I grew up a prude. I'll admit it. It had to do with the household I was brought up in. We covered up our bodies. No peeking. That is why going to gym class in junior high and beyond also meant going into the dreaded locker room. Let me describe my junior high building. Parts of it were old. Very old. The locker rooms were located at the end of a dimly lit hallway in the basement of the somewhat newer section of the building. Still scary, though. The locker room consisted of two sections--the truck wall and the showers. The truck wall was rather interesting. Hidden in an alcove were these pullout storage shelves loaded with wire baskets for storing our gym uniforms or school clothes. We were each assigned our own baskets. One shelving unit contained enough baskets for an entire class. At the beginning of the class the required storage unit was rolled out from the alcove and left out until class was over and it was then rolled back into its place in the wall. We took turns being "truck captains". For one week at a time we had to get to the locker room early to have the truck out and ready and at the end of class it was our responsibility to push the truck back into the wall. Changing times were limited to five minutes and everything needed to run like clockwork. You don't want to make a gym teacher angry. The changing room/shower area consisted of little cubicles for dressing and a shared shower with whoever was in the cubicle next to you. It was always a race to see who could get into the shower first. Upon leaving the shower area we had to pass by the gym teacher, call out our assigned number and pass inspection. If we didn't look wet enough we were told to hit the shower again. I think the worst part was having to report when we were having our period. We then called out our number followed by the letter M. The teacher dutifully recorded it in her grade book. GRADEBOOK!!! I remember one time whispering the letter M to the teacher and hearing her roar back "What was that, Brudevold?" I had to repeat it loudly enough for everyone to hear it. Way to go, coach! Who wants to be reminded of "it" all day long. Junior High can be so cruel. When I moved up to the senior high it got worse. Gang showers!! No more changing cubicles. No, No. Every aspect of showering and dressing was done in the open except.....you know when. THAT time of the month. Separate, private showers were available but you still had to report to the gym teacher why you needed to use a private shower. You got it. Be sure to add the letter M after your assigned class number. Oh, the teen years were terrible for me--the prude. I'd also like to mention something about our gym uniforms that we were required to wear during class. (If you didn't show up wearing your uniform, you got docked grade points. I'm not athletic. I couldn't afford to lose any points needlessly.) The uniforms were short blue cotton sleeveless jumpsuits that had a snap opening in the front and a little collar. Our names had to be hand embroidered above the pocket. Each Friday the uniform had to be taken home and washed AND pressed and brought back on Monday morning. We had to pass inspection and, again, were docked points if the uniform was not neatly pressed. I wore my uniform for four consecutive years and by the time I retired the blue jumpsuit, it was worn thin and splitting in some places. I think the butt seam finally separated and had to be repaired. Such a memory. O.K., so I had the opportunity to re-visit my junior and senior high schools a few years ago during one of those all school reunion weekends. I made a point of seeking out the locker rooms, especially the one in the junior high, with the purpose of making peace with a not-so-good memory. Well, guess what. Even though the locker room was in the same location, it had been completely gutted and renovated. Gone was the truck wall. Now it was filled with lockers. The changing cubicles were gone and everything was in the open. Speaking of open.....the semi-private showers were replaced with gang showers. OH MY WORD I came to make peace and instead I was greeted by this. Did I mention I was a prude? I'll end it with this. God bless all the young women who for decades have faced the trauma of the locker room. I feel for you. Now go find your peace.
