Reunited and It Feels So Good

Last night, I attended a reunion of my elementary school class mates, who I haven’t seen in 20 years. During my drive to an LA suburb late on a Wednesday night, I battled with my inner schoolmarm. Don’t drink too much. Don’t stay out too late. Be on time to work in the morning. Blah, blah, blah. She (Lady Marm-alade) piped up so much during the day that I almost didn’t go. Save for the (correct) assumption that I would regret not going, I would have stayed snuggled on the couch with my sweetie, drinking a glass of wine and watching Top Chef. This morning, however, every part of my being is happy I went.

We were a close knit group in the 80’s. We went to a relatively small private school and spent all of our time, both in and out of school, together. As we discussed last night, it was the best time of our lives – before divorces, before worries and bad attitudes - before adolescence.

I, however, was ahead of my time in the adolescence department back then, as one of my fellow classmates reminded me. He told me he had one distinct memory of me. I prepared for deep embarrassment. I was the class clown and was always in trouble for something totally embarrassing, yet I was never embarrassed THEN. He told me that mine was the first bra he’d ever seen. I am some boy’s first bra memory. My face got hot.

I do remember the bra debacle because it was a source of tension between my mother and me. She let me romp around third grade with booby nubs for too long…jumping rope, running, providing a little too much shimmy for others to behold, so I needed to be held.
On the first day of fourth grade, she put her foot down.

“You’re wearing that bra today, and every day from now on. If you take it off, I will find out. I will instruct your teacher to tell me if you remove it and you will get in trouble.”

In the early September heat, I put on that damn bra and a TANK TOP, which was the beginning of the end. There it is folks – the day my modesty was born. No other girls my age had to wear a bra. I was different, and I’ve felt different ever since.

I was Bra Girl! He told me I sat in front of him, wearing my tank top, sporting my Pat Benatar circa 1987 haircut. Being the overachiever that I was, I raised my hand to answer a question, and TA-DA! The bra! I don’t remember this part (selective purging for self preservation?), but he told me everyone in class was gawking and laughing at the sight of my undergarments peeking out from my sleeveless top. It all makes sense now.

Aside from that humiliating romp down memory lane, I had a great time! I am astonished at how much everyone is just the same as I remember. My mom used to tell me how different I’d be when I was an adult, but that’s not true. We may change our opinions from time to time, but we are still a bunch of ten year olds. I still chatter away a mile a minute, and my laughter can still be heard above everyone else’s. I still blush at the thought of strangers seeing my undergarments and boys acknowledging my boobies, and I’m still happy to see old friends.