row’s feet, dog jowls, and turkey wattles: Despite my menagerie of aging signs, the inner me is still a kid—-immature, impulsive and impertinent. When I was little ‘I couldn’t wait for the freedom I expected would come with grow- ing up. Once, at 16, I had adult power for a brief moment. It was my high school drama class final exam performance. I hopedto pass, even if just barely. Wearing an authentic nun’s habit I’d bor- rowed from an authentic nun, I stepped onto the stage as Sister Felicity in a hastily-rehearsed scene from Suddenly Last Summer. All I had to do was stand there in that heavy habit with my hands clasped and deliv- er my lines. For a rambunctious cut-up like me, holding still required serious acting.‘ 'Miracle of miracles, my portrayal garnered me an instant A. Maybe I really had talent. ytfllbit ‘ on the subject. (Needless to say, I never got an A from Mr. Mendez.) He guarded the entrance in his typical authoritar- ian stance. What an opportunity! I walked up and looked him stemly in the eye. V “May I help you, Sister?” Courtesy dripped from his usually reprimanding tongue. I stared, thrilled he didn’t see past my wimple and recognize me — the smart aleck kid he’d busted passing notes All Mr. Mendez saw was‘ a nun who expected something from him. . Had I thrown him into a Catholic School flashback? Either that or our faggy drama teacher recognized my budding queemess and wanted to encour- age me to get into theater where I’d find kindred spirits. . I was so stoked about getting the A, I stayed in cos- tume after class. I felt invincible inside those massive folds of fab- ric. A voluminous veil and starched white headpiece hid my telltale high forehead and curly hair. Any hint of my Jewishness was pretty well concealed by the giant crucifix hanging solemnly against my black-draped teenage bosom. My robes rustled with purpose as I strode across cam- pus to assembly. A sea of school- mates hushed and parted to let me pass. Mr. Mendez was on hall monitor duty outside the auditorium. I knew from his eco- nomics class that he considered himself a good Catholic and didn’t tolerate any joking around featuring my less-than-flattering likenesses of him. All Mr. Mendez saw‘ was a nun. A nun who apparently expected something from him. Had I thrown him into a Catholic School flashback? Sweat beaded onto his forehead and upper lip. My stringent economics teacher was at a loss. Did I have Mr. Mendez scared? What a potent feeling! Poor Mr. Mendez shift- ed, fidgeted like one of his day- dreaming economics students suddenly called on to explain supply and demand. I must have broken character for a second, because a tentative recognition furrowed Mr. Mendez’s already frown-creased brow. Was he see- ing the real me behind the veneer? He wasn’t totally sure. “Sheklow, is that you?” I flashed a grin. Mr. Mendez’s reverent look drooped into his standard scowl.-Before he could respond I rustled past I him, glided into the auditorium, and slipped into the back row. Heads turned. The lights dimmed. Eventually the murmur subsided. After assembly, I drove myself home. My brother had loaned me his 1940 Dodge coupe for the day. People in passing cars did double takes at the nun behind the wheel of a rusty old wreck. Just before I turned onto our street I lifted my berobed arm out the window, black gabar- dine flapping in the wind. When I was sure plenty of gawking drivers and passengers were looking my way, I held up my hand and raised my middle fin- ger. The old car"’s tires squealed as I gunned ituaround the comer. ' God, that was fun! I parked in our drive- way, checked-the mail box, and waved at our next-door neighbor as if it were any other after- school day. On my way to the ‘ front door, my reflection in the living room window startled me. How authentically nunly I looked. Not schoolkid-ish at all. Before I’d finished admiring . _ myself the telephone rang and I ran inside. My mom’s frantic voice boomed through the receiver, “What’s going on there? Is everything all right?” Old Mrs .Vineberg, our strictly—kosher next door neighbor, had freaked and called my mom at work to reporta nun on the premises. '_ “It’s okay, Mom. I’m , still wearing my habit costume.” While I chatted with my m_other I spotted our neighbor looking in from across the driveway. I smiled, waved, and remembering I still wore the habit, blessed Mrs. Vineberg with the sign of the cross. I Even now, in my mid- fifties, nothing’s really changed. It’s still the same wiseacre-me ' inside. Being middle-aged is like a costume — aidisguise that con- fers an automatic status we don't have as young people. Getting older is fun, thrilling, actually. Like being a nun ‘and flipping the bird from a speeding jalopy. V_ Writer Sally Sheklow and her wife pretend to be grownups in Eugene, Oregon. .>.e Hardwick Chiropractic 5:4 St:%:a:nl (.'iz'~:;ié: " ;" V? (35836 Montpelier Chiropractic .2 13% wwatigiv nuntnex Gentle, Effective Health Care Dr. Grace Johnstone Dr. Rick Eschholz I "One of the 10 best gay/lesbian guesthouses." ‘ —Planet Out highlaindsinn-nh.com o Bethlehem, NH 377 LES-B-INN (537~2466) since 1983 A Lesbian Paradise Theatre Guild presents Michael Bennett. Mawlxx Hamliseh and Edward Kleban . 13;? 20th~23rd ~ July 27th~30th ~ Aug 3rd~6th p ormances at 8:00 pm at the Town Hall Theater Due to mature content, only adult tickets will be sold Call 2538961 or see Www.stowetheatre.com