So I guess I gave it away right there in the title, but having just posted on FourStory about what Planned Parenthood meant to me in my teenaged years, I realized I forgot my very favorite story.
It is December 1990 and I am 17 years old. Things are really awful at home, and I have taken up smoking, ditching, and sex.
I have been called down to the vice principal’s office to discuss my many absences. I look at the printout and explain that for that absence (I don’t try to whitewash all of them) I was at Planned Parenthood. She crosses it off the list.
She is slim, professional, probably in her 30s. The next time I have an appointment, I pop into her office. Hey Ms. ___. I have to go to Planned Parenthood. Can I get an off-campus pass?
“I can’t give you an off-campus pass without a parent’s permission,” she tells me, and then she walks me to the parking lot.
I don’t think I even had an appointment that day, but I might have.