Growing up Middle(ing) - Part #4 - Periods, Boobs, Boys and Acting!

I took their instructions too literally for Freshman Initiation!

Mrs. Clarice Clowater came late to us – but she had perfect timing. We were not a class that denoted favoritism from any teacher in high school – until she arrived. She started teaching later in life and lived quite a distance from our district. When she arrived, we all felt a sense of belonging. She loved and nurtured us and cheered us on when we found our passion. We all loved and admired her unique style, enthusiasm, strength, patience, class and devotion for teaching. 

Personally, Clarice was my mentor and followed my life beyond the halls of Washburn District High School. She inspired me and encouraged me to follow my dreams of acting. I liked and loved her in equal measure and will never forget her.

Clarice Clowater, may she rest forever in Peace! I love you!

We dedicated our Senior Yearbook to Clarice and above is our dedication image!

Yearbook picture - Class of '76 - breaking and entering!

My glass isn’t half full or half empty – mine has a leak! That pretty much encapsulates what being a Middle Child (MC) encounters with each life lesson. We just keep filling up the cup!

This blog will embrace the High School years – periods, boobs, boys, acting and more than you’ll ever care to know about me and my Middle Child conceits (delusion not vanity) and concerns. 

We’ll begin with Periods!! Chapter 1 of my book – Menopause the Horror, Humility and Humor of It All!

Yes—“periods” should have a fucking exclamation point after it.

We are cursed with periods twice! Getting them and losing them!

Most of the women I know—myself included—couldn’t wait to get their period. The early bloomers gloated and smugly complained loudly about their initiation into womanhood. We all envied and hated them—but couldn’t wait to join the Menses Club. I was in my early teens when I started my first blood bath. It was a Saturday morning watching cartoons in my jammies. I was cramped and confused. I had soiled my panties with some thick mass of coagulated bloody liquid and eventually realized I had finally blossomed. Ignoring the cramps and disgusting mess—I did a little toilet jig of pride. I shoved a wad of toilet paper in my soiled panties and scavenged through the bathroom cabinet for the menstruation kit. Being a somewhat oblivious child-woman—I realized I had no idea what this “Kit” was.

This illustration says it all!

So, I bellowed for my mom. She wasn’t as thrilled at my admission into this secret society of, “Now I can get pregnant club.” So, she handed me the biggest cotton ball I’ve ever seen (called a pad) and an old stretched out elastic waistband/belt contraption with “hooks and eyes” (menstrual belt). I was mildly appalled at this well-worn garment and massive absorbent pad. Mom did not instruct me on how to use these devices—but left me in the bathroom to figure it all out on my own. I love my mom—but I was a bit disappointed in her lack of feminine compassion. Needless to say—I eventually got all hooked up—but felt like I had a pillow in my panties and that this was somehow normal?

The beginning of womanhood Is a whole other book.

I started menopause early—around 40. My period dwindled to a periodic (surprise) trickle. It ended with something from a zombie movie prop department. Doctors refer to them as “clots.” Sounds like a cute pair of Dutch shoes. If you weren’t expecting it—the clots were disturbing, to say the least. After the final death throes of your youth, you are mockingly left with about 4 boxes of tampons to remind you of the descent into “Old Age.” Bye, Bye, Aunt Flo!!! Anyway, I think youth is passé! BTW—I periodically got ghost cramps just for the hell of it!

As you can see from the excerpt above – I had limited access to menstruation information - because in that time “period” – women and girls did not discuss this common denominator that half the world shared! 

As a late bloomer – the girls in my class were not helpful before or after when I finally became a “woman” in the eyes of the world. I find it ridiculous that getting one’s period signifies (ironically) maturity. Just my ovaries were mature – I was not!

Periods carry a heavy burden for a teenager. Periods (like - The Menopause) were not a topic of conversation other than to gloat that you were a ripe cherry for pluckimg. Of course, most of us didn’t even know what that meant and couldn’t understand why they referred to periods and teenage girls as fruit?

I don’t know why I was so impatient to have monthly agonizing cramps, a deluge of blood, uncomfortable pads/tampons, mood swings, teen acne outbreaks, weight gain, etc. etc. – Aunt Flo(w) was a B**ch! I had it every month for the next 27 years – until I stopped laying eggs and was abandoned by Flo - only to replace it with The Menopause!!! In fact, Periods and Menopause have a lot in common – even in the absence of vital female biological and reproductive prerequisites (all listed in my book):

A. Bleeding vs. not Bleeding – To Bleed or Not to Bleed - equally uncomfortable question and life changing. Either way – for me – both periods and menopause were unpleasant and an ill-conceived design plan for womankind!

