My Mother Said I Should Be Ashamed of Myself

But I was young and didn’t see it as a problem.

It was 1975 when my mother met me at the door one afternoon when I arrived home from school. “Barbara Ann,” she screeched. “My God, how could you?”

“How could I do what?” I asked.

“I just got off the phone with Debbie’s mother, and she can’t believe it, either.”

I shrugged, said, “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” My mother was usually upset about something I did, so I wasn’t that worried, and I walked past her.

“The hell you don’t,” she said, following me through the kitchen. “The school called. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

What she said was nothing new either. At sixteen, according to my mother, I should be ashamed of just about everything I did. Her level of anger, though, made me wonder what Debbie and I might have done that had gotten back to my mother.

Still, I wasn’t that worried. “Whatever you heard,” I said. “It’s probably not true.”

“Naked!” she screeched so loud she almost startled me out of my skin. “Naked! Naked in the park! Of all the things you could do. What were you thinking?”

Then it all came back to me. That day in the park.

Each time Debbie and I hung out with the long-haired dropouts, I hoped for another opportunity alone with John. Disappointed, he didn’t ask me to go off into the woods with him. I wasn’t yet brave or self-confident enough to make the first move. I couldn’t face rejection or being teased by the other guys.

I feared John didn’t feel the same way about me as I did about him. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to be alone with me again. I feared it was because we’d never succeeded at having sex. I figured I must have done something terribly wrong, and now he no longer wanted anything more to do with me.

To hide my hurt, I acted nonchalant, though inside I cried and wanted to crumble into a ball and die. Without John’s love, life wasn’t worth living.

Lenny and Debbie stood next to each other near a tree, his arm over her shoulder, his hand creeping lower and lower, trying to reach her breast. But she knew when to leave.

She was the only one of us who wore glasses, and she always needed to stop what she was doing and push them up. But it was more than her glasses that had her pull away from Lenny.

I figured Debbie was just as scared as I was. But we had to keep pretending. Had to put on that brave face. Not let our vulnerability show.

Lenny moved closer to Debbie again, leaned over, and whispered in her ear. She shook her head no and her cheeks turned red.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her closer, trying to kiss her, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on her shirt.

She squirmed away and came over and stood beside me, hooking her arm in mine. I pulled away, not wanting to get in the middle of their problems.

Lenny eyed me, said, “Bet you wouldn’t be afraid to show your boobs.” Great job, Debbie. Now I’m the focus of attention; just what I didn’t want.

“Yeah!” the guys all agreed. “Why don’t you show us?”

I felt I didn’t have a choice but to play along.

“Maybe I will,” I said, gripping the front of my shirt like I’d pull it open, letting the buttons pop into the air. “Or,” I teased. “Maybe I won’t.”

Debbie turned to me, eyes wide, mouth open. I smirked back at her. Lenny strutted over and stood in front of me, so close I could feel his breath on my face. “How about if I undo this one?”

He reached out and undid the top button, the one between my breasts. I didn’t move or push his hand away. I held my ground. I glanced over at John, hoping he might step in and stop Lenny. John’s eyes only followed Lenny’s hand. Lenny undid another button. I scrambled for a way out.

Pushing his hand off my chest, I said, “I’ll take my shirt off if Debbie will,” hoping to put it all back on her and have her somehow save the day.

Debbie shot me a look like I’d totally lost my mind.

“Come on, Debbie,” I smirked. “Not like we haven’t seen them before.”

“Whoa!” Lenny’s face exploded in surprise. “Mean one.”

“I’d say that’s a dare.” Dan stepped next to Lenny. John stayed where he was, remaining silent. Why couldn’t he step in and save the day?

Debbie’s lips pressed tight. She pushed up her glasses, even though they didn’t need pushing up.

“Take it off! Take it off!” the guys chanted and clapped — even John.

Lenny opened another one of my buttons, then reached over and opened two of Debbie’s. She didn’t move. We were like deer caught in the headlights.

“Come on! Come on! More! More!” the guys cheered.

Lenny kept unbuttoning our shirts one at a time until there were no more buttons to open. My large breasts hung loose because I didn’t wear a bra. Feeling vulnerable, I slipped into my I don’t give-a-fuck attitude and took my shirt off, letting it drop to the ground.

I watched Debbie close her eyes as Lenny slid her arms out of her shirt. He balled it up, tossed it to Dan. She sprung to life and got away before Lenny could undo her bra.

She ran after her shirt, but as soon as she reached the guy who had it, he tossed it to someone else. The guys had a blast laughing at Debbie running back and forth. I stood still, watching the action.

Dan picked my shirt up off the ground, rolled it into a ball and tossing it, too.The fall air was cool on my skin, and their eyes followed my bouncing breasts. I ran just like Debbie, trying to catch my shirt, but I didn’t care as much about getting mine back.

With my breasts exposed, the damage was already done. Debbie and I dashed back and forth, trying as much as possible to avoid their hands feeling us up.

We had given no concern to a group of students strolling by on a nearby path, taking a shortcut back to school. At one point, when they stopped to watch, Lenny yelled, “What you looking at?” The group of students moved on and I thought nothing more of it.

Since it was time for us to return to school, the guys tossed us our shirts, and we put them back on. If they wanted us to continue coming back to the park on our lunch hour, we couldn’t get into trouble by being late getting back to school.

Debbie and I hurried back to class. Not talking about what happened.

But apparently those students who had stood watching us had talked, and made my mother’s anger all made sense. Though I hated how the story had gotten so exaggerated. Upset and no longer trying to lie my way out of it, I defended myself by stating, “We weren’t naked.”

“That’s what the principal said.”

“You believe everything you’re told?”

“Why would anyone lie about that?

“How should I know?” I snapped.

“No one would,” my mother said, which made me even angrier.

“Well,” I said, “It’s a lie. We weren’t naked at all. We were only topless!” I turned and stomped up the stairs to my bedroom, feeling like I had made my point and won the battle.

For the next few days, I got hard angry stares from my mother, but she said nothing more about it, and soon she found something else to get upset about and what I’d done became old news, and soon forgotten, that is until I did something else to be ashamed of.

BARBARA CARTER is a visual artist and writer with a focus on healing from childhood trauma, alcohol addiction, and living her best authentic life.