It's nearly 3am and I feel like writing ... And keeping with the un-official theme of this site ... And to celebrate the fact that I am not going to be celebrating Mother's Day in a position of honor any time soon ... Let's talk about periods. More importantly - let's talk about what happens to girls.

First and foremost I have to say what I'm about to write is nothing new. It's not revolutionary - I'm about twenty years too late for this to be radical. I'm around five to ten years for it to not be repeitivie white noise that's nothing more than someone relating a very personal experience in an electronic CR (without feed back usually) forum. Except what really gets me angry, motivated, empowered because I can call it out and name it and identify it - what makes me realize I identify more like Girlies in their late 20s to 30s than I do with my peers as a junior at university is the fact that I have to name it, talk about it, say "Wait! We didn't really solve this - keep talking; it happened to me thirty to fifty years after it happened to you." It can happen to my cousin, my sister (if I had a sister), my friends ... And it shouldn't.

I matured early for reasons I'll never really understand. I was the first girl in my class (in primary school - three to four years before the dreaded junior high) to develop breasts, a waist, grow to the height of 5'3 (where I have remained ever since), get a period, get hair under my arms, and actually NEED to shave my legs. I haven't grown or changed much physically aside from dramatic weight losses and gains since I was 11 and in fifth grade. Puberty, for me, began at age eight - not without warning because at some point after I pleaded for a training bra someone handed me a book on puberty and I had been saving lunch money to buy Teen magazine since at least third grade.
I reveled in being the first, the advice giver, and the mischievous mastermind of my group of friends: which was by all accounts the more outspoken, radical, and outrageous group of girls. I was also the first to know without a doubt about sex - by fifth grade I could answer any question you might have: including if you should lose your virginity and how to masturbate. Yet - I wouldn't have my first sexual encounter until I was almost 13 and it would take some years before my virginity was eradicated in whole when it came down to getting down. I was the first to have a boyfriend - not the first to lose it. I managed for all outward appearances to keep a confidence right up until the end. I celebrated myself - my period, my hair, my hips; I really did. I have a love affair with my hips for years - even in the face my grandmother, mother and aunt's comments on my "big butt" and giving me diet advice and exercises for my "problem" area. I enjoyed the fact that I just so happened to have been born with a body that came right out of a renaissance or Victorian painting - and as I grew older and abused diet pills I would realize that I really was born with that body - it's there to the very bones.
But being the first, upon reflection, wasn't all fun and games. Now, I realize so many experiences that I celebrated weren't celebrated and I was punished for celebrating. I am still being punished. No matter how much weight I lose I will always think everyone is staring at my ass - and not necessarily in a good way even if in my opinion a well formed, rounded, firm ass is the epitomite of hot sex.

However much I celebrated and wanted to talk about my body, my feelings, my friends, their bodies, their feelings, their experiences ... Everything seemed to be met with hostility. From the fight with my parents to get them to let me shave my legs, buying my first miniskirt, doing my nails and wearing makeup - to being able to get to restroom when I needed to change my tampon at school. Once, in sixth grade when I personally think teachers should expect to deal with puberty's interruptions I had to ask to use the restroom six different times and was refused until I boldly (and irritated I might add) asked if I could go to the restroom to change my tampon. Although I think (and still think) I deserved an apology I was given a flippant "Go." I can only thank the fifth grade teacher who was genuinely concerned and happy for me who wrote out the pass for me to see the school nurse when I told her I had just got my first period in the middle of class. Now, maybe I just have high standards for these teachers because they were women - who, being naive I still believed truly would understand and be happy I could confide in them (I mean, that other girls did easily was news to me. Lord knows I wouldn't trust adults I met male and female alike and even though I am now an adult myself still can't quite bring myself to feel comfortable talking to most of them.)
However, male teachers I expected to approach the subject MUCH more delicately. Escesaplly being a teacher in a primary school in the wake of the child molester and kidnapping paranoia of the 90s.
Rather naturally I think I did simply not feel comfortable asking any teacher to use the restroom. (Still don't and never did - I think it's rude and want to know when the fuck schools became so dangerous that this practice was necessary and frankly do not think "no" is EVER an acceptable answer.) I especially did not want to ask a male teacher to use the restroom - afterall, I had already once had to admit to an adult that I wasn't exactly a child and challenge their authority on when I could use the restroom once this year. Fortunately for me, after lunch we were allowed to leisurely drift out the doors to the playground or upstairs to the classroom when it was too wet or cold to go outside. During my leisurely drift - if the need be, I'd quietly slip into the restroom to do the girl business and slip back out. I never once smoked a cigarette, gave anyone a blowjob, did any kind of drug, hurt another child, or did anything else harmful to anyone. I hated going alone so sometimes a female friend would join me (not because anyone else had theirs just for company). Occasionally we were joined by a female teacher - none of whom ever said anything - they simply smiled upon being informed that I needed to go in "that" stall (as there was only one with a feminine product trash can in the girls restroom.)
Despite however harmless I saw this activity as I was caught by a male gym teacher, who just happened to be in charge of the recess along with another male teacher. I understood his concern - especially these days - I suppose any number of unsavory things could have been going on or happened in the entire five minutes I may have spent in the rest room. Actually - I don't. I think that's all pretty much bullshit and the bottom line is they weren't and didn't. I was being a healthy, confident if somewhat shy, girl maturely dealing with what can (apparently) be a very traumatizing event.
Upon being caught with my cohort we were questioned as to what we were doing. I bravely claimed we had our periods and need to use the restroom. I thought - and still think this should have been acceptable. However we were met with a steely gaze and silence. Then slowly he said: "Both of you? At the same time?" What the hell was that?! Yes both of us. And yes, at the same time - if this guy had any sense he'd realize that hormones that regulate menstruation are something other mammals sense and if two women spend enough time together (though what exactly enough is unknown) they their cycles will synch up. But really, I just simply find this entire event traumatizing. I can't begin to describe the amount of shame, guilt, and general "icki-ness" (or as I would have put it in 6th grade grodiness). I sincerely believe this sort of thing should never happen to anyone else. I hope it doesn't - but I think it probably does: as last I checked (which is about two years ago now as my little brother recently graduated from that primary school to junior high) those PE teachers were still there.