It’s Not A Boy!

“It’s not a boy!” should have been what the doctor said. June 15, 1955 at 7:10 AM, Rayford Lamar McFarland and Eleanor Joyce McFarland became parents for the very first time to a 7 pound 10 ounce baby girl. They named her Barbara Lorraine.

One day I questioned my parents about how they came up with my name, since no one in the family shared the name Barbara or Lorraine. I must say, their reply totally surprised me. It’s not every day you find out you are named after your fathers’ ex-girlfriend. Go figure, only in my family! The ex-girlfriends’ name was Barbara and they explained how much dad loved the name. My mother wanted to name me Lorraine, after one of her girlfriends. Well, my father wasn’t really satisfied with the name my mother chose, but he was willing to make a concession if she would agree to the name Barbara. Actually I would say my mother made the concession. There you have it, the agreement was made, and they decided to call me Lorraine. However, about two years ago I found out my great great grandmothers’ name was Barbara, so I choose to believe I was named after her. I am certain that would have been the case had my father known that bit of history and I know my mother would have been more comfortable with the name. Who knows, they may have even called me Barbara. It makes me wonder, if I was called by a different name, would I have turned out a different person.

From day one my mother dressed me like a little baby doll. I had frills draped on me from head to toe; crinolines, ruffled butt panties, laced bonnets, ruffled socks, and lace gloves. She wanted everyone to know I was a girl. Apparently, word has it, I was bald until I was about two years old and my mother didn’t want anyone to think I was a boy.

All throughout my growing up years my mother desperately tried to keep me a prissy girl; a tomboy she did not want. When I was in elementary school she would give me home permanents so I would have curly hair. My hair was naturally very straight and she thought her little girl should have curls. She also took great pride in her obsession to be certain I always wore a slip under my dress to school every day. When I was in elementary school, dresses or skirts were the only attire you were allowed to wear. My mother explained that I needed to wear this garment so little boys could not see through my dress. I, the curious one, wondered how they could see through my dress. In my inquisitiveness I would bend over and peer through the skirt portion of my dress to see if I could see through it. Then I would reveal my findings to my mother and explain that no one could possibly see through it because I couldn’t. Of course she never agreed with my conclusion. But let me tell you, I hated to wear a slip and I would do anything to get out of it.

I was born pigeon toed which means when I walked my feet turned in towards one another and my knees would hit together the majority of the time. I had to wear ‘ugly’ corrective shoes with the soles built up on the outside of each shoe in hopes that it would force my feet to turn outward. That in itself was a sight; a prissy little girl with all her frills wearing ugly black and white saddle oxfords and ruffled socks. So when I wore a straight silky slip without all the ruffles the thing would crawl up between my legs with every step I took. I constantly had to reach down and straighten it only to know it would happen again in a very brief time. It would be so annoying I would just want to scream. Then I got an idea, I would go into the restroom and take it off. Soon I began to get dressed in the mornings and not put on a slip in hopes that my mother would not find out. Some days I was successful, but on the days my mother would catch me it was not pleasant. I would get in so much trouble. Soon it began to be a continuous problem. My mother explained to me that if I were caught not wearing a slip she would spank me. I don’t know about you, but when my parents spanked us they used a wide leather men’s belt. I’m here to say the belt usually captured our attention. However, in this case it appeared to be a useless tactic.  Although I continued to sneak around and remove my slip at school, I would try and remember to put it back on before I left to go home. Should I forget and get caught, my mother would spank me as she had previously promised. One day she became so angry with me she told me she was going to have my father address the problem. She was at her wits end. She sent me to my bedroom and told me, “You stay there until your father gets home!” Needless to say she was very angry and I was a bit nervous. One thing you didn’t want to do in my household was get a spanking from my father; you knew without a doubt if he spanked you it was serious. So I sat in my room for what seemed like hours anticipating the trouble I was in with my father.

 Finally it happened. My father, a tall man, thin in stature, had the look in his eyes like Chuck Connors in the show “The Rifleman”. My brothers and I always dreaded that look. As he walked into the room, he was carrying in his hand the infamous wide leather belt. I knew this could not be good. But something unexpected happened. As my father closed my bedroom door the look in his eyes were different and I was a bit confused. He sat down on my bed and began to talk to me. He asked me, “Why is it so difficult for you to wear a slip? You know how important it is to your mother.” Then I so carefully explained the problem as I seen it, through the eyes of a child. Strangely enough, to my surprise, he listened closely. Once I was finished with my intelligent explanation he said to me, “I don’t see what the big deal is either and I don’t agree with your mother. Here is what we are going to do. Your mother sent me in here to spank your butt. So, when I snap this belt you better scream out so she thinks you are getting your spanking.” Of course I happily agreed without any hesitation! My father then gracefully folded the belt in half and made it snap a loud noise. Each time it snapped I would happily scream out as he had instructed me. When he finished he said, “Don’t let your daddy down. As ridiculous as it is, wear a slip to make your mother happy.” Then he smiled and winked at me as he walked out of the room. I sat there pretending to cry as instructed, yet thankful for my father’s understanding and the fact I had escaped, what was in my mother’s eyes, a much deserved spanking.

I never wanted to let my father down, so from that day forward I tried hard to always wear a slip. I have to say, I was thankful when I reached Junior High School and we were allowed to wear pants to school. Finally, I could throw away those ridiculous slips! To this day, I have a slip phobia. And believe me when I tell you this, I would rather wear pants than a dress anytime just to avoid the haunting slip issue.

Oh yes, you may be wondering if my mother ever found out what took place that day. She did find out, but not until about 5 years ago. I thought it was safe to tell her because my father had since passed and I knew he would not get into trouble for sparing the rod that day. She laughed and shook her head in disbelief. But in the end she knew she had been successful regardless of what my father done. Her little girl was still prissy and everyone knew Barbara Lorraine definitely was not a boy.

This article is in special memory of: Rayford Lamar McFarland (Jan 3, 1930 – May 15, 1982)

I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog  http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website  http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing, and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright March 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

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