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BITCHIN':
THOSE '70's GIRLS
by TA Gates & Luree Vanderpool
Chapter One- Excerpt
Tracy Today, The Beginning
Hi. My name is Tracy. I am a woman of the 70’s. And I’ve hit the wall.
When I was younger
So much younger than today
I never needed anybody’s
Help in any way
Now these days are gone
I’m not so self assured
Now I’ve changed my mind
And opened up the door
Help me if you can
I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being ’round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won’t you please
Please
Help me
Help me
-Beatles
I am 49 years old. I am alone. I have no income. I am not in good health. I have been unhappy with my life for at least 8
years now. I am burnt out. Not from the hard work that I've. Work is work and you do what you have to do. I am used up from
giving, giving, giving.
People always tell me, “You are so strong.” Yeah, well. So what? It sucks.
I thought if I did my best each and every day that my life couldn’t help but be good. I thought if I continued to be strong
when others couldn’t, that if the day ever came that I was weak, they would return my love and be strong for me.
I was wrong.
I was wrong about almost everything. I was unprepared. I was and still am stupid about life. I still want to believe in the
goodness of people. I still want to think that one day I will meet a man that puts me at the top of his list and caters to my
needs. That there is more to life than just surviving. That there is fun to be had. Happiness to soften my old age.
Just like a knight in shining armor
From a long time ago
Just in time I will save the day
Take you to my castle far away
I am a man who will fight for your honor
I'll be the hero you're dreaming of
We're gonna live forever
Knowing together that we
Did it all for the glory of love
-Peter Cetera
Yet at the same time, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it will be me that drags my ass up out of this pit. That peels
my tired body off the friggin’ wall and pushes it onward. Ever onward.
I pray to God every day to show me the way.
But I need some time to heal. Could someone please help me? All I asked for was six months.
How did it ever come to this?
Well… let me take you back. Way back to the beginning…
Chapter Two-Excerpt
Luree Today, The Beginning
Hi, my name is Luree. I am a woman of the 70’s and I have hit the wall.
I close my eyes
Only for a moment, then the moments gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind
~ Kansas 1977
I am 46 years old and I have been married three times, and once again I have no partner. I gave up, one more time,
everything I have worked for, dreamed of and thought I wanted my whole life. You know that “Leave It to Beaver” family, that
house with a picket fence; the perfect kids with no bigger issues than battles over homework; the keeping your home and
caring for your husband with the unspoken rule being you would grow old together. You’d buy that RV and see the land
together and your children would call on Saturday morning to say hi and tell you how great their lives were. Holidays would be
spent as a family filled with laughter and joy.
You would be there for each other in good times and bad. And when you died, your partner would be standing beside you,
holding your hand with love and memories of your life together flowing unspoken between you, forever.
God what a fool I have been! I am too damn tired to do this anymore!
Women of the 70’s what a mixed message we received; “Stand by Your Man”, moms who never had careers, never even
thought about one. A time when being a wife and a mother, keeping the home fires burning, fixing dinner, preparing clothes
for their husbands to wear to work, raising kids, that was their jobs. Dad’s whose job it was to bring home the pay check, do
the hard labor, you know mow the lawn, take out the trash, change the oil in the car and meting out discipline in certain
circumstance when mom threw up her hands.
There were no day care centers, after school care and very few women and children on welfare in main stream America.
Then the woman’s movement, “we are equal, equal opportunity, equal pay, and equal rights!” As girls, children, we could feel
the excitement in the air. Women burned their bras, sexual freedom. Free love, communes, protests against the war in Viet
Nam, riots, drugs and finally little girls are told “you can be anything you want to be.” You can go to college for something other
than finding a good husband, provider; you can be an astronaut, a doctor, a scientist, a construction worker, president of a
company, hell president of the United States. And we all sang along with Helen Reddy:
I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back and pretend
'Cuse I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again
~Helen Reddy 1972
I was twelve in 1972 when Helen Reddy first belted out that song and women rejoiced and men hated it. I decided then I
wanted to be a nurse and join the Peace Core, but it wasn’t forever, it was a dream, because I could, an adventure before my
real life started. The thing is, the women of the 70’s, weren’t prepared, there were no role models in our lives that came
before us to show the way or educate us on how we were suppose to do it all, because no one knew how this new freedom
would forever change our lives, our world.
I didn’t realize how it would change my future, my life.
Chapter Five- Excerpt
Tracy The 70's- (69/70 - 11/12)
In 1970, I turned 12 and was in the second half of 6th grade. I was the next to the smallest kid in my entire grade and the
only girl with boobs. My fame as a brain was gone over night when I arrived in September of that school year not with a
training bra but with woman size knockers on a 90 pound body.
I never had a really close girlfriend after that and was suddenly every boys best friend. Which was fine by me, because
from the minute I knew ‘me girl, you boy’, I was looking for love in all the wrong places.
All my life, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I answered, “A wife and mother.” At first I didn’t know a girl
could have another answer, but there was never a truer statement made by me. It’s all I ever wanted, its still what I want to this
day. It doesn’t get any better than that.
The awkward part of this scenario, was that when asked why I didn’t like this cute little boy or that cute little boy. I scoffed at
the askers stupidity and answered , ‘Because I want a man.’
You can imagine how horrifying that was to my parents. I couldn’t possibly know the difference! (In case you don’t
recognize me yet, insert heavy sarcasm here.) They tried to never let me be alone with a man in case I allowed myself to be
swept off my feet in my innocence.
Excuse me while I gag for a moment…
Anyway, the boys were all in awe of my chest and in this one year, they were terrified of me.
But I was a woman. I had breasts and Ricky asked me to marry him at Carnival. Which I did and we kissed, closed mouth,
both nervous and proud as hell.
Ricky loved me from the first time he saw me. He always wanted to be my boyfriend. And when we played this paper-
folding-into-a-game-thing, he discovered that he was going to be a doctor, we would live in Hawaii and drive a Lincoln
Continental.
I bet you thought I’d forgotten all that, huh, Ricky? I still have the note you gave me about Hawaii. I still have a piece of the
stationary you gave me one year with the ‘Love Is…’ couple on it, kissing. It says ‘Practice Makes Perfect’.
See, Ricky, it wasn’t that I didn’t love you. How could I not with your unwavering devotion? But since we were the same
age, you would always be a boy, not a man. Sorry my hang up over that stood between us.
But all these years later, I still cherish all the memories I have of you. Thanks for being one of the good things in my life.
The year before I had begun to learn to question authority. One of my teachers made a comment that he was better than
God. As if he were a Beatle! But worse yet, this teacher was having an affair with the Chorus teacher. It was my first
conscious lesson that just because you were a grown up, it didn’t mean you could be trusted.
So the 6th grade was a pivotal year for me. My eyes were beginning to be opened and my reading put me far ahead of
where I probably should have been. I thought about everything. A lot. All the time.
And by the time 7th grade rolled around, all hell broke loose.
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