Read the package and figure it out.” That was my feminine education. Later when I wanted to learn about tampons I was told “Those are only for whores.” Nice, right?
This all really goes to show how forcing a kid to be something they’re not can cause a lot of problems. It also shows how horrible and frelled up a parental figure can be. I know I’ve talked to other women who were raised with little or no understanding of the feminine process, and taught it was filthy and so were they. How can anyone do that to a kid?