The Bra

Bras are interesting articles of clothing.  Sometimes we really hate them and at other times we’re happy to have them.  They also underscore some of the unfairness of our society.

I remember running around topless in the summer time.  I was, of course, a very young child.  My brother, sisters, and I ran around in only shorts.  We played in the back yard and ran through the lawn sprinklers in the front yard.  Our summers were fun and carefree.

One day, when I was five and looking forward to starting kindergarten in the fall, my mother called me inside and put a shirt on me.  I didn’t like it.  The temperature outside was probably in the 90’s.  I asked her why I had to have a shirt on.  I said my brothers and sisters were all running through the sprinkler with no shirt on.  My mother answered that it was because I was a girl.  My brothers didn’t have to because they were boys.  I asked her why my sisters didn’t have to wear a shirt.  She said it was because I was older.  But I pointed out that my older sister, Sylvia, was outside without a top.  Mom said Sylvia didn’t need to have a shirt on because she wasn’t “developing” like I was.

I didn’t understand it and I didn’t like it.  No one else in my family had to wear hot shirts in the summer time and I felt like I was a freak because I did have to wear one.  I tried to get away without putting on a shirt but if I succeeded, my mom would inevitably come to the door and yell at me to come inside where she would force me to put on a top.  My brothers and sisters made fun of me when my mom caught me outside without a shirt on.

Two summers after that one, my mom took me aside and showed me what I thought were baby t-shirts because they were so small.  They were white and really short and had no sleeves, only straps.  I was excited when Mom said I had to wear those because they looked like they would be so much cooler than wearing a shirt.  That’s when my mom told me I had to wear my short t-shirt AND a shirt.  She showed me how to put it on before putting on my blouse.  Then she said it wasn’t a t-shirt.  It was called a bra and that I should be happy to be wearing one because it meant I was growing up.

It didn’t make me happy.  It was just more confusing to be the only one in my family that had to wear a bra.

When I started second grade the following week, I was the only girl in my class that was wearing a bra.  I could tell because I couldn’t see any straps and I could see through some of the shirts.  I became the odd one, again.  The other girls stayed away from me because I wore a bra and they didn’t.  The boys pointed and laughed.

And again I had to get used to being different than the others and being left out.  It was all because of my bra.

I hated bras for a long, long time.