Teens and the Relativity of Time

Did you know that until the late 1800s, communities all over the United States determined their own time? There were more than 300 different time zones in our country alone! Cities and towns set their clocks by the sunrise and sunset — so not only did the time change place to place, but it changed throughout the year. When rail travel became popular, this wreaked havoc with the train schedules. So everyone was forced to adopt a standard.

When I stumbled upon this trivia recently, I was not as surprised as you might expect. You see, I realized several years ago that time is relative. In fact, sometimes I feel like my own household has multiple time zones. Or dimensions. Or not-so-parallel universes.

Let me explain.

One might think that three people living in a single 2,300 square foot house would all be on the same clock. Mais non, it turns out there is a lot of room for interpretation. 

We may all agree that it's 11:45 pm, for example. But, while the grownups equate this with "Late," the teenager protests that it's "Not." While I may be aghast that the reading for AP U.S. History isn't done yet, that same teen assures me that (a) she has plenty of time and (b) I am "so" overreacting.

Weekends present similar anomolies. Four days off for Rosh Hashanah (thank you, תודה רבה, all our Jewish friends) might seem like a liberal amount of time for rewriting a particular analysis of Virginia Woolf's Death of a Moth. Why then do Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday pass us by without so much as a book cracked, a pen put to paper, or a finger on a keyboard? Why were we, once again, wide awake and thoroughly stressed out late the night before the edited paper is due?

Oh wait, my bad. It wasn't "Late."

I'm old. I'm tired. I would go to bed at about 9:00 each night if I had my way. My daughter and I will have to disagree on the definition of "Late." 

But, how about more relative terms like "Now," "Soon," and "Later?"

When I ask, "Can you please put your backpack away now?" I mean "Now." As in, "This very instant in the time and space continuum." I don't think I'm alone in this either. Merriam-Webster defines that harmless three-letter word as "at the present time or moment." 

When my daughter hears the word "Now," she interprets it differently. "Now" means "Some time ... later ... maybe ... if you feel like it."

Of course, like time itself, the concept of "Now" is endlessly changeable. When my daughter wants/needs/absolutely-has-to-have something, the word takes on all sorts of urgency. 

Maybe the discrepancy is because of where we are in our own relative lives. She's still fairly new at this, while I've almost certainly moved past my own halfway mark. Maybe time flies a little (or a whole lot) when you're middle-aged. I bemoan how fast my daughter's growing up. She bemoans having to study for Physics. Somehow six hours with that textbook feels longer to her than the last six years did to me.

Then again, why do I assume that my interpretation of time is the correct one? Albert Einstein asserted that "Time is an illusion." He said that "The separation between past, present and future is only an illusion, although a convincing one."

So, maybe my daughter's an Einstein after all. Who knew?

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Teens And The Mighty Mistake

“Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.” 

― Albert Einstein

When you're a teenager (or the mother of one), mistakes pretty much come with the territory. The teen years are a time of trial ... and error. In some ways, they're one long dress rehearsal for grownup life. Teens by their very nature are boundary-pushers, experimenters. At the same time, adult wariness, caution (and fear of mortality) are not yet developed. This means that many of the mistakes teens invariably make are not just dumb or ill-advised; they're downright dangerous.

And, the consequences can be significant and far-reaching. What's the worst threat we used to hear in high school? Our behavior would be reflected "on our permanent record." (Have any of you ever seen this so-called record of permanence? Me neither.)

“Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” 

― L.M. Montgomery

I always say that once you're a mother, you're everyone's mother. Usually, I'm talking about a crying baby on a crosstown bus or, more seriously, a child who is missing, ill or the victim of an accident. In moments like that, my heart goes out to the child's parents. It isn't difficult to imagine myself in their circumstance.

Right now, I'm thinking about the parents of a particular young man in our own town. The police (with the cooperation of the anonymous-badmouthing social media app Yik Yak) tracked the recent bomb threat at my daughter's high school to a particular "juvenile." He was questioned and confessed. Charges are being sought for one count of disruption of a school assembly (a misdemeanor) and one count of a bomb threat (a felony).

That's right. A felony ... FEL-O-NY. 'Talk about a potentially permanent record.