B. Mood Swings – They never end – you (I) start out with puberty mood swings during your period every month and then they evolve into change of life mood swings daily when you hit menopause – which over-stay their welcome for years to come – WTF! 

C. Sleeplessness – For me that ongoing issue only got exacerbated during periods. Menopause was the proverbial straw (bale) that broke that poor old camel’s back and my REM cycle.

D. Hormones vs. Crickets – Raging uncontrollable hormones are incinerated to a chorus of crickets intoning and mocking the death of your youth!

E. Weight gain – The couple times in my life that I put on pounds quickly - was getting my period and in full-blown menopause – life can be so cruel!

F. Depression – In my case – despair was always hovering and whispering in my ear – but was embraced with fervor during periods and menopause! Wallowing was my favorite pastime.

Similarities not listed in my book – Menopause the Horror, Humility and Humor of It All! – but should have been!

G. Acne - Periods caused pimple outbreaks that took the rest of the month to clear up – a “viscous” cycle – while menopause and aging has turned me into a teenager again on a slightly drier and wrinkly scale but nonetheless embarrassing. I have benzoyl peroxide (pimple cream) in my bathroom medicine cabinet!

H. Sugar-Craving – During my periods I always craved sugar and with menopause (which never ends until my cremation) I crave sugar 24/7. My cupboard looks like a shelf at Trader Joe’s. A variety of milk and dark chocolate blended with assorted nuts. I have a 2-piece daily edict – sugar mandate - but with strict guidelines (or the adult acne would be worse).

The slap in the face moment for me was during the height of my Menopausal hubris. I foolishly believed that losing my period, hot flashes and mood swings were going to be the worst of my declining youth. I begrudgingly accepted the negative properties of having periods but garnered none of the positive hallmarks of having them – like a sex drive, supple taut skin, shiny lustrous hair, perky boobs, functional memory, surplus of hormones, etc. etc. But periods and menopause are obviously shackled together in a loveless marriage – till death do us part, Beeyatch!! I thought this was a very astute observation, however, I’m sure someone has already “astuted” the s**t out of this analogy!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, “Women are the strongest of our species!!” But teenagers don’t know anything beyond the moment and their pimply nose. Getting my period was a dream (ultimate nightmare) come true. I was finally part of the herd – I mean club. 

My next life shattering concern was my boobs. Boobs, boobies, titties, melons, breasts, udders, bosoms, knockers, hooters – you catch my drift. Now I feel an uncontrollable urge to name all the slang words for penises. Here we go! Never mind – who cares! My mother

Tubby confused Toddler!

told me recently that I came home from school one day – crying – that all the girls in my class had boobs – except me! It’s hilarious what we focus on as teens. Ironically, when I finally got those precious orbs, I also got chubby. I was plump all over – not just my chest. It was the first time since I was a tubby toddler that I started to focus on my weight. Of course,

as an infant/toddler all I wanted was food, sleep, clean diapers and lots of attention. As a blossoming teen – I wanted those titties with a demonic passion – but the extra pounds pissed me off and were Karma's way of teaching me a

Four boys and my sister Bridget!

lesson – Careful What You Wish For! Yet another concern to add to my ever-expanding list of complaints, fears and torments. I also needed a whole new wardrobe. I ultimately gave up and chose to look like a boy by my junior year. If you can’t beat the weight into submission, then join the boys club of “Who gives a F**k! I'm a boy - therefore it doesn't matter what I look like because I'm male and the superior race."

Anyway, I’ll never forget my first summer with breasts. (Sorry no pix of my fabulous Ta Ta's) I needed a new bathing suit for the Washburn swimming hole – because my young boy swimsuit no longer contained my burgeoning boobs. It felt like I was learning to walk all over again – with my boobies leading the way (like divining rods). I remember being made fun of by some of my male classmates. I didn’t know whether to be proud or mortified. But I’ll never forget my first experience as a woman/child – realizing the impact these mysterious magnetic spheres had over boys/mankind. I remember heading for the diving board area, where all the older teens hung out. I loved swimming and diving off the high-board – so I thrust out my chest and waddled my way over to risk my life and seize the day – upper classmen be damned! I got a favorable reception! One of my sister’s classmates (3 years older) who was a known “lothario” approached me with a quizzical look and said, “You’re Bridget’s sister, right?” I was shocked and a little frightened by his attention and replied, “Yes.” His faced melted into a come-hither leer and purred, “Well, you’ve grown up!” I realized that he was directing this comment to my chest and that these brand-new inflated augmentations held great power! I was still a child and had no idea how to monetize these babies yet – but I had a new mission in life. 

