First Moon Rising: The Making of a Menarche Ritual

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By Ksenija Soster-Olmer

When I first heard about the Red Party, I was intrigued and excited. Remembering the secrecy and negative feelings that surrounded first menstrual periods in my generation, I felt I owed it to my oldest daughter, Tisa, to celebrate this important event. But would she be willing? Or would she be too embarrassed? How would we go about it? We have no experience with rituals and ceremonies as, alas, we are neither a religious nor a very spiritual family.

Tisa was only 11 when I mentioned my idea to her, and her first period still seemed somewhat remote. We talked about people she might want to invite; she said she would let me know when the time came if she was interested, and we left it at that. Now and then I came across something interesting and hid it in a closet--a little statue of a woman, a pair of lacy pajamas, a silk robe in her size. Then one day Tisa came home from school and said, matter-of-factly, "Luckily my friend Sara had a pad with her, because I got my period." I smiled and congratulated her, while hiding some motherly guilt--"You didn't even make sure to give her a pad to take to school!" We had read books together and talked about it all, but I had neglected this crucial detail.

Well, let me make it up to her. How about that party we talked about? She said she would talk to her friends and see what they thought. And what will their mothers think, I wondered. I broached the subject with one of the moms, who was immediately excited. "Oh, I think it is a wonderful idea! I've heard about these ceremonies, but I’ve never been to one."

Once my daughter gave me the green light, I began my research. The woman who first told me about the Red Party e-mailed me the guidelines for a Maidening ceremony her church performed. An old acquaintance who knew about some rituals surrounding the first period said she would be honored to help with the ceremony.

Tisa started to get excited once the date was set. "Mom, could we have lots of candles? Or a fire? How about flower garlands? I saw this great way to put your hair up like the Greeks did in olden times. I want to wear something white or red, and it should be long and flowing."

Half of the fun is in planning and dreaming. I wanted my daughter to dream up the most beautiful ceremony; I wanted her to feel as beautiful as a bride, as a goddess; I wanted to celebrate womanhood with her.

In striving for equality, I had always pushed aside my feminine side. What good was being a woman in a world dominated by men, all brain and very little heart? Only when I became a mother did I come to appreciate my woman’s body. Now I want my daughters to look in the mirror with pride and walk down the street like they own the world, like they are the most beautiful girls in the world. Because they are!

Tisa invited two school friends, a younger girl from down the street, and (after some prodding) the elder of her two younger sisters. Two of the moms joined their daughters. She also invited some women she had always felt close to and admired--an old family friend, a young woman who was her science project mentor, and a neighbor for whom she babysat.

I went on the Internet and searched under menstruation, menarche, and Red Party. I went to the library and bookstores. I talked to other women. I didn’t find any step-by-step instructions for this rite of passage, but rather bits and pieces around which we could design our own ritual: Serve red foods. Wear something red. Include the elements of earth, fire, air, and water. Share stories. Sing. Tie it all together and see what happens.

I was a bit worried about how a bunch of middle-class women from diverse cultural and religious backgrounds (among others, a devout Christian, a nonpracticing Hindu, a Palestinian, and a Hawaiian) would take it. How would we muddle through? Oh, but we did. And it was the most beautiful, moving experience for all of us, girls and women alike.

We gathered in the evening, with the sun going down and the fog blowing in from the ocean. Everyone wore something red, from a bright red-and-gold Indian tunic and pants to a necklace of red beads over a denim dress. The girls set up an altar on a red tablecloth in the middle of our living room floor. They brought in branches from the bay trees surrounding our house and placed the four elements in the four directions: air (east) represented with feathers; fire (south), with a burning candle and smoldering sage; water (west), with a bowl of ocean water and oil; earth (north), with a bowl of red clay. Between two white candles we placed the daisy garland I’d woven for Tisa to wear. We sprinkled red rose petals and other small flowers from the front door to the altar. Each girl held a red candle.

Standing in a circle around the altar, we started with words of welcome and introductions:“I am a daughter of so and so, a mother of so and so, a sister to so and so.” Our wise mistress of ceremonies thanked the elements for their presence and talked about what each means in a woman's life. We learned that air represents our thoughts, ideas, and womanly wisdom; fire our passions and sensuality; water our dreams, visions, and intuition; and earth our body and fertility. We held hands and, timidly at first, then loudly from the heart, sang a beautiful American Indian song:

River she is flowing, growing,
River she is flowing to the sea.
Carry me my mother,
Your Child I will always be.
Carry me my mother to the sea.
River she is flowing…