It’s starting to get colder now. Looks like we’re having an early fall. Mom said I should get a cardigan to wear under my jacket on the way to school, so I went into my dresser drawer to look for my favourite sweater. Actually, my only cardigan, because I don’t like the other ones, hanging in my clothes closet. This was a very special favourite because I bought it myself, with my saved-up allowance and I picked it myself. Mom doesn’t like it. When I put it on, I just couldn’t believe it. It was ruined!
I took it downstairs to show it to Mom. And she said, “oh dear, I was afraid of that!”
“Of what, what were you afraid of? Why is my sweater such a mess?”
“I’m sorry, Dear. I was in a hurry and washed and dried it electrically rather than by hand. But it’s not ruined. I think it looks great. It fits you fine, Dear”, she said encouragingly.
Like I’m some little kid who believes anything I’m told.
“I feel like crying, Mom. I’ve got one, just one sweater I really like. I picked it out myself, I bought it myself. It’s the only one I like and it’s ruined!” Actually, I felt just a little hysterical, but was I ever mad! How would you feel to have your only favourite sweater ruined? “It’s all baggy now! And look at the sleeves. Look how short they are!”
“Why Dear”, she said in that soothing voice she puts on whenever she doesn’t want me to be angry with her, “it looks just fine. The sleeves are a perfect length, you just won’t cuff them anymore. And the looser look is much nicer than the cinched-in waist … don’t you think?”
“No! No, I don’t! Now what’ll I do? I have no clothes at all to wear! Just one lousy pair of jeans, a bunch of old Tee-shirts, and I haven’t even got my red sweater any more!” And I felt so sorry for myself that I started to bawl. Just like a baby. I guess it’s because of my going through puberty or something. At least that’s what Mom always says to Dad when she thinks I’m not listening.
“Why, what do you mean, you’ve nothing to wear? You have a closet full of lovely clothes. What about them?”
“Mom, when will you understand I’m not about to wear those dresses and skirts and stuff. I don’t like them. I want to wear what I’m comfortable in!”
And I could see she felt bad for me. This time I didn’t even get a free lecture on how fortunate I am, and how some kids don’t have enough to eat, and all that. I guess she felt a little guilty about being so careless with my sweater. Serves her right. So she promised that she’d go shopping with me soon, so we could get some new jeans and sweaters. I’m not looking forward to it, because I want wide-bottomed jeans and I want them to fit just right, and she thinks I should wear them comfortably sloppy and just anything will do. Mothers are so old fashioned!
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Mr. Henderson took the whole class into the teachers’ lounge this afternoon. He wanted to have a secluded place to talk with us, he said. All the areas are always noisy and there’s kids fooling around sometime, or someone’s using slides or a bunch of guys are doing oral compositions or something, Well, it was nice there, but it really stinks of tobacco smoke. And they’re telling us about the evils of tobacco. There’s ashtrays all over the place piled high with cigarette butts.
And garbage. There’s paper bags and balled plastic wrap lying on the floor beside the trash basket. They’re no better than us kids are at hitting the basket. There was an apple half eaten on a coffee table and half a bitten-into sandwich, and they smelled. How about that, and they’re always after us to clean up after ourselves! We should have a student patrol come in here every day to check up on the teachers’ untidy habits and to lecture them on the undesirability of polluting their lungs and the atmosphere, like they’re always and forever telling us. Talk about double-forked tongues, eh?
Oh yeah, the reason Mr. Henderson herded us all in there, boys and girls, was, he said, he wanted to talk to us about birth control. Birth control! Is he kidding? Well, he wasn’t, and he did. I mean, he talked to us about all that stuff, including respect for our bodies and others’. Like, I knew most of it all before, because we talk about all that stuff at home too, kind of. It’s mostly a bore.
Most of the guys were red-faced and the girls were giggling, so you could hardly hear what-all he was saying, but he did try. I’m sure he meant well, and he really did try to get us to shut up and listen to what he was saying, but no one could keep a straight face. Well, almost no one.
Finally, he ended the lecture by telling us that even the best contraceptives fail sometimes. And is he ever terrific! He told us he has four little failure-results at home! He’s a great teacher.
Well, you can imagine we all had something to talk about at tutorial later, sitting in the library. Sure, we were supposed to be doing a project on the West Coast Indians, but I bet all the other tables were just like ours.
“Personally”, Sally said (leave it to her, even if we were having fun she would have to go and spoil it all) “I prefer the method, what’s it called? Of taking my temperature every day. I think that’s great. Whenever the thermometer reads a hundred and twenty I know it’s time to call the fire department!” And she laughed and laughed.
“There’s one method he forgot about”, Donna said, snickering, and I was so surprised at her … she’s usually so mousy. “He didn’t mention exercising.”
“Exercising? I never heard of that one. What for do you exercise?” Laura asked, letting herself right into the trap. I’d never bother asking; the answer would always come anyway.
“Not what for, stupid. You’re supposed to ask, before or after?”
“Before or after what?” Laura asked and she meant it. Then she realized, and did she ever blush.
Sally was laughing so hard, she had her head down on the table and she kept thumping it with her fist. Diane looked a little anxious or confused or something, and me and Jennifer just shook our shoulders at each other. It looked like Donna really appreciated Sally’s response to her little joke.
“Instead of! Instead of! Get it?” And Donna and Sally laughed their fool heads off. God, how boring. They think that’s smart. I thought sex was making love and that’s supposed to be beautiful, Mom says. I wouldn’t laugh like that about something beautiful.
I don’t think Mr. Henderson meant this when he gave that little lecture. And of course, every other table was loud and noisy this time and Mrs. Barker was really mad. Mom was there at the library desk and she kept looking over at us. I was embarrassed. Mrs. Barker came over all huffy and told the whole class to get back to our area.
Just before the last bell rang for dismissal in the afternoon, I heard Mom being paged over the P.A by Mr. Levesque. Now I’m in for it. I just can’t wait until I get home. I won’t have to wait either. Mom’ll tell me all about it, I’m sure.
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