Tinder in the 70's! I just put a flyer around town to see if anyone would bite! Pooh Pooh Pee Doo!

Next on the blog agenda is the topic of BOYS! I was starting to notice boys more when I hit high school. I remember my first hickey! Whenever my older brother had a couple friends over – there was always a little teasing and tension. I thought I liked one of them and would follow them around or strategically be in the room they were about to enter. Regrettably I was in the living room when they burst in amidst a flurry of male high jinks and targeted me as their next sacrifice for their daily pagan ritual. While my brother and one of his friends held me down – the one I thought I liked – gave me a hickey. Now, don’t get upset by this obvious assault of three against one. I was squealing and laughing until I realized what the outcome of this ambush would result in – a large bruise on my lily-white virgin neck! I was beyond perturbed and rushed to the bathroom to see the damage. Apparently hickeys do not go away quickly. They were popular during this time-period and a badge of sexual honor. I hadn’t even dated yet and did not desire the attention it would inflict upon me. So, I wore turtlenecks – in the summer – until it faded into obscurity! I believe my brother got into trouble for this black and blue prank. I learned a vital lesson – I bruise easily!

I was a Psycho Stalker!

I had two boys that I dreamt of often. Desirous of their attention. Unfortunately I wrote sappy notes about them (mom found them and kept them in her Silly Colleen file). I yearned, pined and fantasized about our eternal (unrequited) love – but ultimately preferred the fretting and dreaming to the reality. I did go out with Jeff and Graydon. I did think it was love. I did write saccharine psychotic notes. I moved on when they didn’t live up to my fertile imagination. Actually both boys moved on first – but my heartbreak was more important to me than the actual (humiliating) break up. I thrived on drama. My internal life was far more stimulating than my external life. 

Middle Children are so f**king weird!

One thing that I’ve learned about young boys/men is – like periods and menopause – no one instructs them on how to kiss a woman (or man). I didn’t know what a good kiss was until I was an adult (18+). Sad but true. I won’t name names (even though I’d love to) but French-Kissing was the preferred method of lip-reading when I was in high school. Perfect example: we had an outdoor movie theater that held an all-nighter in the summer. This was the one time that our parents allowed us to hang out all night without adult supervision. I usually had a sibling hovering nearby – but it was a rowdy and hormone-riddled evening of possibilities! Everyone was running around and carhopping. Lots of fogged up windows. I was interested in a male friend’s brother and finally got some recognition. After much awkward flirting, he invited me into his cool hot-rod (old junker). The sexual tension and magic began and ended with our first clumsy kiss. As I leaned in with my virginal lips softly puckered, I was engulfed in a rubbery, slobbery chasm of drool. A black hole of saliva. You know the term – Wet Dream? Well, I was desperately trying to wake up from a – Wet Nightmare! As my gag reflex kicked in – my inside voice was screaming, “Wake Up! Save Yourself!” How to extricate my face from this sea monster’s jaws was my only ambition for these 5 minutes of hell! Once the suction eased – I was left with half my face covered in his slimy seduction. I was not amused or aroused. I came up with some lame excuse to flee his mouth, arms and smelly car. I just wanted to go home and take a shower! I’m not sure if it was the 70’s, Northern Maine or ignorance – but soupy, repellent and nauseating French-kissing was common practice in high school. A deficiency of our male youth. I eventually learned what a decent French Kiss was – but have an aversion to this form of making out. I prefer to keep my tonsils to myself!

I had aspirations – that were way above my paygrade - in the dating market. I wasn’t interested in my social structure. If I was going to date, then I wanted an upper classman who I could practice on for future romantic liaisons. I had a plan on when I would lose my virginity and selective on who got this tremendous honor. But that is part of the next MC Blog – post high school.

I didn’t date much in high school. I dabbled in the land of clumsy infatuation but deep down knew nothing could live up to my epic imagination. It wasn’t worth the effort. I had a group of classmate friends that I hung out with. We didn’t date each other – but playfully teased. We really didn’t label our relationships as – Best Friend 1, 2, 3, etc. We just gravitated towards this click of characters - a wide variety of genders, eccentricities and personalities. I was happy with this arrangement. I was closer to a couple of my classmates that has stood the test of time and remained to this day. Three people I admire and love for who they are – not what they’ve achieved. We don’t connect often – but I feel genuine happiness when we do. Middle Children, in my experience, do not form close attachments easily. We are very selective on who we allow inside our mind and lives – but not always great at fully judging that person’s character.

