Sex education is never a joy-ride for a
13-year-old. I especially scoffed at the fact one even had a body, let alone
certain parts. I dealt with the birds
and the bees by covering my ears hollering at my mother, “I don’t want to hear
it!”
I began my new school in early September as
an 8th grade student at Parsons Junior High. I saw my class list and
instantly became horrified when I read in bold letters, “Sex Education, Period 3, Mr. Crow.” Racing home, I told my mother
she needed to sign a paper to get me out of this class. She waived her arm in
the air and said, “Honey, you’re 13 now and the time is right.” I exclaimed,
“But, Mom! I barely even have anything yet – it’s too soon!”
The first day of the deeply-dreaded
class, I chose to sit as far from Mr. Crow as possible because he was the
teacher of that class. I hoped to get
through this year without being noticed, surrounded by my classmates.
Mr. Crow began by asking the class various
questions about our summer. I remained silent, however, we had to introduce ourselves and raise
our hand if we were new to the school. My hand went up and so did the bottom of
my white sleeveless top with tiny embroidered strawberries. Mr. Crow made an
immediate bee-line through the desks to be at my side. He hollered, “Debbie
Patterson, if I see your belly button one more time, I’ll put masking tape over
it!” Admittedly, my favorite shirt was becoming too small, however, I adored
this gift from my mother. When I defiantly said, “You touch me and you’re in
big trouble, Mister”, he marched me to the front of the class and slapped a
piece of masking tape over my belly button!
Sitting quietly at my desk one day in Mr.
Crow’s class, he began frantically tapping his pointer on the chalk board. “Can
anyone tell me the meaning of Cooper’s Droop?” From the blank stares of the
students, it was clear none of us knew the term. Mr. Crow explained it was droopy
breasts. He thundered, “It’s what happens when girls don’t wear a bra!” Snickering
to my friends, I told them he had horrible handwriting and it appeared he’d written,
“Cooper’s Poop.”
As if by magic, he was standing next to
me again! Fearful he would grab me, I leaned far away, fell out of my desk
chair and crashed to the floor. The class was in hysterics while Mr. Crow pointed
his stick for me to stand next to the chalk board and give my explanation of
Cooper’s Droop. I crawled to my feet and slowly walked to the front of the
class with steam pouring out my ears. I boldly announced, “Class, I don’t
believe Cooper’s Poop is even in the
dictionary.” The class screamed in laughter while Mr. Crow aimed his pointer at
the door. When I asked, “What for this time?” he told me to go to the
principal’s office. When I protested, he said, “Tell your mother to get you a training
bra or I’ll wrap them with tape!”
The principal called my mother at work and
she picked me up. In silence we headed to Sears for my first training bra and she
handed me six boxes of size AAA teeny-weeny training bras. She told me to go into
a dressing room and get the tightest one. I continued slinging the items over
the door and finally marched out with one.
I begged, “Oh, Mom. Please don’t make me wear this ugly thing! It looks like two
Doritos with strings.” She said, “Just get through school, Honey. What you wear
at home is your business.” My Raisenettes and I moped behind my mother to the
cash register. The next afternoon I was walking down our dirt road when I heard
the sing-song of Greg, the 15-year-old neighbor boy, “Debbie’s getting boobies,
Debbie’s getting boobies.” Horrified, I turned around and raced back home to
put on my trusty new training bra.
Recently I emailed Bernice, one of my
sweetest classmates, from Parsons Junior High. I asked whether she remembered my
adventures in Mr. Crow’s class. She responded, “Hi
Debbie, you were my first friend at Parsons from the first day of school. I
will never forget having my first rebellious friend I ever experienced, who
refused to wear a bra. Mr. Crow threatened to wrap them up with tape. It is
amazing Mr. Crow touched you so much.”
Today I won’t go outside without my trusty
support system, keeping Cooper’s Droop at bay. My shirts are long enough to
cover my midriff. As for the crow and how he flies, I now take the sensible
route to my destinations.
Debbie, 1973
Wearing the Infamous White Top
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