“The Care and Keeping of You” was an ever-present beacon of light in the confusing days of my adolescence. My health classes in elementary school were few and far between, touching very lightly on anything that was not the food pyramid. My peers and I learned most of our sex ed from playground gossip that usually started with, “Well, my mom says…” and ended with some horrifying and misheard information. My parents, wanting my education on all things relating to my own body to be as comprehensive as possible, purchased both volumes of American Girl’s “The Care and Keeping of You.”
The books were separated by age group: the first book “for younger girls,” and the second “for older girls.” “The Care and Keeping of You” remains a bizarre yet widely accessible tool for parents to make health education both easy to understand and fun to learn for their children. In a world where sex ed is polarizing, “The Care and Keeping of You” was the answer for parents who didn’t want to talk about the birds and the bees directly with their adolescents. Surprisingly enough, this cute little book from American Girl was the most medically correct sex ed I could get my hands on.
When I speak to other students who read the books, they agree. A group of us are like, “Yeah, I learned what a period was from that book.” While this is relatively unconventional, I’m glad to have received my period education from American Girl, instead of rumors in the classroom. Unlike the period horror stories I’ve heard from peers and elder members of my community, I felt no fear the first time I got mine. Sure, I thought my life was over because I was going to bleed a week of every month for the foreseeable future, but thanks to American Girl, I had a rudimentary understanding of what was going on inside of my body. The chokehold those books and their cute graphics had on me ended up doing me a favor in the long run. They eliminated any fear or uncertainty about my body as it was changing.
“The Care and Keeping of You” had something parents didn’t: unapologetic accuracy. It didn’t code anatomically correct phrases with terms parents felt more palatable. In many cases, without the book, children would not have access to diagrams and scientific language that effectively explain the process of puberty.
A particularly memorable chapter for me was the bra shopping section. The chapter covered the practicality of beginning to wear a bra and the correct way to measure yourself for one. Graphics accompanied by definitions classified different varieties of bras and their primary purposes. The final spread of the chapter discussed scenarios that young girls might struggle with: developing faster or smaller than peers, feeling pressured to look like others and getting bullied because of body shape. This kept me from feeling lost the first time my middle school self ventured into the mall for a bra.
American Girl recently published a version “for boys,” called “Guy Stuff: The Body Book for Boys.” I purchased it for my brother and took a glance through it. I’m glad to know American Girl has answered the call of (probably) many parents. Personally, as a big sister, I thank the book for explaining things like body odor and general cleanliness, something that is too rarely taught to boys undergoing puberty, a truth of which I’m sure many of us are painfully aware. From the beginning of puberty onwards, girls are taught that their bodies are their responsibilities, while there’s less pressure for young men to understand their bodies because they are viewed as much lower risk to assault and harassment.
In all seriousness, there’s invaluable power in understanding your body and American Girl happened to pioneer a text that taught that. I’ll be recommending all the iterations of the books to anyone with kids in elementary school. I’ll always credit American Girl with giving me the answers I needed in fear and confusion filled middle school.
