How You Know That You’re Not a Child Anymore − April, 1976
OK, you might think that for a girl, it’s getting your period or needing a training bra. For boys, well, maybe it’s wet dreams. I’m not a boy, so I can’t really speak to that. But for me, it came much earlier.
Yesterday, at the hardware store, I watched two little girls that a man my age had brought along with him. As I waited in line behind them, I wondered whether the man would teach his daughters how to use the things he bought at the hardware store. I hoped so. I’ve always wished that I had learned more about that sort of thing as a kid. The girls were both patient and well behaved. After the man had paid his bill, the clerk pulled out a box of lollipops, from which each girl chose a sugary treat. Aha, I thought! This was the way to keep kids from complaining when you took them shopping!
Suddenly, I remembered how, as a child, my mother would bring me along with her when she went to the bakery. The nice old ladies in the bakery would always give me a free “donut hole”. A sugary ball of cake-y goodness, it was the treat that made being hauled around during my mom’s errands worth it.
Then remembered the day when my mom and I went to the bakery and the nice old ladies did NOT give me a donut hole. I was flabbergasted. What did this mean? Was I not a child anymore? Apparently not, at least according to these ladies. I never again received a free donut hole from that bakery. I don’t know what tipped the ladies off. I don’t think that my breasts had begun budding yet.
I was disappointed, and it felt strange that someone else had perceived a change that I had not. To this day, I have no idea what these ladies saw in me that made them think that I was no longer a child.
I mentioned my memory to the hardware store clerk. He said, “Wow, it must have been a traumatic day if you still remember it!” I had to laugh. It hadn’t been especially traumatic, but indeed, considering how many things about childhood I’ve probably forgotten, it is funny that I should remember that particular day so clearly.
Yesterday, at the hardware store, I watched two little girls that a man my age had brought along with him. As I waited in line behind them, I wondered whether the man would teach his daughters how to use the things he bought at the hardware store. I hoped so. I’ve always wished that I had learned more about that sort of thing as a kid. The girls were both patient and well behaved. After the man had paid his bill, the clerk pulled out a box of lollipops, from which each girl chose a sugary treat. Aha, I thought! This was the way to keep kids from complaining when you took them shopping!
Suddenly, I remembered how, as a child, my mother would bring me along with her when she went to the bakery. The nice old ladies in the bakery would always give me a free “donut hole”. A sugary ball of cake-y goodness, it was the treat that made being hauled around during my mom’s errands worth it.
Then remembered the day when my mom and I went to the bakery and the nice old ladies did NOT give me a donut hole. I was flabbergasted. What did this mean? Was I not a child anymore? Apparently not, at least according to these ladies. I never again received a free donut hole from that bakery. I don’t know what tipped the ladies off. I don’t think that my breasts had begun budding yet.
I was disappointed, and it felt strange that someone else had perceived a change that I had not. To this day, I have no idea what these ladies saw in me that made them think that I was no longer a child.
I mentioned my memory to the hardware store clerk. He said, “Wow, it must have been a traumatic day if you still remember it!” I had to laugh. It hadn’t been especially traumatic, but indeed, considering how many things about childhood I’ve probably forgotten, it is funny that I should remember that particular day so clearly.
