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vanillafluffyA lot of shit happened when I was 7. Some of it was normal pop culture stuff, like writing my first fan-fic---for Star Trek, of course---but it wasn't slash, because I had No Clue. My mom turned me on to The Bobbsey Twins books with The Bobbsey Twins and Their Big Adventure. (I may be a little off on the title, but it was the one with the kid named Jimmy whose dead dad left treasure maps for him to solve.) I was a Brownie (pre-Girl Scouts).
And one afternoon, I had my first discussion about weight with two of the girls on my block. They were both a couple years older than I was, but Donna weighed 67 pounds and Lorraine was 75 pounds. I was 95 pounds; I remember that as vividly as if it was spray-painted in big red numbers on my cranial underpass. Although I was tall for my age---as tall as Lorraine and I was always taller than Donna---I was already pigeon-holed as the chubby kid. I was never not picked last for team sports, for one thing, and finding clothes was always a nightmare.
Last half of the 1960s? Fucking MINIskirts. It was difficult enough to fit stuff that would go around me, finding stuff that didn't flash the world if I raised my hand or bent over was really a bitch. St Jerk's didn't have a uniform, but oh brother, did they have a dress code: The girls HAD to wear dresses or skirts, and the boys were forbidden to wear jeans. Never mind if it's 6F and slushy out, wear fucking dresses, bitch.
Summer vacation, on the other hand, was very cool and stands out as one of my favorites. We drove up to Maine to visit one of my dad's aunts on the coast. It's the only trip all four of us ever went on---by the time I was old enough to travel, Peter was out of high school and working. The previous year, he'd gone on a solo trip to the Newport Opera Festival, where he'd met an aspiring opera singer, with whom he was carrying on a correspondence. So it was the four of us and Lady in a white '64 Ford Galaxy.
It was a bit crowded, because in addition to people and luggage, Peter had brought his stereo phonograph and a carton of records. ALL opera. My dad had brought his golf clubs. I think I had a couple of books, and there was Roadside Bingo with little colored cellophane windows you could side over the picture of the item when you found it.
We stopped for lunch at another's aunt's home in Rhode Island. She was an antiques dealer; I have no doubt that it's genetic and I get it from that side of the family. She showed me a shelf full of little porcelain dolls and said I could have one. I looked them over, made my selection, and heard Auntie tell my parents that I'd picked the most expensive one...no price tag, I just looked at it...which has been the story of my life, really. I still have it, also the story of my life.
The house in Maine was a big old rambling farmhouse looking out to the sea from atop a rise. There was a trail through tall grasses down to the rocky shoreline. North of the house was woods, and there was a treehouse where I spent many hours. Once, Aunt Eleanor took me out in a rowboat, the only boat I'd ever been on except for the Staten Island ferry.
Behind the house was a big field. Dad took his clubs out there and hit golf balls from one end to the other and back. Lady followed him companionably. One time, she found the golf ball before he did and carried it while he hunted and hunted for it. Mom called her over and discovered the missing sphere, drooled on but not eaten.
(Lady ate omnivorously. Golf balls, crayons, dandelions and on one especially noteworthy occasion, four pounds of raw green bell peppers. She loved water, except for baths, and had already demonstrated that fondness by leaping into the creek behind our house when it rained. However, even in June, the Atlantic is chilly. To say she was surprised when she jumped in was an understatement.)
I don't remember anything about the food, or the side trip I know we took to Bar Harbor. I remember the house, the scenery, the incidents I've related, overlaid with Peter's opera, which was just like home. Mostly, I remember being happy.
ETA: My 7th Christmas was the year Peter took me to see The Nutcracker Ballet at Lincoln Center. We went over on the ferry, took the subway to LC, and I was dazzled by the performance. I kept the program for years---it was lost in the move here, or I'd probably have it still.
.
