I got angrier and angrier through grade school. Heterosexual grooming became bold. In 7th grade, I won the school spelling bee which qualified me for a regional event. On the day of the event, I was told I could not go because the skirt I was wearing was not past my knees in length (barely). I was 12 years old and certainly not buying my own clothes. Naturally, a boy went instead. I was athletic and could run fast and excelled on gymnastic equipment in PE. No sports offered, only cheerleading. At home, four younger brothers were raised by a completely different code of behavior. And, there’s so much more. Yes, I was pissed. Sadly, my coping skills were self defeating and it has taken a lifetime to begin to understand the systematic squashing of the female.
I love this exposé. Thank you Blanche. You have brought me back to consider a very happy time in my life. Upon reflection certain things seemed super weird – like why would your principal have a paddle and why did the boys get to play handball against the wall before I did? why were pull-ups so hard and climbing that knotted rope to the ceiling of the gym when the boys could do it easily?
Lots of stuff to say here so buckle up. Would love to talk with you in person about this one day. So much more to say!
As a heterosexual woman your reminiscence made me look back on the possibility of having been groomed. I certainly experienced many of the things that you did in my little western Massachusetts town, but also had the benefit of growing up with loads of older boys and learning to play baseball with them and when I was younger running around with my best friend Morgan Davis who was a year older than I and male.
We lived in the country and our imaginations ran wild along with our feet- Usually bare & Because Morgan didn’t wear a shirt neither did I when we were bombing around in the pasture or the woods or on “the rocks“ where we pretended to ride steeds into battle . It was pure freedom and, diametrically opposed to “little girl manners“ imposed at school and in church. I liked my dresses and my jeans equally. I liked my Easter outfits and singing in church choir. I didn’t like it so so much when I was running around in my Easter outfit and slid through a pile of dog poop in my sandals however. That did not go over well with my parents! Nor did I like having to be quiet during the Methodist-minister’s sermons, however.
I was made to play goalie with a shovel or a broomstick on Berkshire pond because the boys didn’t want to be goalie they wanted to hit slap shots and if I wanted to play I had to play in go for a good long time. It was kind of scary at first and then thrilling. One of them would eventually trade places with me but I was certainly in goal a lot.
With much older siblings my brother’s two boys are three and six years younger than me. My father was often up on my brother’s dairy Farm fixing a tractor – where I learned to drive a stick by the way – and playing with Preston and Michael on 200 acres was delightful. Stuffing hay down each other‘s shirts- if we were wearing them- in the hay digging potatoes and generally ramming around fishing there or with my grandmother with a string tied to a tree branch. Memories. I spent a lot of time with boys growing up and with “Tom boy girls“ as we were called. I liked nothing better than to find an orange newt or a daddy long legs. Big spiders and snakes I could do without but all the rest was just country life for me.
So I guess while looking back things seem crazy in some ways- particularly the rules at school about bathroom passes and having to be quiet in class – not easy for me- mine was a pretty balanced upbringing. I didn’t feel particularly groomed one way or the other. I felt like I could pick and choose a lot of my activities and interests and male or female friends. I still have some of my matchbox cars collection which always reminds me of sitting in the warm dirt of mine or Morgan‘s driveway and building roadways and tracks. I had a doll name Molly whom I treasured but didn’t have a long doll phase because I moved onto horses and spent a lot of time learning how to take care of and train one with my dad.
More on this subject please. It warms my heart to hear more and more about your childhood and to reflect on my own. Maybe someday we can talk in person. 🫶
I think one important difference might be our age? Once sexual feelings arose it began to feel dangerous to be a girl. And then WHAT? Now I’m bleeding from my crotch? (Such an ugly word, too) If my arm was bleeding like that, we would be making an Emergency Room visit.
Isn't it unbelievable to look back at this stuff? And there's this crazy idea out there about 'homosexual grooming', as if being oneself is a problem....
Thank you for writing and posting this. In response to my fascistic grade school I developed a geography rash, which would break out every time my teacher rolled down the big map that covered the blackboard. I loved the raising of hands, one finger or two finger. Please keep writing and posting. It warms my heart.
