3.31 Quit Gawking

1964 • 1644 Haight Street, San Francisco ~ At times my father amazed me. One late June afternoon, a boy, not quite my age, maybe fourteen, slender, blonde, and nervous, came into the store. He wanted to buy a bra and needed help. Too embarrassed, especially when I realized this kid wanted it for himself, I summoned Dad. While I busied myself in the yarn section, my father measured and fitted him, rang him up, bagged his purchase (he bought two white Maidenforms, size 32AAA), politely thanked him, and never batted a lash.

Then the next day, two tall, brassy, beautiful black bombshells with high cleavage and spiked heels promenaded through the swinging front doors and over to the yardage section, browsing the Butterick, Simplicity, and McCall’s patterns in the large pull-out drawer then moved on to investigate the bolts of dime-store velvet. Unless it was Christmas or New Years, our customers tended toward solid cotton or calico.

I thought they were hookers. As the redhead fingered the shiny sateens, the bleached blonde settled on the scarlet velveteen. While I ran the bolt through the metal measuring machine anchored to the pullout shelf, I surreptitiously observed them from the corner of my eye as they picked out two spools of matching crimson thread and a card of plastic red buttons. Their deep voices and large hands hadn’t caught my attention until I rang up their purchases. I checked out their false eyelashes, arched eyebrows, ruby lipstick, and faces heavy on the pancake makeup. I smiled when one of them winked at me. As they turned to leave, they primly adjusted their tight mini-skirts and sashayed out the glass front doors. Standing next to me and pretending to busy himself filling the candy bin, Dad elbowed me, nearly knocking me over.

“Quit gawking,” he said under his breath, barely moving his lips.

I couldn’t help it. I’d never seen a transvestite. And for the second time in two days, I was stunned when my father didn’t raise an eyebrow. For a man who was a complete and absolute prude—and who made it quite clear that anything having to do with sex was improper, indecent, and unacceptable—it didn’t compute.

to be continued…

© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
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