It was a hot mid-summer day, the moment everything changed.
Life couldn’t have been better; I was 11 years old and sitting in the grass near the deep end of the Loudonville public pool. I guess it could’ve been better. Concrete and a few chairs would’ve been nice, but why quibble? I’m not here to harass the fine taxpayers of Ashland County, Ohio.
I was too young to be home alone, so I had tagged along with my dad and his housepainting crew, like I did every day. Unfortunately for them, I often packed a bag full of joke books and would station myself on a blanket near their ladders to read every last one aloud.
One morning, when I was about halfway through my killer volume of aardvark riddles, my dad offered to pay Joel Barnhill, one of his high-school crew members, to start driving me to the pool over their lunch break in his mint-green Pinto. They never did get to hear who an aardvark’s favorite singer was. (Frank Si-nostril!) Their gigantic loss.
For a middle schooler in a town of 3,000, the Loudonville pool was the social scene. I loved hanging out there, despite having zero game. It’s hard to look cool when you’re racewalking, butt held high, to avoid the lifeguard’s whistle.
I was as flat as a board, with chlorine-greened hair my mom called "cotton candy" whenever she’d force me to sit so that she could comb out the endless tangles. I wore a nose plug on an elastic cord around my neck. My teeth were ten sizes too big for my face.
I did have one thing going for me: I was all legs. And I was flexible. I could whip both of my feet behind my head without using my hands. It was the only trick I had, and one I loved to trot out. It got me attention.
Until the day it…got me attention.
I sat in the grass, waiting with my friends Kelly, Amanda, and Amy for the hourly 15-minute rest period to end so that we could get back into the water. A few boys sat with us, classmates we’d known since kindergarten. None of us were of flirting age yet: brother-sister vibes only.
Lounging in my ruffled lavender one-piece, I finished fake-smoking my pretzel rod from the snack bar and decided it was time to shake things up. "Watch this!" I announced, whipping my legs behind my head, ready for the oohs and aahs of the crowd.
Instead, all I saw was an ever-so-slight head tilt from one of the boys, his curious eyes looking not at my feet, but toward a previously undiscovered region of my body. Something had changed. Those brother vibes were being overpowered by the wily new preteen hormones flooding his system.
Meanwhile, nothing but shame flooded mine. I hadn’t gotten my first period yet and was nowhere near puberty. I was still several years away from spying the Playgirl pictures my older sister’s friend had pasted into a birthday card and feeling a Christmas-in-my-pants tingling the likes of which I’d never known.
All it took was that one little head tilt and I knew: it was time to get a new party trick and put my legs away for good. Maybe I’d double down on the aardvark jokes. Those, they would never anticipate.
First, a huge thank you to new paid subscribers Carolyn E. and Laura B. for supporting my work—for you, I put my legs behind my head one last time and bow in thanks!
Second, some exciting news! I’ve successfully bullied one of my talented workshop participants into starting a Substack, We Are Same. Read her first post and you’ll see why. Congrats, Amy!
Thanks so much, Teach! I'll take your type of "bullying" any day.
I can understand why that memory is seared in your brain. I’ll bet you remember the date too?