"What's that face for?", I ask my three year old granddaughter Edie.

"It's my unhappy face."

"But why an unhappy face? We're going to the park and you love it there."

"It's because daddy always lets me climb up the ladders by myself and you don't let me. I am big. I am strong. I can do it without your help."

And with those words I am transported back in time.. to a divingboard in 9 ft water at a neighborhood pool club. Perched on the board is a six year old about to catapult backwards. No standard issue run of the mill dive for this fearless champion. She was about to execute a perfect back dive. An alerted lifeguard kept a vigilant eye on this little figure. In her mind, Olympic judges would have awarded her  perfect 10's. She propelled  backwards, resurfaced and swam to the ladder triumphantly. Yet, when she got to the top step her world imploded. Her mother was standing there with an expression that was equal parts terror, anger and relief. She will never forget her parent's words,"Oh My God. I looked up from my lounge and realized you were about to dive off that board. I was never so frightened in my entire life. What were you thinking? You are just a little girl. You must never ever do anything like that again. You could have broken your neck."

The demoralized child took her mother's admonition to heart. There would be no more death defying stunts off the board, but she still loved the water. She was nicknamed "The Fish,"; all that was missing were her scales. She would remain submerged all day. The itinerary rarely varied. She swam endlessly, created pool games with friends, and became enamored of synchronized swimming. This continued summer season after season. This was her element. This was where she found both joy and passion.

Then one day it all changed. Her mom insisted that she dry off and take a break for lunch. She was sitting in a towel on a lounge chair when she became aware of a group of adolescent boys pointing at her and laughing. She realized they were chanting, "Clara Bell  Clara Bell." She didn't grasp the connection until one of the boys elaborated and between giggles told her she had the same hairstyle as Clara Bell, the Clown. She ran to look in a mirror. Her hair had dried to form ringlets circling her face and apparently  made her a dead ringer for the last person she wanted to be. While previously oblivious and unaware, she was now self-conscious and mortified. I think from that moment on she vowed never to get her hair wet again in the pool so as not to become a target of ridicule. Now "the fish" was not as spontaneous and carefree but rather limited in her actions. Her new purpose was to avoid being made fun of again.

Fast-forward a few years and she is a thirteen yr. old teenager. She is sauntering poolside when she encounters a neighbor who is her mother's friend. The woman takes it upon herself to share her observation that the adolescent is starting to resemble her mom's body type. To this woman's critical eye, there is no question that she has her mother's thighs.  This pronouncement is disconcerting to the girl since she knows her mother's thighs are a source of unhappiness to her mother who is constantly trying to reduce them by dieting. She always laments trying to find clothing in her size. She realizes that her mother never parades around the pool without a sarong or matching swimsuit pullover.  Thus begins the era of the coverup. From then on, one could locate her chaise lounge by the coverup placed near her towel. With practice, she had perfected toweling off and camouflaging herself in as few motions as possible to speed up the process.

Sadly, I was that six year old girl who initially approached life so boldly and courageously. I wanted to explore and test limits. I was unself-conscious and secure in my developing self. Yet, along the journey to adolescence and young womanhood I let all these well-meaning, and not so kind reprimanding, teasing and damaging comments define and diminish me. I internalized others' fears and cautionary tales. I allowed cruel and restricting criticism on my appearance to alter my self image. All of those messages were on a neverending loop that stopped me in my tracks. Instead of believing in my capabilities, I bought into the doubts about what I could accomplish.  I began to awfulize all the scenarios of how I might get injured. I was more focused and concerned with boys finding me attractive than immersing myself in what brought me joy and gave me pleasure. I started to be ashamed of my body believing it didn't meet the beauty aesthetic.

The emotional scars that began to alter that six year old remain. Today I cannot go up a winding staircase or step out on a high balcony if not enclosed. My husband had to be my surrogate and take photos of Diamond Head so I could see the magnificent view from our Hawaiian balcony. I am never without a jacket or coat with a hood which is my preemptive strike against getting caught in the rain and ending up looking like Clara Bell.  My husband remains frustrated with me because I have essentially given up wearing bathing suits even though he is always so complimentary.  

Obviously there was something in my makeup that predisposed me to being so hyper-sensitive and suseptible to these experiences and negative comments. Looking back, it is incredulous to me how much of a risktaker I was early on. That element of my persona has totally left the building. I think I remain brave in tackling difficult issues and standing up for social injustice but the bungee jumping, trapeze flying, mountain climbing girl who was incubating inside me never was allowed to reach maturity. That part of me was never nurtured and she died of  abuse and neglect. In her place is a woman who can't take the garbage out without wearing lipstick . and cannot even fathom the idea of letting her hair dry naturally after a shower.

I will joke about how I am the antithesis of nature girl. When my son asked if I would be the class mother for an overnight camping trip, I asked if the tents came equipped with sockets for hairblowers.  I prayed they would find a substitute chaperone because while I would never disappoint my sons, I dreaded being out of my comfort zone. The gods were good and a teacher was comandeered.

One has to wonder if that six year old had been met by a cheerleading mother at the pool's ladder celebrating her, what other feats she might have tackled. And if I had not been teased and made  to feel denigrated and self-conscious about my body image how much freer I might be. There would be  no judgments or discomfort . To this day, I marvel at women who so unself-consciously get undressed and walk around nude in a lockerroom while I head for the stalls.

And so when that  precious little girl who I love beyond anything imaginable said to me......"You won't let me climb up the ladders by myself," I made a conscious decision. Off we went to the park. First she climbed climbed, climbed up to the sky on the swings. Then she headed towards the jungle gyms. She ran toward the open runged chain ladder. I held my breath and forced myself to stay a respectable distance away so I could spot her like what is done with gymnasts but not impede her independent movement. Edie tackled each rung with  confidence and unbridled glee. She swung from bars with total abandon and slithered down poles. Then she flew down the sliding pond. I applauded, encouraged and reaffirmed her abilities.

When she had exhausted herself, she began to sing at the top of her lungs. She belted out an original song reflecting her mood.

"I am Super Girl to the rescue.

I can do anything.  I am big. I am strong.

And I can save the day all by myself."

And I  marvelled that this fearless little girl has my DNA and maybe just maybe she can become all that she is meant to be-----without being derailed and diminished  by the reprimanders, the naysayers, the doubters and the gender police.  I will silence all my internal sirens and repress my impulse to intervene because I want Super Girl to evolve into Wonder Woman and she needn't do it in a corseted restrictive  body suit but in her own comfortable beautiful skin.