Awkward stages...growing up part 2

As I approached those awkward stages, the humiliation reached new heights. 

My mother had recently separated from my father and was going through some kind of hiatus from reality.  My mother has always been a good Christian woman, so I'm sure drugs weren't involved, but it does beg the question.

She had always had long beautiful hair and whole heatedly believed she was twins with Rapunzel, and separated at birth. (That's another story for another time).  She was like Marcia Brady when it came to brushing her hair, carefully counting every stroke.  But something unclicked in her brain and her hair no longer mattered to her, she was going to the Pink Floyd concert come hell or high water. 

My mother believes in radio contests, television game shows and contests like her faith in her religion.  She is always entering Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes waiting for Ed McMahon to show up on her doorstep with a video camera and an over sized check.  She knows it's her fate.  Well, fate had it that she won some radio contest to be entered to win tickets to see Pink Floyd in concert.  The hosts would put in all the names of the first round winners into a pot and draw names for the tickets.  So the story goes, according to my mother, that if they drew your name, you had to go up on stage in front of hundreds of people and shave your head.  The shaving was supposed to be a nod to "The Wall" when Bob Geldof shaved his entire body. So in front of hundreds of spectators, my mother shaved her head.  But she left the bangs so her gang, that she worked so hard to get jumped into, would not excommunicate her.

You could imagine my astonishment when I saw my mother with her shaved head, not to support cancer patients, but for PINK FLOYD.  I was 11 at the time and so mortified, I didn't think I could ever show my face in public again, especially with her.  I applied to be in the witness protection program, and when they denied me, I legally changed my name to "Barb E. Dahl."
After her Pink Floyd tangent, she also became obsessed with Grateful Dead.  I always told her I'd be grateful when they were dead.  (About a year or two later, Jerry Garcia passed away, may he rest in peace.)

For young women, going through puberty can really put a damper on things, not to mention getting your first period.  For my hippie mother, it was like some gigantic celebration of life.  For me it was a like a scene in a movie when there's a party going on with music, everyone dancing the Macarena, foot loose and fancy free.  Then you walk in and Lionel Richie's "All Night Long" comes to a screeching halt and everyone stares at you like you literally just walked in holding a freshly skinned beaver.  (No pun intended).  I don't know if you ever have seen a freshly skinned beaver, but it it not a pretty sight or smell.

So I told my mother and begged her not to tell anyone else.  Now, my mother suffers from diarrhea of the mouth and I knew it wouldn't be long until she ran an ad in the paper notifying everyone of this joyful event.  As she was going down to the market to pick up some feminine supplies for me, she had to make a stop at the post office to mail in her contest entries for a chance to win a walk-on role on General Hospital.  Low and behold, my kindergarten, first and second grade teachers were there and she gleefully told them all that, "Beverly is becoming a woman!!!"  And didn't spare them any details.  Not long after that, she did put up a message on the church's reader board marquee which read, "Congratulations Beverly!!!"  Anyone driving by could read the message, and in this small town, everyone either already knew what the sign meant, or they knew me and had to ask about it.  And it was about 3 months until people finally stopped asking me what the salute was for.  Needless to say, I had a lot of explanations to give to random people. 

I suppose I am grateful to my mother for not letting me go through with the hysterectomy at the age of 8.

Then of course came "the talk" which I don't remember much of, but still have reoccurring nightmares of bits and pieces that I do remember.

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