“Marjorie May’s 12th Birthday,” a 1938 commercially-sponsored booklet by Mary Pauline Callender:

“Come dear, let’s go up to my room where we can have a chat without being disturbed ... Up until a very few years ago, Moms and daughters did not share their secrets and companionship as we do now ... Indeed, you have noticed that Daddy and I often speak of you as our ‘young lady,’ for that is what you have grown to be ... I have not told you about it before because you have been too young to be interested ... Not long ago one of these harmful superstitions advised against bathing during menstruation, but doctors assure us that there is no harm in bathing ... But doctors think it is harmful during this time to play hard games where there is much excitement and competition.”

“Delighted to have these new mysteries so thoroughly explained, Marjorie May fairly flew into her room, and in what seemed to be less than a second, returned with a calendar.”

“Yes, dear, and one day soon I must tell you the purpose which menstruation has in Nature’s creative plan -- but not today.”

In her mother’s words, menstruation’s about becoming “young lady.” Becoming a “young woman” today, however, would be about something else.

MY OWN 12TH BIRTHDAY

Your 12th birthday is rather special. Everything picture-perfect for my party: my dress, the cake, the decorations, the favors, the games. But one year shy of being a teenager!

I knew I was getting the skirt that Mom had hidden under her sweaters. Tartan plaid. I’d of course act totally surprised.

Steven had gotten me a tennis charm for my bracelet, a challenge to discover because his dresser was always a mess. I’d won the girls 11-and-under Parks and Rec tournament that summer. He’d placed second in the boys 16-18, really good, as he was only 16.

I was rather observant for a girl my age, actually. When I grew up, maybe I’d be a G-woman, as a lady secret agent can sneak into places a man can’t.

I had a splendid twelfth. Waffles for breakfast, birthday girl’s choice. It being Sunday, Mom sent cupcakes for my Sunday school class. Rev. Walters embarrassed me to death by having the whole congregation sing “Happy Birthday” but actually I was quite pleased with the attention. He gave me a dime to spend on ice cream.

The party was from 2:00 to 4:00. Angel-food cake with strawberry frosting. Tons of fun, even if the boys were awkward. We played dodgeball in the back yard and after the grownups went to the living room, played spin-the-bottle and I got kissed three times.

Mom didn’t follow the book’s guidance regarding information about becoming a young lady, however, and sent me to bed with best wishes for the year ahead. In any case, I was in no hurry for the onset. My friend Carol Lee was having her period and couldn’t jump fast enough to escape the dodgeball.

I again tried on my birthday skirt and used my pliers to attach the charm to my bracelet, but I’d not wear that tomorrow, so I’d have something to show around on Tuesday.

The year ahead might be special for another reason, too, as Mom had also hidden away a booklet. The reference to “Daddy and I often speak of you as our ‘young lady,’” wasn’t quite right because my father wasn’t with us, but the point was the same.

I, of course, already knew all about the curse from my friends, but Mom didn’t know that. Everybody’s mom used the same book. The little maternal chat was coming and I’d act “delighted to have these new mysteries so thoroughly explained,” per the script.

It was hard to wind down after a birthday day, I realized after readjusting my pillow for the tenth time. Too many things to ponder. Maybe I should finish “Mystery of the Ivory Charm,” though I’d already figured out the ending before Nancy Drew did. If Mom’s already asleep, I could switch on my night light; if she’s still up, I had my Ever Ready -- a standard spy tool -- under the covers.

Anyway, I needed to pee, and going down the hall, I saw that it was dark in Mom’s room. Returning, however, I caught the beam of a flashlight under Mom’s door. Why on earth would she be using such a thing, as grownups can read as late as they like. It must involve some sort of secret.

Well. I had the nail hole in the back of my closet through which I could see into Mom’s room. I’d covered my side of the opening with a piece of tape to keep light from going through, but if I shut my closet door behind me, I could spy through it without being noticed. Not that spying on Mom was that interesting, but it was good practice.

I could see floorboards lit by a flashlight and a bare foot. The beam moved too quickly to illuminate much, but a spy knows to assemble the pieces. It was Steven, naked as a jaybird. When the flashlight went out, the streetlight edging around the blinds made him look white.

Mom was naked, too, but on the bed, and when Steven got beside her, she climbed above him and for a moment remained motionless. Then she took his penis, straight like a handle, leaned forward, pinned his shoulders and began rocking him into her. Not that I could see it going in, but it had to have gone somewhere.

Even through the wall, I could hear the bedsprings, Mom rocking and rocking, faster and faster, my brother barely looking up.

Then it was over. She still wiggled, but eventually even that stopped.

What a birthday!

A subsequent chat, I anticipated, -- not the point of the booklet, but related -- would be the one about birds and the bees. “One day soon I must tell you the purpose which menstruation has in Nature’s creative plan -- but not today” didn’t impart much information, but now I didn’t need it.