I started to “develop” when I was in the 5th grade.
I didn’t even notice until one bright fall day–the sun illuminating the quilt-like array of red and yellow and green and orange leaves on the ground and keeping the mid-October chill at bay.I was running around at our fall reunion–we call it the Annual McKinney Chowder–kicking leaves and kickballs, chasing my cousins, spying on the big kids who were setting up the hay ride when one of my uncles motioned for me.
He was standing at the big cast iron pot of chowder (for those of you not from southern Illinois or Indiana or any of the other states where chowder is a fall staple; chowder is a conglomeration of vegetables–a real empty the cellar sort of thing–and meat–we’re talking whatever you can find, squirrel, beef, chicken, game birds, turkey, pork, you get the idea). He was stirring the thick stew with a smooth wooden paddle, and when he yelled at me, I ran over, my short hair sweaty as well as unwashed, my hands and knees grass and dirt-stained. When I think of it now, I realize that it might have been the last time I was truly free in my body. Of course, I didn’t know this then.
“What?” I rushed toward my uncle, the chowder pot, and all the men in overalls and ball caps standing around warming by the fire, smoking cigarettes, telling jokes.
“You got a chest cold?” my uncle asked. I knew he wasn’t asking me about a cold, not really, because he was grinning like he was playing a joke. I stood there looking at him, looking around at the other men, my other uncles and their friends, and they got it, the joke. But I didn’t. It seemed like forever that I stood there and tried to wrap my mind around whatever it was he was saying to me; whatever it was that I almost got, the elusive joke.
“No,” I said, “I don’t think so.” I looked around, hoping to figure out what I was missing, but they all just grinned and looked at eachother.
“Well,” my uncle said to me, “I just thought you might have a chest cold because your chest is so swollen.”
Man. I hate that this happened to you as a little girl. Did you ever talk to the uncle about it?
What an awful comment! I’m so sorry!
I would have been totally embarrassed to have this happen to me in front of other men. Also, your uncle did not seem to have any situational awareness by blurting this out to you. I am sorry that this happened to you!