L I F E Ñ Fa m i ly F u n
Memory Makers for an Awesome 2022 Continued from page 79
Nina McConigley is a writer and professor at the University of Wyoming in Laramie. W H E N I WA S 1 3 , I became a woman. Or,
I should say, I got my period. I had read enough Judy Blume to know what was happening, but I was not happy, because I knew what was about to happen: my Coming-of-Age Ceremony. My mother is from India, and her home region celebrates a girl’s period as a passage into womanhood. I would wear a sari for the first time, get my first gold jewelry, have a ritual bath, and eat certain foods. The day of my ceremony, I was a typical surly teenager. I had a mouthful of braces and insisted on wearing a Speedo during my bath. I cringed as my parents presented me with jewelry, and I poked at the flowers in my hair. I wore jeans under my sari. The worst part was that my parents invited friends to the house to celebrate with us. I sat mortified in a corner while our American friends mingled and ate, confused as to what exactly it was we were commemorating. We ate sheet cake, and then I ran to my bedroom. But now that I have two daughters, I know I will perform the ceremony with them when their time comes. There’s something important about marking that step into womanhood. To say to them, “I see that you are changing, that your body is doing wonderful things.” It’s also a moment to talk about what womanhood means. For me, the ceremony inspired the first open conversations I’d had with my parents about marriage and fertility. I hope my daughters see their own ceremonies not as a time of separation,
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since adolescence can be lonely, but of entering a new stage together. Will I make it as public an event as mine was? No. I don’t think I’ll invite a houseful of friends and neighbors over. But I will let my girls pick a sari and jewelry. I hope we can cook traditional South Indian food together and I can share stories about the women in our family. Many cultures mark a coming of age: bar or bat mitzvahs, quinceañeras, confirmations. Now I understand why. They help teens move forward while cheering them on from the sidelines. They all say, “I see you.” The night of my ceremony, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought I looked the same. I didn’t feel like a woman. And looking back, I am not sure that the ceremony was the beginning of womanhood per se. Becoming a woman is not tied to menstruation. It’s hundreds of choices and decisions a woman will go on to make throughout her lifetime. But I did feel that my parents saw me differently. That they, with this ceremony, had begun to trust me to make my own choices. If I wanted to wear a Speedo, so be it. I was my own person. It was one of many choices they would go on to let me make, having faith that the realm between childhood and adulthood was one I could navigate. I will do the same for my daughters. In celebrating this passage with them, I hope I will help them move between new worlds—while letting them lead the way.
Give in to a big request, just because. An unexpected “yes” is downright magical to a kid. Share your pop culture repertoire. Fire up The Sandlot, the jazz record your dad loved, the SpongeBob episode nearest to your heart.
Make s’mores over a fire. (Or with the flame on your stove. Both produce delicious results.)
Visit the local water park. Reveal the joys of the sloppy cannonball.
Show them where they came from: the apartment you brought them home to, the park where they played. It will mean the world. Go to a concert together.
Hold their hand on their first airplane ride.
Ask what’s on their list. You may be surprised by their must-dos—and may enjoy them just as much as what you’d planned. COURTESY OF THE SUBJECT.
Nina, her mother, and her aunt Vijaya, 1988