I got angrier and angrier through grade school. Heterosexual grooming became bold. In 7th grade, I won the school spelling bee which qualified me for a regional event. On the day of the event, I was told I could not go because the skirt I was wearing was not past my knees in length (barely). I was 12 years old and certainly not buying my own clothes. Naturally, a boy went instead. I was athletic and could run fast and excelled on gymnastic equipment in PE. No sports offered, only cheerleading. At home, four younger brothers were raised by a completely different code of behavior. And, there’s so much more. Yes, I was pissed. Sadly, my coping skills were self defeating and it has taken a lifetime to begin to understand the systematic squashing of the female.
I hear you all the way down.
I love this exposé. Thank you Blanche. You have brought me back to consider a very happy time in my life. Upon reflection certain things seemed super weird – like why would your principal have a paddle and why did the boys get to play handball against the wall before I did? why were pull-ups so hard and climbing that knotted rope to the ceiling of the gym when the boys could do it easily?
Lots of stuff to say here so buckle up. Would love to talk with you in person about this one day. So much more to say!
As a heterosexual woman your reminiscence made me look back on the possibility of having been groomed. I certainly experienced many of the things that you did in my little western Massachusetts town, but also had the benefit of growing up with loads of older boys and learning to play baseball with them and when I was younger running around with my best friend Morgan Davis who was a year older than I and male.
We lived in the country and our imaginations ran wild along with our feet- Usually bare & Because Morgan didn’t wear a shirt neither did I when we were bombing around in the pasture or the woods or on “the rocks“ where we pretended to ride steeds into battle . It was pure freedom and, diametrically opposed to “little girl manners“ imposed at school and in church. I liked my dresses and my jeans equally. I liked my Easter outfits and singing in church choir. I didn’t like it so so much when I was running around in my Easter outfit and slid through a pile of dog poop in my sandals however. That did not go over well with my parents! Nor did I like having to be quiet during the Methodist-minister’s sermons, however.
I was made to play goalie with a shovel or a broomstick on Berkshire pond because the boys didn’t want to be goalie they wanted to hit slap shots and if I wanted to play I had to play in go for a good long time. It was kind of scary at first and then thrilling. One of them would eventually trade places with me but I was certainly in goal a lot.
With much older siblings my brother’s two boys are three and six years younger than me. My father was often up on my brother’s dairy Farm fixing a tractor – where I learned to drive a stick by the way – and playing with Preston and Michael on 200 acres was delightful. Stuffing hay down each other‘s shirts- if we were wearing them- in the hay digging potatoes and generally ramming around fishing there or with my grandmother with a string tied to a tree branch. Memories. I spent a lot of time with boys growing up and with “Tom boy girls“ as we were called. I liked nothing better than to find an orange newt or a daddy long legs. Big spiders and snakes I could do without but all the rest was just country life for me.
So I guess while looking back things seem crazy in some ways- particularly the rules at school about bathroom passes and having to be quiet in class – not easy for me- mine was a pretty balanced upbringing. I didn’t feel particularly groomed one way or the other. I felt like I could pick and choose a lot of my activities and interests and male or female friends. I still have some of my matchbox cars collection which always reminds me of sitting in the warm dirt of mine or Morgan‘s driveway and building roadways and tracks. I had a doll name Molly whom I treasured but didn’t have a long doll phase because I moved onto horses and spent a lot of time learning how to take care of and train one with my dad.
More on this subject please. It warms my heart to hear more and more about your childhood and to reflect on my own. Maybe someday we can talk in person. 🫶
I think one important difference might be our age? Once sexual feelings arose it began to feel dangerous to be a girl. And then WHAT? Now I’m bleeding from my crotch? (Such an ugly word, too) If my arm was bleeding like that, we would be making an Emergency Room visit.
In kindergarten, I headed straight for “the boy’s toys”, because I already had dolls at home. I was steered away.
I hear you, and this is an excellent piece of writing. “…the systematic squashing of the female” will stay with me.
Isn't it unbelievable to look back at this stuff? And there's this crazy idea out there about 'homosexual grooming', as if being oneself is a problem....
Thank you for writing and posting this. In response to my fascistic grade school I developed a geography rash, which would break out every time my teacher rolled down the big map that covered the blackboard. I loved the raising of hands, one finger or two finger. Please keep writing and posting. It warms my heart.
I love the 'geography rash'!
Thank you Blanche. It's great to hear your experience and your voice! I hope all is well with you!♥️
Thriving....I'm starting to think there might be a wider audience out there for my posts....If you saw this on FB, would you repost it?
Yes I'm learning how this works