In Aug. 8 IssueRussell County NewsBy Wade Daffron, Columnist
I've always heard about a moment or event in which someone "becomes a man."
But how about the "moment" or "event" for women?
Women mature faster (and are smarter) than men, so, do they "become a woman" earlier than a man "becomes a man"?
The answer is "yes," in my opinion.
And I think the age in which a female "becomes a woman" is around three.
Take my daughter, Kate, for example...
She's not even in Kindergarten yet, but I hear about "boyfriends."
This boy wants to play blocks with her, that boy wants to sit by her at snack time, another wants stand in line by her....ugh.
When shopping for school clothes recently, I noticed everything in the cart was...pink.
Pink shirts, pink pants, pink shoes, pink socks, pink, pink, pink. (Kinda sounds like a faucet dripping.)
The other day, I was working at the computer when I saw Kate go by...several times.
She'd run past once, then walk by s-l-o-w-l-y, then alternate that pattern
I noticed she had on a dress ('cos my goodness sakes, if she's awake, she's GOT to have a dress on), and along with the dress, she had put on a pair of sweat pants.
(I know, I know...)
Then, I noticed she had added a pair of mis-matched sandals to her ensemble. (Which was much better than the two small, potato chip bags she wore as shoes the other day.)
"Kate, honey," I said, "did you need something?"
She stopped, looked around, then shook her head "no."
The "Princess Parade" continued a few more times.
She would take her tiny hand and brush the dangling locks of hair away from her face-pure woman.
Other times she would stop, put her hands on her hips, and twist her feet inward.
"Kate?" I asked. "Are you sure you don't need something."
"Noooooooooo," she said, dropping her chin against her chest.
"OK, then," I said.
She walked by a couple more times, then stood next to me.
I looked down to see her giggling.
"What is it, honey?" I said.
I could tell she was "hiding" something behind her back."What have you got?" I asked her.
Her eyes got even bigger than usual as she innocently shook her head.
"Nuffin', Daddy," she said.
"Then what are you holding behind you?" I queried.
She snorted, and shook her head "no" rapidly.
"KATE!" I barked.
She took a deep breath, then thrust her right hand forward.
In it was...a razor.
"Whoa there, girl," I said. "What are you doing with that?"
Then she thrust out her left hand, which held...shaving cream.
"I shave legs, Daddy," she said.
"Uh, no, no, I don't' think so, sweetie," I replied.
"Why no shave legs?" she squealed. "Mommy shave legs."
"Yeah, every once in a while," I said, "like, maybe twice a year, but girls have to be a teenager before they start shaving their legs...I think."
"I AM teenager!" Kate screamed.
"No, you are not," I said.
"Yes, I girl teenager!" she retorted.
I started thinking how I had always secretly wanted a little girl to dote over, now I was wondering where the "doting" part came in.
"Kate," I tried to explain, "you have to be a little bit older to be a teenager, you know, like old enough to drive a car."
"I drive, Daddy," she said.
"Oh, you can drive a car?" I asked her. Kate bobbed her head emphatically.
"Are you old enough to vote?" I continued.
"Daddy, me not have a boat, silly Daddy," Kate chuckled.
"OK, tell you what?" I said, "you can shave your legs when they are 'this long' (and I held my hands about three feet apart).
That seemed to satisfy her, and I was pleased with myself.
I didn't even have to drag Mommy in for help on this one.
She made a couple of more trips past me, then stopped at my side again-with shaving cream in hand.
"Kate?" I said. "Haven't we discussed this already?"
"Daddy...I shave my butt?" she asked.