Chapter 2- Fourth Grade

Significant memories plague us. We can't avoid it. Our minds work in mysterious ways. We remember what happened 20 years ago but can't seem to remember what we ate for dinner yesterday. Much of it is probably due to what we find important and what we feel is forgettable. Unfortunately, there are times in our lives that we wish we could forget. There are times that we try over and over to rationalize why a particular incident is important to our brain but not truly important. Then there are the times that even though we remember something not so nice, it's a good feeling knowing that we have that memory. In my case, I'm glad I remembered 4th grade. It sucked, but now that I look back, I realize it was the beginning of my battle.
There was a time when I didn't live in small town, New York. I lived in Suburbia, New York. Beautiful houses surrounded by more beautiful houses. Many people floating in money, others just walking on it. Don't get me wrong, Suburbia was a great place to live and I still have many fond memories of it. As a matter of fact, many of my earliest memories are from Suburbia. Some are good. Some are bad. I'm betting that I've also blocked out several of them.
I realized I was a bit different in fourth grade. I remember walking into the Art room with the rest of my class. It was no different than any other day. I was taller than most of my classmates, both boys and girls (wish I had kept that height!), thus giving me my first excuse for my weight- I was tall! I couldn't help it. Unfortunately, puberty hit everyone and I suddenly became one of the more average height girls very quickly.
Anyhow, that day one of the girls in my class walked by me and started snickering. Keep in mind that kids are cruel. No matter where you go, kids have an inate ability to find your weakness and feed off it. For some reason, girls are especially good at this. Anyhow, I couldn't figure out what this girl was laughing about so I just laughed with her. You know the old addage, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em". My response sent her into more giggles, eventually leading to other students following her lead. I don't even know if they knew what they were laughing about at first.
I started checking my back to see if a "kick me" sign had been stuck on me. Nope. That was clear. I felt my mouth to see if lunch was leftover somewhere or hey, maybe I had a stray booger. Nope. Nope. Both clear. What in the hell was so funny? I remember thinking "whatever" and found my seat. It wasn't until a little while later that I found out what people were giggling about. About halfway through the class, as we were working on our clay dishes I heard one of the girls at another table say "bra". I didn't think anything of it immediately. I knew what a bra was. It was a piece of clothing that girls wore when they became a woman. When their boobs got big, it was a way to make them look smaller. (Hey- I was in fourth grade- before you laugh at my ignorance, remember that!) I don't know what possessed me to look, but I looked down at my own chest at that moment. Oh crap. There, under my light blue, slightly worn sweater was two "nubs" sticking out. Ok, so you're like TMI (too much info) now, but wait. There's a reason for this.
I had developed breasts in 4th grade. Something that others wanted so badly (for unknown reasons!) I had started already and truthfully I didn't want anything to do with them. But why? Why would I have breasts before the other girls? It didn't make sense to me at the time. I, of course went home and my mom made sure I got a training bra (although I swear I skipped that whole phase and went right into the alphabet system for bra sizing!). I had breasts because I was fat. Yes, I'm sure I was beginning puberty too but all of the other changes hadn't started yet. This was it. Maybe it wouldn't have been a lasting memory if others hadn't laughed at it. I don't know. Either way, that's not the end, it was only the beginning.
I made the mistake of trusting my friends and told them about the training bra. Well you know how secrets are kept amongst young girls- they aren't. I took another round of snickering for a while. It did stop eventually, but looking back I realize that the years of ridicule had begun. Little did I know that this fat girl was going to be picked on in so many ways throughout life. It all started that one day in Art class, in fourth grade.