Embarrassment at 11 years old
I was in sixth grade. My brother and I agreed to meet in the back of school where my mom would pick us up. When the last bell rang, I went to the back of school and waited. Over 30 minutes passed. I didn’t have a cell phone, so I couldn’t call. I walked to the front of school, but it was nearly empty. Neither my brother nor my mother were in sight.
What was I supposed to do? I started walking. Only problem was that I didn’t exactly know which way was home. I was never good with directions.
I walked and walked. When I realized I was lost, I started to get nervous. What if they never found me? That’s when the lump started creeping up my neck. Light tears fell down my cheeks.
When I finally reached the main road an hour later and still a 30-40 minute walk from home, I felt slight relief. As I walked alongside the passing cars, I came up to a young girl like myself. She was standing at the corner. The closer I got, the more disgusted she looked – her eyes narrowed in on me. She looked me up and down with concern.
Once I passed her, I glanced down, curious. And that’s when I noticed it. My backpack had slowly raised my skirt so it looked as if I had never worn one. All I saw were the sheer black tights covering my legs and private parts.
I held the skirt down and continued walking in shame. Ten minutes later, my mother appeared. She urged me into the car, clearly worried. She was frantic and yelling. She feared the worst, of course, so I didn’t have the heart to tell her what actually happened. I was eleven and I was too embarrassed to admit that I had gotten lost, cried, and lost my skirt along the way.
It’s funny now, but I still look back at that young girl with sympathy.