Okay, I don't know this young man (although my daughter and every other student now does). He may be a basically good kid. He may be a troublemaker. He may have good grades. He may not.

He may have been showing off for his friends. Or frustrated with a teacher or the school administration. He most certainly did not have a bomb. But, his mistake (motive and character aside, he can only now look at his ridiculous post as exactly that: one mother of mistake) is going to haunt him. 

Would my daughter post a bomb threat. Of course not. But, has she — and the school's other high honors students — posted inappropriate things in the past? Of course. It's not like this particular boy is 100% stupid and my daughter is 100% smart. Teenagers don't work that way.

“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.” 

― Mahatma Gandhi

In the news last week, there was a story about another big mistake that a teenager made using social media. 

One Mr. Snay, a former prep school headmaster, had sued his old employer for age-discrimination when his contract wasn't renewed. He won the case. His award was an undisclosed amount, which is now disclosed thanks to his daughter's inability to resist crowing about it on Facebook.

"Mama and Papa Snay won the case against Gulliver. Gulliver is now officially paying for my vacation to Europe this summer. SUCK IT."

All right, let's ignore the boasting, the nastiness, the unnecessary use of the word SUCK (in all caps, no less). Let's instead focus on the fact that the settlement of the case included a confidentiality agreement. The Facebook post breached it, and a Court of Appeal in Florida reversed the ruling. Papa Snay gets nothing.

I'd hate to be that teenage daughter right about now. ("No vacation to Europe for you! EVER!")

Today's teens know a lot about living out loud. What they don't seem to know is how to filter themselves, think before they type, or — sadly — consequences. It's too bad that "bomb scare boy" and "suck it girl" can't go on the road to warn others about their experiences. 

But, teenagers have to learn from their own mistakes.

That way, they can make even better mistakes tomorrow.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.   

Regrets

When I was a bookish little girl, I read some wonderful fantasy and sci-fi classics. One of the themes that intrigued me was the concept of time travel. Not so much the idea of visiting some historic event, like the Seneca Falls Convention or a Shakespeare play with Shakespeare in it, but more along the lines of returning to some decision in one's own life and going a different direction.

Somewhere along the line, I realized that any change in course, no matter how small or seemingly unimportant, would have a ripple effect and change everything ever after.

With this in mind, I've always been very careful about regrets. Could I have taken my SATs again and gone to a better college? Maybe. If I had gone to a different school, I would almost certainly have had a different job afterwards, would not have met my husband there, and would not have produced my now teenage daughter. So basically, unless I'm willing to wish it all away (and most days, I'm not), I can't wish for anything to have happened to or with or by me except what actually did.

Are you following?

I think our inability to rewrite our lives (or re-right our wrongs) is one of the reasons we put so much pressure on our kids. They come into the world pretty much a clean slate and we can "get it right this time." For example, my daughter to date has no cavities. I have enough for both of us (plus the entire Brady Bunch, but who's counting). Can I help it if I'm on her case to brush her teeth all the time?

I'm fifty years old. That means I've had five decades to mess up, miss opportunities, make bad choices. If only I could export all those lessons learned by hitting some magic button. If only my daughter could avoid my mistakes.

Without actually building a time machine or getting in a DeLorean (or a hot tub) and undoing everything that brought me to this very spot at this very moment, here are a few things I could have done ... shall we say ... differently.

10. Taken more courses in college. I was so certain of what I wanted to study that I didn't try enough new things. Now, I only wish I had time for Comparative Religions, French 4, Russian Lit.

9. Stayed in touch. Finding your first grade friend on Facebook is a wonderful thing, but think of all the years in between! ("Hi, Maria!" BTW.)

8. Traveled all over before I had a mortgage and a business and a husband and a child and a ... and a ... and a ...

7. Said "I love you" to more people, more times.

6. Relaxed and enjoyed my pregnancy (well, not the part when I was throwing up all day every day, but the rest of it).

5. Let go of grudges sooner. Learned to forgive and forget. (Still working on that, but I've come a long way, baby.) 

4. Let go of guilt. (See above.)

3. Invested in Microsoft. Or Apple. (Or anything.) 

2. Realized how lucky I was.

And, the number 1 thing I wish I had done?

1. Flossed!