Growing up in the 70’s meant being completely lost when it came to social norms regarding the opposite sex. We had no YouTube to direct us. No Facebook to share embarrassing moments with the world. Everything that happened to us was all cause + effect = learning experience. My mother didn’t teach me much past what the “f” word meant and where my vagina could be located. All great information for when I became sexually active, but not helpful to an eight-year-old already think
When I try to remember my first kiss…the first real kiss I ever had with a boy…I come up blank. I can’t even remember who it was. I do remember fantasizing what it would be like. I even made a contraption called the “French Kissing Machine” when I was thirteen or fourteen. This device would allow me enough practice that I’d be able to kiss with ease. It’s main components were a toilet paper tube, cardboard, tape, and chewed gum.
If you can’t imagine how all that could be us
In the seventh grade the division between the “haves” and “have nots” was painfully, if not noticeably, clear. The “haves” being budding boobs in training bras.
I was a “have not.”
Until school began, I wasn’t aware 11 and 12-year-olds wore bras. Apparently, neither was my mother who continued to choose skin-tight T-shirts for my developing body.
I might not have noticed at all, except for the fact that boys began to stripe their fingers down girls’ backs yelping, “Bra!