Now, I want to tell you about my first brassiere.
NO THIS IS NOT IT!!!
Click here for Far Side of Fifty's blog
It is a very unique and patriotic sculpture. But what is up with being in the front yard?
Locals will remember - well the locals my age will remember - the old Ben Franklin store, that used to be between White's Drug Store and Farmer's Bank, burned down when I was in the fourth grade at Hurie School. My Grandpa worked for the City of Clarksville at that time and helped clean up the debris. Back then cleaning up meant using a shovel and wheel barrow. He brought home a bunch of smoke damaged items from the burned out store to check for anything salvageable.
This was during the time my grandparents were caretakers on the Wish Brother's farm where the High School is now. I loved the little house where I spent so much of my childhood. I liked the closet that you could enter in Grandma's bedroom and come out in Auntie's room. The house was actually much smaller than I remembered it. I used an outdoor toilet and washed my hands in a washstand by the kitchen door until a bathroom and washroom was added to the back of the house.
All of us children were shooed outside the day Grandpa and Daddy dumped boxes and bags full of soot soiled goods around the old Tide and Purex filled wringer washing machine. Grandma, Mama, and several of my aunts reminded me of little squawking hens pecking around in the yard as they sorted through the various Playtex and Maidenform necessities. I wasn't sure why all the goings on embarrassed me.
You would have to understand my upbringing. Our grandparents taught and practiced moderation in all things. I rarely saw Grandma in her nightgown or Grandpa in a short sleeved shirt. Modesty was of utmost importance. Undergarments were "unmentionables" and therefore not discussed. But the few whispers and giggles I overheard on the playground made me associate the washroom activities with shame.
Always the nosy child, I kept returning to the back room where the womenfolk were debating which brassiere - as they were called then - would fit who. To this day, I vividly remember my Daddy, of all people, as he walked through the steamy washroom saying, "Don't you think you need to find one for Rita Ann?"
And so it began.