Congratulations: You're a Woman.

Being a young girl of 11 or 12, it is often too embarrassing to discuss certain topics with your parents, especially your dad because he's a "boy" and he just couldn't possibly understand what your going through.

My dad has always had his own approach on things which in retrospect is why we get along so well. For example, when I was little, I would often have nightmares about "woofs" (aka wolves) and this would on most occasions land me smack dab in the middle of my parent's bed, spread out as far as I could be leaving the two of them very little room to get a decent night's sleep. I imagine that this soon grew to be a problem in their world.

One night, I had had a particularly disturbing dream about the "woofs". I remember waking up and being too scared to pry myself out from underneath the covers to make the long journey across the hall to get to my parent's room where safety awaited me. Every little noise was too loud and I swear that there was something else in that room with me when the lights were off. I looked over and there was a huge dark figure staring at me from across the room. (Obviously a "woof"). Once I did finally make it to my parent's room (don't ask me how for I have cleansed the frightening moment from my memory), they lead me back into my room and turned the light on.

There I was, standing in between them holding both of their hands, staring at the figure that had been glowering at me in the dark. It turned out to be a chair with a bunch of clothes on it. As hard as I tried to convince them, my parents would not believe that the scary monster thing had replaced itself with this chair and clothing and would most definitely be back looming at me once I was in bed all alone with the light off.

They stared at me with the sweetness of a tired set of parents wanting to help their scared child, but not quite sure how to explain the imagined "things that go bump in the night".

It was here that my daddy knelt down beside me and asked me what my bad dreams were about. I proceeded to tell him about the scary "woofs" and how they would chase me and I could never run fast enough. He then asked me if I remembered watching the old movies that he always watched about the mummy and Frankenstein and the wolf man.(He was sure to leave out Dracula because he knew my dreaded fear of vampires and sharp fangs...)

I thought he was being silly. Of course I remembered those old movies. Those times with my daddy, nuzzled up underneath his arm with my head on his chest, eating popcorn were some of my most favorite-est moments ever!

I looked up at his big, smiling daddy eyes and said "Mmmhmmm. I remember."

"Well." He said. "Those guys are friends of mine and they have promised to protect this house and everyone who lives in it. If you see them in your dreams, they aren't there to scare you, they are there to take care of you."

This obviously made so much sense to my 3 year old mind. And this was the beginning of being able to sleep a full night in my room all by myself, with the exceptional occasion of super scary bad dreams that even my "protectors" couldn't drive the fear away. It was these nights I landed back into my parent's bedroom.

So all this being said. From the time I was little, my dad and I always had a special bond. But then the day came when something happened that I could only talk to my mom about. It was something horrible. Something life-changing. Something so totally gross and embarrassing. Something daddy couldn't fix.

Yep. You guessed it. It was my period.

Ew! Oh no! What do I do? All these thoughts plummeting in my head. Mom was at work and I was stuck. I did the best I could with toilet paper but from there I was lost. My stomach hurt. I couldn't tell if I was hungry or if I was going to throw up. It was the worst. day ever.

I told dad I wasn't feeling well and went to bed at 2 in the afternoon. My mom got home a few hours later and came in to check on me.

"Dad said you weren't feeling well. Are you ok?"

I just stared at her. Surely she would notice this huge change in me just by looking at me. Surely she would know that I'm a freak now and that my life was over.

But she just looked at me.

I stared back.

She stared back.

I couldn't say it out loud. It was too horrible.

I sat there holding my stomach and she finally figured it out. (Hello! Wasn't it obvious?...my poor mom...). She tried to comfort me and tell me that it was normal and that I wasn't dying and that this was a good thing. Blah blah blah.

I begged her not to tell Dad or Pat. All I needed was my older brother to point and laugh and make me feel like even more of a weirdo. And she finally convinced me to come out of my room and face eating dinner.

She left to give me some space and after a few minutes, I convinced myself that I was pretty hungry. She didn't notice so surely dad and Pat wouldn't notice. Because they're boys and they're oblivious....

I slowly walked out of my room and down the hall to the kitchen. I kept telling myself not to make eye contact with anyone. I would just act like nothing happened and everything would be fine. I would eat dinner and then go back to bed.

And then it happened. Suddenly my dad was standing beside me with his hand out like he was going to shake mine. I looked at him blankly, then stared at his hand. Then he said the dreaded words:

"Congratulations. You're a woman."

I. Could. Have. Died.

I looked at my mom who was trying not to laugh, "You told! I can't believe you told!"

I was mortified! As we all stood there in silence. Someone uttered a chuckle. Then another chuckle came. Then another. Someone was laughing. And that someone....

was me.

It wasn't so bad of a thing after all and I did live through it. (Dramatically...but I lived). But not without the help of my dad's weird child-rearing technique. He was (and still is) always doing stuff like that. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Once a Daddy's little girl, always a Daddy's little girl.