Reflections of a younger me…

I just turned 13 years old and it’s 6:00 p.m. on a Friday night. I’m getting ready for our last school dance of the year. I start early, because I want to look really good tonight. I do my best to calm down my unruly hair—I put some lip gloss on and a little mascara. I lay out my clothes, deciding what to wear and quickly opt for my snug jeans and my sleeveless, light blue blouse that fits just right and shows my slender shape. I dab on some of my scented lotion, put on my turquoise bracelet and silver rings, and finally, slide my feet into my leather sandals and take a long look in the mirror. I’m not sure if I like what I see, so I yell for my sister and she comes quickly. We have a rating system that we use; “Good, Bad, or X” which stands for extra good. Dumb I know, but it works for us. I ask Martha, “How do I look?” She replies with no hesitation “X, definitely X” and I squeal in delight.

Martha’s boyfriend gives me and my friends a ride because he’s the only one with a license and a car, and it’s a nice car. A black GTO with cool rims and tires and it’s always immaculate. We pile in and Jeff gets us to our destination. My girlfriends and I jump out and quickly sneak to the back of the building before anyone sees us. We each drink two beers from the six-pack we got someone to buy us, and we drink them fast. I mean, we guzzle them down! In between the burps and giggles, we find ourselves having a lot of fun. I remember my body feeling light and tingly.

The music at the dance is loud and we are moving to it. Our eyes sparkling, the beat pulsing through our bodies, and it’s exciting. As the night goes on, the tingling starts fading, the music slowing, and we’re growing tired.

The last song of the night starts, and it’s a slow one, Heatwave ~ “Always and Forever”. Sam Eastridge saunters over and politely asks me to dance. I like Sam. He’s cute and fun, so it’s a yes from me. He takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. Our young bodies are close, and we’re swaying to the rhythm of the music. My hands on his shoulders, cheeks almost touching, and I get lost in it. I feel Sam’s hands on my lower back, and then he moves them down to my pockets. He uses both his hands to unzip the zippered, back pockets of my jeans, and he slowly, carefully, slips his hands in them. I pull back, look at him in surprise, and he looks at me with eyebrows raised “That ok?”, I’m shocked and a bit unsure of what to do, so I nod, “Ya, I guess” and we continue dancing until the music ends and the lights come on.

We say our goodbyes, wait for our ride and climb in Jeff’s car. It’s quiet on the way home. We pull up to my house, I say goodnight to my friends, and slowly walk up the stairs to our front door and I fumble with it. It’s pitch dark and I can’t see what I’m doing. I remember secretly wishing someone had turned the porch light on for me, and hoping someone was waiting up for me; wishing that my mom and dad didn’t drink, and that they would stay up and make sure I got home ok. But no one is waiting up.

I change into my pajamas, wipe my make-up off, brush my teeth and go to bed. Martha and I share a room, and she hears me come in. She wakes and asks “How was it?”, I respond, “It was fun, I guess”, “Good, ok, goodnight”, “Goodnight” and I crawl in my bed. I lay there for a bit but sleep doesn’t come. I’m confused by this ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t quite know what’s bothering me, but something is and I feel like I might cry.

In the days and weeks to come, I see the boys whispering in the hallway and looking at me. I hear them laughing and making comments about how nicely I fill out my jeans. They talk about my zippered pockets and Sam’s hands being in them during that dance. Some of them were even brave enough to ask me to wear them to the next dance. I laughed it off, told them they were dumb, and eventually everyone forgot about it.

Forty plus years later as I write this and reflect, I remember that night and dance vividly. I was so young and unsure of myself. I was confused about how my body was changing and the attention I was starting to get. All normal, all part of growing up and exploring the world, so I wonder…why do I remember every detail of that night? The sound of the music, the boys looking at me, the smell of Jeff’s clean car, I remember all of it.

I never did wear those jeans again, and I was not mad at Sam. We were both so young. He was a nice boy and always kind to me, but I wonder why I didn’t tell him to stop. I wonder why I was drinking beer at just 13 years old. I look back and wonder a lot of things. And that feeling I had when I was laying in bed? I think it was a shade of shame. Not intense. Not blaring. But shame nonetheless.

We need to be in relationship with, and talk to the young people in our lives. We need to ask questions and take time to really listen. We need to talk about what we know about life, our bodies and all the feelings that they will certainly have to deal with. We know that beauty radiates from your heart; not from your dress size or the clothes you wear. We know that the character and integrity of those you hang out with is really important and will influence you in big ways. We need to talk about boundaries, having a voice, and what to do when you feel uncomfortable. And we need to leave the porch light on and wait up for our kids. It just might be the right time to talk about important “life” stuff.

That night when I came home so many years ago, I needed something. Reassurance, validation, comfort maybe. Something! If someone had been waiting up for me, I may not have talked and shared what was going on, but maybe I would have.

We need to walk alongside the young people in our life and speak truth into their hearts, so they see themselves the way Christ sees them; wonderfully and fearfully made. Precious. Pure. Strong. Enough.