Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Female Bodies

Female Bodies and Sex Ed | Part 2 of 3

It’s 1954.  We just finished breakfast, and are sitting around the dinner table.  Sister #4 is about one year old.  Mother is holding her at one end of the table.  Daddy is sitting at the ‘head’ of the table.  Sisters #2 and #3 and I are present.  We don’t know it, but Sex Ed 101 for Daughters is about to begin.   Read the rest of this entry »

Female Bodies and Sex Ed | Part 1 of 3

Am I ready?  Never.  But I want to begin somewhere.  So here goes.

Jesus, Mary and all other daughters of Eve
Female bodies were not celebrated in my family.  Too bad.  When I was a child and young teenager my female body was regularly ignored, observed, commented upon, shamed, ridiculed, Read the rest of this entry »

Starving for Sisterly Conversation | Part 3 of 3

January 9, 1996, 9:00pm, Philadelphia
The phone rings.  Hi.  It’s Diane.  I’m not well – no easy way to tell you – not post-polio, but ALS – I’m going to need help, a lot of help.  I hang up and go downstairs, weeping as I tell my family the news.

January 30, 1996, late afternoon, Houston
I walk off the plane and see Diane standing in front of a pillar.  Small floral print on navy dress, empire waist and smocked bodice – ivory stockings – very pretty – gold chains – hair highlights in blond – stoop-shouldered and slow. Read the rest of this entry »

Boyfriends | Part 3 of 3

My father set out to attain one goal:  to break my will.  So did he?  Back then I would have argued that he most certainly did NOT break my will!  See how much spunk I still have in me?  Just listen to the angry voices in my head!  I might be sitting down on the outside, but I’M DEFINITELY STANDING UP ON THE INSIDE! Read the rest of this entry »

Tell me if you can, if you dare–

When did it all begin?
When did I enter your supply chain?
When did I become a commodity, a disposable object
not for sale but for use on demand,
with or without pay?

When did I become your toy
to imagine as prey,
to stalk, hunt down,
toss around and torment
with or without warning? Read the rest of this entry »

Boyfriends | Part 1 of 3

There’s this boy in my life.  He thinks he’s my boyfriend, and he won’t go away.  He’s a bother and a pest.  Constantly pushing the limits.  I think he’s coming to our school because someone (his grandmother, who takes care of him?) wants him to be turned into a well-behaved young man.  Not a chance, if you ask me. Read the rest of this entry »

Shall We Dance?

Short answer:   No.   Nothing you say or do will change this family rule.  The other answer always freaked me out and embarrassed me.  No, because bodily contact between women and men when they dance and are not married to each other mimics sexual intercourse.  The first step down the path of moral destruction. Read the rest of this entry »

baptismal waters

baptismal waters
rise gently enfolding her
world-weary body

* * * * *

I’m standing in a windowless, high-ceiling concrete room
with a concrete floor, drainage holes and air vents.
A deep whirlpool tub stands in the middle
filled with warm steamy water.
The room faintly resembles a large sauna minus the wood.
Functional, not beautiful.

Mother is in hospice care after suffering a stroke weeks ago
and then developing pneumonia in the hospital.
Her ability to communicate with words is almost nonexistent.
Today she’s going to be given a bath.
I’m told she loves this, and that
Sister #4 and I are welcome to witness the event.

For the past hour caregivers have been preparing her–
removing her bedclothes, easing her onto huge soft towels,
rolling and shifting her inch by inch onto a padded bath trolley,
doing all they can to minimize pain and honor her body.
Finally, they slowly roll the trolley down the hall.

The hospice sauna room echoes with the sound of
feet, soft voices, and running water.
It takes a team to carry out this comforting
though strange and even unnerving ritual.
Mother is safely secured to the padded bath table and
then lowered slowly into the water.
Her eyes are wide open.

For a few moments she fixes her eyes on mine.
The table  descends bit by bit.
How does she feel?
What is she thinking?
At  first her eyes seem anxious.
Is she afraid?
The warm waters rise around her and the table stops descending.
Her face relaxes and she closes her eyes.

The team works gently, thoroughly, not in haste.
They focus on her, talk to her and handle her body with reverence.
My eyes brim with tears.
This woman who bathed me, my three sisters
and most of her grandbabies is being given a bath
by what appears to be a team of angels in celestial garments.

They finish their work and roll Mother back to her room.
Her bed has clean sheets.
Fresh bedclothes have been laid out.
Caregivers anoint her body with oil and lotion, turn her gently,
and comment on how clear and beautiful her skin is.
They finish clothing her, adjust the pillows to cradle her body,
pull up light covers and leave her to fall asleep.

* * *

Last Sunday I witnessed the immersion baptism of seven young people at my home church.  I couldn’t help recalling this tender, even sacramental immersion just days before Mother’s death, and decided to share it with you.

Haiku written 3 June 2014
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 June 2014

Puberty, Ready or Not | Part 2 of 2

First day of 7th grade, 1955.  A giddy day!  All the girls are furtively checking in with each other:  Did your period start yet?  Yes! (much quiet applause and excitement); Are you wearing a bra? No. (oops…).  Definitely a less than stellar report. Read the rest of this entry »

Puberty, Ready or Not | Part 1 of 2

It’s spring 1953.  I’m 9 years old and in the 5th grade at a Christian grade school.  Because I did 3rd and 4th grades in one year, my classmates are a year older than I am.  Right now my teacher, Mrs. Wilson, is making an announcement to the girls.  “Be sure you bring your signed permission slips with you tomorrow.”

What permission slips?  What’s she talking about?  My classmate tells me it’s for the film. Read the rest of this entry »