In the Episcopal Church, which I fled, they have come up with a liturgy for girls upon reaching puberty. As an older priest I admire put it in his monthly column, one sure way to make sure a 12 year old girl never darkens the doors of a church again is to make her get up in front of the congregation and talk about her period.
Let me guess: There's the ceremonial slamming of the door, and then slamming it again because the first one wasn't loud enough. There's the ritual groan or scream (there's a combination noise 13 year old girls can make which is indescribable, but once you've heard it you never forget it) and the bursting into tears. There's the playing of music really really really loudly. There's the father stalking around the sanctuary "breathing threats and slaughter" against anything the ever thought of wearing trousers. And at the end there's the incredibly sweet climbing into the lap or mother or father while the parents fight to hold back tears knowing that the little girl they love so much is leaving them as she turns into an equally but differently lovable young woman.
Am I close? After all, I used to be an Episcopalian ...