A year or so later, when I was eleven, I got the “curse.” I was
horrified at the blood on my pajamas and between my legs. I
remembered my mother’s blood. She had tried to tell me about
menstruation, but I had blocked her words, and now I had it. She
fitted me with a fold of clean cloth in my underwear, secured it
with two safety pins, and told me to go to school. I didn’t want
to go.
“You’ll just have to get used to it,” she had said.
At school, I avoided my friends because I knew that everyone
could see the blood and this thing between my legs. I felt distant
from everyone. The girls were giggling and silly. They didn’t have
the curse. I hated them.
When I had developed breasts, she had made me a bra. It was
a beautiful creation made of pink satin with delicate embroidered
roses on the cups.
“A French bra,” she had said proudly as she gave it to me.
an excerpt from my memoir Growing Up Weird: A memoir of an Oak Bay childhood from the chapter titled The Curse.. this would have been around 1950. I am doing a second printing of my book and it will be available by mid March. cheers, Liz Forbes lizmax@shaw.ca
One day I was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, petting
Pippa, my cocker spaniel. She was sleeping in her usual spot,
half under the woodstove, when Mum came in the back door,
bringing a burst of cold air. She dropped her grocery bag on the
table, pulled back a chair, and sat to take off her winter boots. I
watched my pretty mother as she lifted her foot to reach the heel
of her boot. From where I sat, I could see right up her leg. Her
plaid, pleated skirt was tossed back, revealing a white slip and
white underpants and blood. Lots of blood. Bright red blood was
on her legs and on her slip. For a moment, I glimpsed dark blood
on her underpants before she put her leg down. I watched as she
lifted her other leg, and it was the same — gluey, bright red blood
everywhere. I wondered if she knew that she was bleeding.
“Put the groceries away, would you, Lizzie dear? I’m going to
lie down for a while.” She didn’t usually lie down in the middle
of the day.
In that minute, I thought for certain that she was dying.
I wondered if I should tell Daddy about Mum when he
came home, but I couldn’t find the words to tell him that she was
bleeding to death. Daddy made supper, and Mum stayed in bed.
This is a page before in my book Growing Up Weird...to give you the context...and this was all I was taught about having a period...it was a 'curse' a bloody curse...never to be talked about! cheers, Liz Forbes
I'm a new subscriber and first, thanks! I like what you wrote on the first page about your new book and the period stories. And you know, I love that maxi-pad cover.
A year or so later, when I was eleven, I got the “curse.” I was
horrified at the blood on my pajamas and between my legs. I
remembered my mother’s blood. She had tried to tell me about
menstruation, but I had blocked her words, and now I had it. She
fitted me with a fold of clean cloth in my underwear, secured it
with two safety pins, and told me to go to school. I didn’t want
to go.
“You’ll just have to get used to it,” she had said.
At school, I avoided my friends because I knew that everyone
could see the blood and this thing between my legs. I felt distant
from everyone. The girls were giggling and silly. They didn’t have
the curse. I hated them.
When I had developed breasts, she had made me a bra. It was
a beautiful creation made of pink satin with delicate embroidered
roses on the cups.
“A French bra,” she had said proudly as she gave it to me.
an excerpt from my memoir Growing Up Weird: A memoir of an Oak Bay childhood from the chapter titled The Curse.. this would have been around 1950. I am doing a second printing of my book and it will be available by mid March. cheers, Liz Forbes lizmax@shaw.ca
HI Liz, This is wonderful! Thanks for sharing!
One day I was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, petting
Pippa, my cocker spaniel. She was sleeping in her usual spot,
half under the woodstove, when Mum came in the back door,
bringing a burst of cold air. She dropped her grocery bag on the
table, pulled back a chair, and sat to take off her winter boots. I
watched my pretty mother as she lifted her foot to reach the heel
of her boot. From where I sat, I could see right up her leg. Her
plaid, pleated skirt was tossed back, revealing a white slip and
white underpants and blood. Lots of blood. Bright red blood was
on her legs and on her slip. For a moment, I glimpsed dark blood
on her underpants before she put her leg down. I watched as she
lifted her other leg, and it was the same — gluey, bright red blood
everywhere. I wondered if she knew that she was bleeding.
“Put the groceries away, would you, Lizzie dear? I’m going to
lie down for a while.” She didn’t usually lie down in the middle
of the day.
In that minute, I thought for certain that she was dying.
I wondered if I should tell Daddy about Mum when he
came home, but I couldn’t find the words to tell him that she was
bleeding to death. Daddy made supper, and Mum stayed in bed.
This is a page before in my book Growing Up Weird...to give you the context...and this was all I was taught about having a period...it was a 'curse' a bloody curse...never to be talked about! cheers, Liz Forbes
Hi Kathryn,
I'm a new subscriber and first, thanks! I like what you wrote on the first page about your new book and the period stories. And you know, I love that maxi-pad cover.
Here's a poem you might like.
Ronna
to my last period
by Lucille Clifton
well, girl, goodbye,
after thirty-eight years.
thirty-eight years and you
never arrived
splendid in your red dress
without trouble for me
somewhere, somehow.
now it is done,
and i feel just like
the grandmothers who,
after the hussy has gone,
sit holding her photograph
and sighing, wasn’t she
beautiful? wasn’t she beautiful?
I love this Ronna! Thanks so much for sharing!