And one afternoon, I had my first discussion about weight with two of the girls on my block. They were both a couple years older than I was, but Donna weighed 67 pounds and Lorraine was 75 pounds. I was 95 pounds; I remember that as vividly as if it was spray-painted in big red numbers on my cranial underpass. Although I was tall for my age---as tall as Lorraine and I was always taller than Donna---I was already pigeon-holed as the chubby kid. I was never not picked last for team sports, for one thing, and finding clothes was always a nightmare.
Last half of the 1960s? Fucking MINIskirts. It was difficult enough to fit stuff that would go around me, finding stuff that didn't flash the world if I raised my hand or bent over was really a bitch. St Jerk's didn't have a uniform, but oh brother, did they have a dress code: The girls HAD to wear dresses or skirts, and the boys were forbidden to wear jeans. Never mind if it's 6F and slushy out, wear fucking dresses, bitch.
Summer vacation, on the other hand, was very cool and stands out as one of my favorites. We drove up to Maine to visit one of my dad's aunts on the coast. It's the only trip all four of us ever went on---by the time I was old enough to travel, Peter was out of high school and working. The previous year, he'd gone on a solo trip to the Newport Opera Festival, where he'd met an aspiring opera singer, with whom he was carrying on a correspondence. So it was the four of us and Lady in a white '64 Ford Galaxy.
It was a bit crowded, because in addition to people and luggage, Peter had brought his stereo phonograph and a carton of records. ALL opera. My dad had brought his golf clubs. I think I had a couple of books, and there was Roadside Bingo with little colored cellophane windows you could side over the picture of the item when you found it.
We stopped for lunch at another's aunt's home in Rhode Island. She was an antiques dealer; I have no doubt that it's genetic and I get it from that side of the family. She showed me a shelf full of little porcelain dolls and said I could have one. I looked them over, made my selection, and heard Auntie tell my parents that I'd picked the most expensive one...no price tag, I just looked at it...which has been the story of my life, really. I still have it, also the story of my life.
The house in Maine was a big old rambling farmhouse looking out to the sea from atop a rise. There was a trail through tall grasses down to the rocky shoreline. North of the house was woods, and there was a treehouse where I spent many hours. Once, Aunt Eleanor took me out in a rowboat, the only boat I'd ever been on except for the Staten Island ferry.
Behind the house was a big field. Dad took his clubs out there and hit golf balls from one end to the other and back. Lady followed him companionably. One time, she found the golf ball before he did and carried it while he hunted and hunted for it. Mom called her over and discovered the missing sphere, drooled on but not eaten.
(Lady ate omnivorously. Golf balls, crayons, dandelions and on one especially noteworthy occasion, four pounds of raw green bell peppers. She loved water, except for baths, and had already demonstrated that fondness by leaping into the creek behind our house when it rained. However, even in June, the Atlantic is chilly. To say she was surprised when she jumped in was an understatement.)
I don't remember anything about the food, or the side trip I know we took to Bar Harbor. I remember the house, the scenery, the incidents I've related, overlaid with Peter's opera, which was just like home. Mostly, I remember being happy.
ETA: My 7th Christmas was the year Peter took me to see The Nutcracker Ballet at Lincoln Center. We went over on the ferry, took the subway to LC, and I was dazzled by the performance. I kept the program for years---it was lost in the move here, or I'd probably have it still.
.
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(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 09:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 03:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 02:29 pm (UTC)XO
Donna
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 03:18 pm (UTC)After I graduated and we moved to Florida, it was YEARS before I voluntarily wore dresses again. Now I practically live and skirts and dresses, because they're cooler than pants, but it's a choice: If I want to wear shorts, pants or leggings to church, no one will say a thing!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 03:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 10:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 09:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 10:55 pm (UTC)Prior to that milestone, Peter brought home a lot of my prettiest dresses from stores he did display work at. My all-time favorite was soft pink with a dark blue border ptinted with tapestry roses. I think it was my Easter dress when I was five....