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<DIV>Got it Mary Jo</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT lang=0 size=2 face=Arial FAMILY="SANSSERIF" PTSIZE="10"><B>Leonard
Tuchyner</B><BR>Licensed Professional Counselor<BR>"Writing for Healing &
Growth" Workshop Facilitator<BR>Columnist for <I>Dialogue Magazine</I><BR>Author
of <I>A Journey to Elsewhere: Poetry Through the Seasons of Life</I><A
href="http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Elsewhere-Poetry-Through-Seasons/dp/0989146545/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1441270210&sr=8-1&keywords=A+Journey+to+Elsewhere&pebp=1441270215075&perid=1GXN1BSTQ4FERV5NHCXD">
Available on Amazon
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV>
<DIV>In a message dated 9/6/2016 11:07:43 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time,
mjfingerprints@comcast.net writes:</DIV>
<BLOCKQUOTE
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<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class=MsoNormal align=center>No Longer
Eleven<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>As I climbed out of bed on the morning of my twelfth
birthday, I was overcome with the exciting realization that I was no longer
eleven! For me, eleven was the great no man's land of childhood and
adolescence. Eleven was the invisible age. Signs for tickets and admission to
events everywhere seemed to say "Children ten and under" or "12 and over."
Even menus seemed to be divided. For a whole year, I was repeatedly faced with
the humiliation of being handed a "children's menu." All of that would change,
I was sure, now that I was twelve. I was finally free of what I had perceived
as society's deliberate attempt to alienate eleven-year-olds.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>My strange mixture of little girl and teenaged interests
made me feel awkward and confused. I still liked to play with dolls but didn't
want anybody at school to know. I would play dolls in the basement or in my
room, where nobody could see and when my parents were busy or not at home.
This kind of sneaking around to play with dolls made me feel both like a
little girl and old in a funny way I couldn't quite explain. I was sure that I
was some kind of social freak.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>When I wasn't secretly playing with dolls, I was attempting
to apply makeup and nail polish. I had an ever growing stash of lip-gloss,
eyeshadow, blush and nail polish. My attempts at application of all of these,
other than lip-gloss had been so far unsuccessful. I’d end up with eyeshadow
on the side of my nose, cheeks that were way too red, and nail polish all over
my hands and the table. I felt clumsy and uncoordinated. I'd think I had the
makeup right and then my mother would say, "You look like a
clown."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Now that I had turned twelve, I was sure that my world
would be transformed. I would be ready to say goodbye to Barbie and her
friends and Debby, my favorite baby doll. My shaky makeup and nail polish
applying hands would magically become steady. After all, I was twelve, and on
my way to becoming a woman.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Now somehow, I had to convince my body of this great
revelation. As I saw it, all of the girls in my sixth grade class were either
nearly developed or not developed at all. At 5-foot weighing 70-pounds, I fell
into the second category.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Each morning, I would push all of the skin and muscle from
my rib cage and chest into my training bra, hoping that it would look as if my
breasts were developing. I hoped that somehow through some kind of magic, the
skin and tissue forced into such confinement would miraculously be molded into
breasts by the end of the day.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Some of my classmates had even started their periods. They
acted like they were in a secret club, with privileges the rest of us couldn’t
earn based on hard work or good grades. Even those girls that were always in
trouble got special bathroom pass privileges, didn't have to participate in
gym, and got to go rest in the office, just because they had their
period.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>One day Linda, one of my classmates pulled me aside. She
whispered secretively, "do you wear a bra?" Without thinking, I answered
proudly, that of course I wore a bra. In an embarrassed whisper, Linda
confided that her mother still made her ware t-shirts. It was then that I
realized that Linda had asked me because we were equally flat
chested.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Despite the lack of breast development, my body was
undergoing some other changes. For the past six months, I had to start shaving
my legs and under arms, and wearing deodorant had become a necessity. I felt
as if I had been stuck with all of the nasty aspects of puberty, without any
of the perceived benefits.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>I had been sure that all of this would somehow change on my
twelfth birthday. I was disappointed to notice that I wasn't any taller and I
was still as flat as a board. I got Debby and my barbies out of my closet,
ready to ask Dad to pack them away. I Couldn't do it. I told myself that I
could just have them in the closet so I could look at them. Looking wasn't
playing and if they were stored in the loft in the garage, I couldn't look at
them. I tried applying eyeshadow, felt the applicator touch the side of my
nose and wanted to cry. I gave Debby a hug, went into the bathroom and washed
the side of my nose with a washcloth. For once, mom didn't tell me I look like
a clown. She gave me some new training bras with more padding, so I could at
least look like I had breasts. Of course I opened them in front of Dad,
Grandpa and Uncle Al.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>I received a lot of nice gifts: some clothes, perfume,
lip-gloss, and a Mexican doll from my aunt in California.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>As I tried to fall asleep, I was confused by too many
feelings. I was happy with all of my nice gifts and disappointed that I hadn't
transformed from a short, clumsy child into a shapely, coordinated young
woman. Mostly though, I was relieved that I was no longer
eleven!<o:p></o:p></P>
<P
class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P></DIV><BR><BR>_______________________________________________<BR>Group1
mailing
list<BR>Group1@bluegrasspals.com<BR>http://bluegrasspals.com/mailman/listinfo/group1<BR></FONT></BLOCKQUOTE></DIV></A></FONT></DIV></FONT></BODY></HTML>