riding the crest of the big o without ever leaving my bathtub
by kerry lee daniel

The year was 1957. Wavy black and white images of America’s most popular couples—Lucy and Desi, Roy and Dale, Ozzie and Harriet, Lassie and Jeff—flickered across television screens in every neighborhood living room. But only Lassie and Jeff got to sleep together.

The other couples held hands across the great divide between their separate twin beds, whispering dispassionate “Goodnight, Honeys” into the darkness. I was only ten years old, yet I thought that was so strange. I never talked about these observations with my friends. I also never told them I was obsessed with Annette Funicello on the Mickey Mouse Club. That I was breathless watching her womanhood blossom before my eyes, sighed as her breasts bobbed enthusiastically beneath the “A” and the “E” that spelled out her name on her sparkling white polo shirt. Somehow I knew in the deepest part of me that they would think that was strange too.

It was a year of great discovery that began in school with the adventures of Chris Columbus, Lewis & Clark, Davy Crockett, and Daniel Boone. And it climaxed in my bathroom at home with a personal, and quite accidental discovery I was certain surpassed any thrills experienced by those swashbuckling men. However, I don’t want to skip ahead too quickly because there is considerable ground to cover in between.
My joyous discovery came on the heels of one of the most embarrassing revelations of my life up until that point. During my routine visit to the pediatrician, my mother learned in a hushed conversation with the doctor that I was maturing quickly. My tiny budding breasts, so comfortable and free, would soon grow and burst forth from the seams of my Montgomery Ward white cotton undershirt and require confinement in a training bra. And that was just the ugly beginning. Puberty was peaking around the corner. It was all happening much too quickly for Mother. She experienced her first wave of anxiety when I entered the world too early and too small, and another when I walked at 9 months without ever crawling. This latest development—me crossing the threshold from childhood to womanhood at age ten—was sure to drive her right over the edge. She was simply not prepared. And she was clearly uncomfortable explaining the facts of life to me.

The words came in short, halting sentences from her candy red lips. Her hazel eyes darted all over the room as she told me about periods with blood, lots of blood. And she showed me the secret equipment I would have to wear, hidden away in the linen closet behind innocent sheets and towels. Huge, thick pads fastened to an elastic sanitary napkin belt with jagged metal clips that could pinch or even bite if you weren’t careful. She said I would have to learn to carry a purse because a girl had to have something in which to haul all these “sanitary items.” That’s what she called them, sanitary items. Listening to all the gory details, though, I couldn’t figure what was sanitary about any of it. And looking at all the stuff, the gear, I had a feeling I might need something much larger than a purse. Perhaps a small American Tourister suitcase. Then at the end she mentioned excruciating cramps that often came with the period, sometimes lasting a day or two. The more I heard, the more I wondered how something so hugely awful came to be named for the smallest punctuation mark. When my mother finished her short speech, I made a decision. I was not going to have periods. And that was that.

Being a strong-willed Taurean child, I was shocked when my first period arrived against my wishes. It was every bit as inconvenient and unpleasant as my mother had described—and more. My “friend” visited that first time at recess while I was playing dodge ball on the playground, and by the time I got home the cramps had settled in for a long stay. My mother was right, it was excruciating. I knew in that moment if having a baby was anywhere near that painful, I would be a nun. Still trying to have my way about the immediate situation, though, I decided I would get rid of my period all at once. Simply wash it away. No seven days on a rag for me.

When I got home from school that afternoon, I locked myself in the bathroom and stripped off my clothes. Then I climbed in the tub, turned on a steady stream of warm water and laid under the faucet. Cascades of delicious liquid caressed my personal parts while visions of Annette Funicello danced in my head. It felt so good I just stayed there, who knows for how long. When you’re a kid, every hour is an eternity. Then suddenly, from out of nowhere, a wave of pure ecstasy rose to a crescendo deep within my body and reverberated through every cell of my being. I thrashed around for a few minutes in the bathtub, totally unaware of anything or anyone around me. Later I remember being glad my parents weren’t home from work yet and that my brother was laughing in front of the TV. No one would know my marvelous secret.
When I sat up I was amazed. Not only had my period stopped, but the cramps had been replaced by a warm, relaxed feeling in all my girly parts. I was disappointed an hour later when the period returned, yet happy because the pain was definitely not as intense. In a week, just as Mother had promised, my period stopped. What didn’t stop was my desire to repeat the bathtub ritual on an almost daily basis. And though I was pretty sly, my new routine didn’t go unnoticed. I was a total tomboy, and until that year my parents had to coax and prod me nightly to take a bath. Now, they couldn’t get me out of the tub. And long after I should have finished my bath, the water would still be running. When Dad hollered through the bathroom door, “What are you doing?” I would always shout back, “I’m cleaning the tub.” I was sure I’d been caught once when he came in after a particularly long bath and discovered the cleaning rag was completely dry. He was so into searching for evidence, it was like living with Sherlock Holmes. But I did not confess.

The next summer we moved from that rented apartment to a new house in a cookie cutter subdivision in the Maryland suburbs outside Washington, D.C. That was when I first learned the finer points of home ownership. Living in the apartment, Mom and Dad had just one bill every month – the rent. After living in the new house for just a few weeks, Dad came home one night and opened the water bill. I had never before seen such a look of horror on anyone’s face. He puzzled over it for hours, wondering how a frugal family of four that counted their toilet paper sheets could have used so much water. Even with summer lawn watering. He called the water company to come back and re-read the meter. Days later the verdict was in; the meter was right. We had definitely used the water for something. I smiled to myself, but I did not confess.
The secret bathtub ritual continued through my high school years. Every month my father would open the bill, scratch his head, puzzle over the matter, then disappear into his room for hours to rework the family budget. I’m sure our water bill was higher than any of the neighbors with similar sized houses. Yet I wonder if anyone who lived behind those doors knew what extraordinary pleasure could be theirs for just a few extra dollars a month.

I remember one time thinking back to the beginning of my secret. Those days in fourth grade reading the exploits of Chris Columbus, Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, Lewis & Clark and inventors like Thomas Edison and all the others. Their discoveries made history and were written in textbooks read by every school kid in America. I wondered why I would probably never read the exciting adventures of a 10-year-old girl, discovering her body and its wondrous capabilities for the very first time. That was then. This is now. Today I say, “Why not?”

Kerry Lee Daniel is a writer, marketing consultant and Reiki practitioner. She is currently developing a series of seminars and playshops to support her soon-to-be-published book, “Heart 2 Heart.” She lives in a treehouse apartment in Fairview with her feline companions, Barney and Ben.
[ 828-628-6826;kerrydaniel41@aol.com ]