They Called Me "Wolf Woman"

It's funny how your memory works. One event can trigger a string of thoughts that lead to a moment in your personal history you've long since forgotten. Last week I purchased a strapless dress for a show I was doing. As I examined myself in the dressing room, peering at every segment of my body, I paused when my eyes skimmed across my arms. While my daily workouts chiseled them out every so slightly, they were hairy as hell. (Yes, I have hairy arms - get over it.) At that moment, when I felt most defensive of my follicle covered forearms - the flashback came!

It was the summer after sixth grade and I was off to 4-H camp. Every year, I headed off into the wilderness for a week with my peers to learn about the great outdoors, but most importantly to escape the horrors of parental rule. At this point in my life, I was a plagued with acne and a bad hair cut. Even after a whole year of pimple jokes, I was not prepared for additional commentary on my awkward pubescent body. Nevertheless, I trekked to camp loving myself, flaws and all.

The second day of camp, we strolled down to the pool for some relief from the summer heat. It was everyone's first appearance in swimwear, so all the boys were soaking up every inch of each feminine form. Knowing it would likely be years before they'd see what was under the suits, they made it their task to look as closely as they could at the lycra that separated them from the treasure beneath. During the eye groping march to the pool, one boy shouted out, "look at those hairy arms and legs...it's wolf woman." I prayed he was referring to one of my compadres, but when I looked up the small taunting circle had already formed around me. "Wolf woman, wolf woman," they chanted all the way to the bottom of the hill.

Knowing that tears would only lead to more jeers, I decided to save my weeping for the night hours when no one could witness it. "Why me?" I thought. "Did God have to give me acne and wolf-like qualities too?" While the guys found other targets throughout the week, every once in awhile some insecure middle schooler would compose a wolf woman chant just for the heck of it. I stood strong in the face of the hecklers knowing I would never be called wolf woman again...as soon as I returned home, I planned to engage in a campaign against my body hair.

At the end of the week, our parents shuffled us into overloaded cars to transport us home. No sooner than my mom could ask about my camp experience, I informed her I was going to shave my legs. She used her standard reply of "you're too young" but I already had a barrage of arguments lined up for the battle. I told her about my horrible week and let her know that either she could help me or punish me for doing it on my own. Yes, this was a bold move that could have resulted in my whole summer being lost to house arrest, but I didn't care. What kind of summer could I have as "wolf woman"? Seeing the fire in my eyes, she knew I could not be stopped, so she reluctantly agreed to tutor me on the art of shaving.

While I littered the bathtub that evening with what seemed like pounds of leg hair, I never got around to disrobing my arms. No one really mentioned them after that summer, so I left them in their natural form all these years. For some reason, the strapless dress compelled to kill wolf woman completely. I looked down at those hairy arms in the dressing room and said "good-bye."