Instead of getting some version of the birdsand bees talk that every mother is supposed to give her daughter at the approach of puberty, I was handed a book called On Becoming a Woman. On the frontcover, two preppy-looking guys check out a pretty brunet…  | Luisa A. Igloria May 8 | Instead of getting some version of the birds
and bees talk that every mother is supposed to give
her daughter at the approach of puberty, I was handed
a book called On Becoming a Woman. On the front
cover, two preppy-looking guys check out a pretty
brunette as she walks through a park. I mean,
anyone can tell it's a park because the cover design
wraps around the spine to the back, where a mother
and her young son are pictured bending toward hungry
pigeons, and in the distance a couple strolls past
a statue. The front endpapers depict a tableau—
bride in her veil and poufy skirt attended
by bridesmaids, while mother and flower girl
look on adoringly. I couldn't read what she was
thinking—my mother, I mean. She acted
nonchalant, even as she warned boys would try
sometime to kiss me, but kissing itself was
overrated. A kiss, she said, feels like what we do
as we suck garlicky steamed snails into our mouths.
When that doesn't work, a safety pin might help.
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