If only I could have told my younger self who to avoid!

Our (my) low self-esteem wreaks havoc on my people-reading radar. I now know that if I start to feel lonely and in need of a “Best Friend” – then I should have a piece of chocolate instead to stave off that craving. I no longer feel like being emotionally abused, taken for granted and used until I’m no longer beneficial to their selfish machinations. Soul-crushing narcissists are my kryptonite and should be avoided like the plague. It only took me 60 years to figure that out. MC’s do much better in a group of like-minded but diverse people – not one-on-one. My sister fills that elevated position, and she is all I need. 

Being a MC – I tend to have most of my conversations with me, myself and I. Because of this inherent need to talk over every waking moment with – ME – I developed a habit of watching everyone and everything while lapping up and digesting all that went on around me. I covered my covert activity by being silly and loud and annoying. My internal dialog probably explains why some people thought me snobby and arrogant. Making these assumptions is their problem and loss. But I honed this solitary skill through high school and took it to a whole new level in adulthood. I had BIG plans!

Who's Heather?

Polite but presumptuous! I certainly dreamt big!

I was not the most popular girl or the pretties or the smartest in our class of 63 students – but I was plotting my future and debut for post-high school. I was going to move to NYC and become a STAR!!! I was “ready for my closeup” and always dreamed of being an actress on the stage! I loved TV and movies – but theatre was the ultimate acting venue. It was visceral, real and live! The purest art form for an actor. 

I had limited opportunities to blossom or hone my acting chops – but I took advantage of everything my high school offered to prove I had potential. I was a cheerleader from junior high through most of high school – which is a performance in front of a boisterous and sometimes hostile crowd – to toughen me up. Our mascot was a BEAVER – so you can only imagine how every cheerleader felt during basketball games. Let me share a few of the comments hurled our way during the season:

Awkward family (MC) photo! Love the shoes!

I see your Beaver! I want that, Beaver! Can I touch your Beaver! Etc., etc., etc. Lots of boys doing gnawing beaver impersonations with bucked-tooth enthusiasm! I hated that mascot! 

I was in the band throughout school because music was such a huge part of my home life as well as my soul. I played B flat clarinet, E flat clarinet and my favorite – bass clarinet. We had school plays that I performed in and prepped me for grander theatrical endeavors. Our school also participated in Speaking

Contests that included

Our parades lasted about 10 minutes!

competitive dramatic monologues – “Sorry Wrong Number.” (Don’t know that one? Don’t worry, no one else knows it but me.) I won my local easily and always placed in the regional and state competitions with high recognition. Small Maine potatoes but I needed the practice to harden my soul for rejections. My mother and I loved musicals – so I was very knowledgeable about musical theatre. My whole family were avid movie lovers. I watched Carol Burnette religiously and dreamt of following in her esteemed comedic footsteps. Comedy was my forte although drama sated my cold black heart. I did well in school and had ambitions of fame and fortune.

In my mind - I was carrying an Oscar!

I also loved writing and kept a journal/diary for years. English was my favorite subject in school. I’d been performing my whole life and knew that being an actress was the only vocation that I desired and deserved. The harsh realities of making a name for yourself came much later and its own blog – but it was the only profession that made me shine inside and out. I was good at picking potatoes, but I was spectacular at entertainment. Thanks to Mrs. Clowater, my mother and my family – I was never discouraged from this pursuit and all its challenges. My dramatic and flamboyant MC personality was made for the stage!!!

I look back at growing up in Northern Maine as a positive but was raised to explore strange new worlds and boldly go where no middle child has gone before (thank you Star Trek and Mom)! 

Here are some funny moments in my high school years:

Yearbook picture - My mom and Doc!

Learning how to drive was hilarious and hazardous. My instructor, Doc, was not only Vice Principal but best friends with my dad. I highly respected him and we kept the personal relationship separate from vice principal (and driving instructor). I was (and am) a good driver, but not a confident one. We both made it through his tutelage with lots of pulling over to “chat,” and lots of Doc holding his head in his hands mumbling and LOTS of him cursing in French! I passed my driving test in a stick-shift Gremlin, in a snowstorm and a grumpy driving test examiner. He never passed anyone on the first try – but being OCD – I was a stickler for driving rules and he had to pass me – even though it pissed him off. Of course, the first time out alone in the Gremlin – I stopped on a hill in downtown Washburn and popped a wheelie as I laid rubber through town! Unintentional, but I wasn’t fond or great at stick-shift!

