Moore, Alice Rose

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I/46 lVIANUSCRIPTSGrowing Up and Liking ItAlice Rose' MooreA recent issue of one of the nationally known teen-age mag-azines contained an article on how the modern young misscan make the change from childhood to adolescence as easilyas a moth can shed its chrysalis. This bright young thing learnsovernight to walk gracefully, to apply make-up ar-tfully, tocarryon a good conversation with adults, and to reply to allher date's remarks with a bright-eyed and interested "Oh,really!" She plays the piano and sings beautifully; she perfec!sher tennis backhand and swims like Esther William's. She ISa typical teen-ager.In reading this article, I thought bitterly how I had madethe transformation fr0111 childhood to adolescence. For a fewseconds, I wished that I had had such a guide as this articlewhen I started my new life. Perhaps I would not have beenthe stupid, awkward, blundering girl who required loving par-ents, patient teachers, and underetanding: friends to see thatshe survived successfully the age of being fat, sloppy, pimply-faced, and speechless. Of course, I realized that a miraclesuch as the one the arricle described occurs only in fiction.No article of that type could pull a young girl through "thatage" in a few short days or even in weeks. The transformationfrom a isheltered violet to an unprotected orchid requires morethan the reading of a few words written by a "woman of theworld." It requires the neverfailing teacher-experience.Experience was my unflinching, unyielding director alongthe new walks of life. When I was thirteen, tlooked up withawe to the "queens" of the high school I attended. I thoughtthat just such things as I recently read in this article put themin the position they held. I realized bitterly that not onlywould transformation have to occur in me, but a mental en-lightenment as well. I tried all the diets and beauty prepara-ations advertised and sincerely sought to become well-vel1s,edon international affairs. I must have expected miracles. Andmiracles do not happen. My mother warned me that thediets and cosmetics I tried might injure my health. She said,also, thatI could not "cram" into my head information whichI did not understand. She attempted to tell me that if Isincerely made an effort to grow up and would just takethings as they came, I would not end up an unpopular, witheredold maid, as I fully expected to do. Naturally, this attitudedid not appeal to me. When, after another year, I remainedunpopular and unwanted. I watched my friends' blossom intoMANUSCRIPTS 47lovely belles, but I remained a wallflower.My complexion and my figure grew clearer and slimmer astime wore on, but I still had not developed that "sparklino-personality" I longed for. My case looked hopeless, but as Iknew I could not continue through life moping and withdrawnI began to participate in high school activities, particularl~dramatics. I decided, even though I knew I would eventuallyend my existence with a parrot and a black cat, I might aswell make the most of what I had at my disposal. This newattitude, of course, gave me the experience I needed. I mademany grave err ons along this highway, but each error taught mea little more, until I had a fairly good idea of what this societyI lived in expected of its members.I was taught that neither beauty nor a magnificent per-sonality is an essential marker on the road of life. Either onewould hardly be a blight on a person's career, but the reallyimportant objective in growing up is realizing that the worldis made up of millions of people and that each one is anindividual being. Understanding others and fitting ourselvesinto this huge society in whatever place our talents happen tofill should be the ultimate goal for everyone. The high schooland college "queens" are usually pretty, but they are alsovitally interested in other people, in what they are doing, andin what their problems are. Perhaps there is a modern Cleo-patra who is beautiful, talented, gracious, and charming. Per-haps she became so overnight. In most cases, however, ittakes a great deal of down-to-earth living to become an import-ant part of our great 'society.§ § § §Watermelon PartyMartha KatzenbergerIshall never forget my first watermelon beach party, whichwas held at Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. The peoplewith whom I was staying had dug a deep pit in the sandand had filled it with wood for the campfire, which also servedas the light for the cutting of the melons. vVe sat on blan~etsspread around the fire ,singing school songs and old .fa:vontes.The night was dark; there was no moon, only millions ofstars in the vast, appaling space overhead. The beach atnight is terrifying; you cannot see the surf-you can only he~rthe thunderous roar as the breakers pound the sand. I~ ISso different at night from the gay, friendly beach of daytime

Growing Up and Liking It

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