"The Fun and Heartbreak of Growing Up"
This article, written by Sandra Dee, appeared in Movieland & TV Time Magazine November, 1959
Mt first high-heeled shoes, my first formal, my first date--it's all part of the wonderful period of growing up.
The disappointment of being stood up, of being treated as a child when I considered myself an adult, the loss of a person I loved deeply--that's all part of growing up, too, I learned.
Mostly, I found out, there are two sides to everything. No situation is so thrilling that the bubble won't burst sooner or later, and none so sad that you can't get over it, somehow.
Take my first pair of nylons.
I was 14 when I became conscious that other girls wore them. I wanted to look as grown-up as they did--but when I broached the subject to Mother, she turned thumbs down. "You'll have to wait another year," she told me.
Life seemed to be passing me by, because life, at that time, consisted of wearing nylon stockings!
One day I got a bright idea.
When I came home from school I told Mom that as a member of the Glee Club, I was ordered to wear stockings by the teacher in charge. The way I put it, it almost sounded like a sacrifice on my part!
The next day Mom stormed right into the teacher's office, indignantly demanding what had caused her to issue such a silly order.
Why--she'd never even heard of it!
I was caught. As a result of having told a fib---no stockings, no allowance, and no movies for a week!
I don't know when I'd been more heartbroken.
Yet when Mom finally realized how much it must have meant to me to even consider such a scheme, she changed her mind. A month after my 14th birthday I put on my first pair of nylons--and felt just about as excited as I would be if I got an Academy Award for "A Summer Place."
When I was 15 I got my first bottle of perfume--one ounce of imported Arpege.
I was so excited about it that after putting a little on me, I stored the rest on the top shelf of my drawer, to save it for special occasions. Somehow none of the occasions were ever special enough--till three months later, when I was invited to a big Hollywood premiere.
I was dressed and almost ready to go when I rushed back into my bedroom to get the perfume. Gingerly I took the tiny bottle out of the little box in which it was kept and to my horror, discovered it was empty!
How should I have known that perfume can evaporate? The whole evening was spoiled for me.
Dresses have also provided both highlights and moments of frustration for me.
I was 14 when I got my first formal. For days I got as much thrill out of admiring it as wearing it. Although it no longer fits me, I still have it--in mothballs. I may keep it for the rest of my life.
On the other hand a few months ago Mom and I went to Saks Fifth Avenue, to get me a new summer wardrobe. What I finally selected had very little to do
with summer--a tight-fitting black sheath dress with a scoop neckline.
"Isn't it beautiful?" I cried out as I held it against me.
"It certainly is," Mom agreed, "but not for you."
"Why not?" I asked disappointedly.
"Because it's too sophisticated."
"But, Mom!"
"No buts... "
I didn't get the dress--but she did, for herself.
At first I was disappointed. Now I'm glad. Maybe I can talk her into letting me wear it once in a while!
Probably the biggest thrill of growing up----is to be treated as a grown-up.
Nowadays people don't hush up when I walk into a room and give me embarrassed looks when they talk about something not meant for the ears of a young girl. They ask my advice more often, and occasionally take it. When I drive into a service station to fill up my car with gas, the attendants no longer grin, "Aren't you a bit young to drive?" And I can stay out
as late as I please without Mom worrying about it--although I've never tested her confidence in me by coming home at an unreasonable hour.
Curiously, and this hurts, the very same people who treat me as an adult one moment consider me a child the next. That
can be terribly embarrassing!
Recently Delmer Daves--a wonderful director and a delightful person--praised me after a scene in "A Summer Place."
"You acted with all the confidence of a woman with ten years' experience," he told me.
Fifteen minutes later--when he needed me for a rehearsal--he loudly ordered the assistant director "to hurry up and get
the little girl for the next shot."
Little girl, really!
One of the most wonderful aspects of growing up is the realization of the powers a girl can have over a boy. Maybe
I'm giving myself away by admitting it--but I have the feeling most teenage girls are in the same position!
A few months ago, for instance, we had a very nice boy staying with us at the house. George is an old friend, more like a brother to me. But that didn't keep me from using my feminine wiles on him anyway.
One night when Mom, George and I were sitting in the living room, stretching tiredly, just about ready to turn in, I suddenly told George, "I don't feel so good ...."
"What's wrong?" he asked sympathetically.
"I don't know, George .... I'm craving something but I don't know what it is .... "
"Is there anything at all I can do for you, Sandy?" he demanded eagerly.
"I would love some chocolate-mocha ice cream from Wil Wright's," I confessed.
Five minutes later George was on his way to Wil Wright's while Mom gave me a lecture about how girls shouldn't tease boys like that. But I thought I detected a faint smile while she was trying to be stern. I guess there are some things all women have in common regardless of age--and discovering it is a wonderful experience!
The most shocking experience of the first 17 years of my life was the
realization that nothing ever stays the same. That was brought about by the death of my stepfather, almost three years ago.
He died in Washington, D. C., after an operation--while I was in New York, completely oblivious to the seriousness of his condition. I can still see a friend of his walking into my room and abruptly giving me the news. I guess she thought it would be easiest that way. It wasn't. My whole world had suddenly collapsed. I was alone and lost. Nothing mattered anymore, and I was sure nothing ever would again.
Yet when I saw Mom come back from Washington the next day, looking so drawn and pale that I hardly recognized her--I felt better. I did because she felt worse than I did, because she needed me. It gave me courage.
I think that's the most important lesson I've learned about growing up. No matter how badly off you think you are, there's always someone worse off. And there is always a brighter side to any event--including death. After I learned how much my stepfather had suffered, and might have gone on suffering if he'd lived longer, I knew what had happened was for the best.
I guess the loss of someone close can be just as much a part of growing up as a new dress, a first date, a first prom, a first boy friend. In a way it's as inevitable as the fact that some day I'll be grown up--and look back at these years with both relief and sadness that they're over.
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