Another winner! Make a demand and end with a threat!

My mom worked in the principals office all through my high school years. I was the only sibling that was thrilled that she was watching our every move. I was in that office numerous times each day. She was at my beck and call 24/7! I'd pop in to give her my daily demands and grab (steal) all her change. She was my chauffeur, bank, secretary, body guard and shoulder to cry on. Who knows what shenanigans I would have gotten into without her protection and MC taming skills.

Potato sack chic! I have no idea why I have a necklace of oven mitts?

I never thought to turn the sack into a mini dress!!! Is that underwear on my head?

Freshmen initiation had a theme for the newbies – Potato Farming. We had to show up first day of school in a potato sack outfit of our design. Some of us had some fashion sense, but I took it too literally. I got a lot of crap poured over my head that day. 

I got extra shaving cream for my frumpy outfit!

Glamorous shot of me picking potatoes - not my nose!

More on potatoes. I (most of us) worked picking potatoes throughout our school years. They closed school end of September through October for the harvest. In high school, I advanced to working on my neighbor’s harvester. It was a warm and balmy fall day, so we all took off our sweatshirts. I wrapped mine around my waist. As we worked the potato belt – picking through for rocks or rotten taters – I started screaming at the top of my lungs. Gary, the farmer and neighbor, heard me above the din of the harvester machinery and jumped from his tractor compartment to the harvesting machine belt – in one leap and landed beside me. Look up a harvester picture and see the superhuman feat that man accomplished. He grabbed me and was checking out my body and yelled, “I saw blood!! Where’s the blood? Why were you screaming!!!” I pointed at the belt where my new red sweatshirt had dislodged from my waist and proceeded to get pummeled and entangled in the belt – which looked like blood to Gary! I said, “My new sweatshirt is ruined!!!” It’s a miracle I’m still alive. He had no idea how he was going to explain my missing limbs to my parents. He was equal parts relieved and furious. I think he came close to making those bloody missing limbs a reality!   

My sister moved to NY after college and invited me down to visit. I had no money for a bus or plane ticket, so that same farmer neighbor, Gary, offered me a ride in his 18-wheeler. He had his own semis for potato transport and happened to be going through NY. So, I pulled an all-nighter with him. I occasionally slept in his bunk compartment and ate his snacks until he pulled up outside my sisters in the Bronx. I had a great time with Bridget. She took me downtown and one of our stops was a fancy club/disco. Did you know that they allow 16-year-olds into NYC clubs? Did you know that you can get served alcohol – even though I didn’t drink (then). Did you know that rich men dressed like Sheiks will buy you drinks? Did you know that these men will buy virgins? I believe I was purchased that night?? I must ask my sister how much I cost. 

My odyssey of recollections will take a short break. Being a MC is exhausting! We are tsunamis of torment. I still have MC stories to tell - my loss of virginity, my contempt for frats, my acting years, adulthood in general and carefully meander/tip toe my way through some questionable flashbacks. None of us are immune to temptations and horrendous decisions (some lawful and some not). There are times – in this Fellini-esquefilm/parade of a MC life – where the circus clowns are freakish, and the discordant marching band is playing an off-key dirge! So, I just hit that Middle C(hild) note and sing my own idiosyncratic opus loudly and flamboyantly for all to hear!

I said Forgive Me a lot! Love you MOM!

Don't forget to read Parts 1, 2 & 3 on Growing up Middle(ing). Plus I have plenty of other hilarious and embarrassing blogs - revealing all my messy wobbly-bits - mentally and physically!

I haven't decided what my next topic will be - maybe my obsession with salt & peppers - but some crazy will be coming soon!

There are countless books competing for readers' attention, which is why the power and importance of book reviews cannot be overstated. They serve as gateways to a book's world. And offer potential readers insight into what they can expect. Plus, book reviews are crucial for discoverability, marketing, and boosting sales, especially for indie authors."  By Barnes & Noble Press/Blog

I would really appreciate some reviews. Amazon takes them VERY SERIOUSLY and it really helps my ranking, relevancy, algorithm and ego.

Please tell everyone that my book is available on Amazon - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All!

Thanks again for your support and encouragement. I am so humbled by your kindness. You are forever my Super Hero’s!!!

Remember – Women Ignite and Women Unite! 

Thanks for taking the time to read my book and my blog. Tell all your social media friends, family (middle children) and followers.

Let’s be Friends!!

Colleen McIntosh