Free My Life So Far by Jane Fonda

hill to conquer the enemy. Peter wasn’t fascinated with Indians the way I was and wasn’t quite as adventuresome, so I created a fantasy brother who was Native American. I used to pray: Dear God, please ask Santa Claus to bring me an Indian brother for Christmas.
    We were required to take hour-long naps every afternoon when we weren’t in school. I hated it, because I was never tired. Lying there for that endless hour, I would create a family out of my fingers. The middle finger, the biggest, was the father, the index finger was the mother, Peter was the pinky, and so forth. I would dress them up in robes made of tissues, and if I’d thought to sneak a pen into bed with me, I’d give them faces. When I was through, I’d wad up the Kleenex into tiny balls, as small as I could make them. Then I would try to smooth the pieces out on the bed so that they’d be just like new, with no wrinkles. While I did this, I’d say to myself,
I can make it better. I can make it all better.
That’s when that personal mantra began.
    My very best friend was Sue Sally Jones, the best athlete in school. I always felt I could never be as brave and strong, but maybe I could copy how she did things. I remember once asking Peter in all seriousness, “Who do you think could round up buffalo better, Sue Sally or me?”
    Without hesitation he said, “You, sis.”
    That’s my bro! Of course he probably thought that if he said Sue Sally, I’d push him off the roof.
    The only time I can remember ever being sat down on an adult’s lap and told how to behave was by Sue Sally’s mother, Mrs. Jones. I had said the f-word to a boy in the playground. I was spending the night with Sue Sally, and Mrs. Jones took me aside, sat me on her lap, looked straight at me with her pale blue eyes, and said, “Lady, you know the other day on the playground you used a bad word when you were talking with one of the boys? Do you remember?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Jones.” I felt even worse because she wasn’t yelling.
    “It is not right for you, or anyone, to use dirty words. It makes you seem like you’re not a nice girl. But you are a nice girl. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Jones.”
    “Will you promise never to do it again, Lady?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Jones.” It is a vivid memory, I think, because of its uniqueness in my life.
     
    I n third grade, I decided to take my destiny into my own hands and announced to all that from now on I wanted to be called Jane, with no “y.” My third-grade report card says, under the heading “Personality”:
     

    Jane is well adjusted, dramatic, has self-confidence and assurance. She is well liked by the children because she is interesting and vital in her responses. Jane has the ability of telling experiences in a very interesting and graphic manner. I think she has dramatic ability and a talent for making the common place have life and interest.
     
    I treasure this evidence that I once possessed self-confidence and self-assurance. They would soon be gone.

 

     
    Sue Sally at age ten, just before we moved east. This is how we both looked at that time. Later, Sue Sally played professional polo for twenty years disguised as a man, because women weren’t allowed to play. She became the first woman to break that gender barrier. I keep this photo on my desk to remind me of her courage.

 

     
    At Tigertail: me on Pancho, Peter with Pedro, then Dad, Pan, and Mother.
    (Motion Picture TV archive)
     

 
    As for sex, my first encounter was traumatic. We had two donkeys, Pancho and Pedro, and one afternoon I took them both out, riding Pancho and leading Pedro. I was seven years old, it was a hot day, and I had on shorts. I was on the top of a nearby hill, in an oak forest, when all of a sudden two hooves clamped themselves over my bare thighs from behind and all hell broke loose: Pedro, I later realized, had decided to hump Pancho—with me astride! There was a lot of thrashing about, with bucking and