On Facebook, Does High School End?

"When I was your age, milk was a nickel. And we had to walk three miles to school. In four feet of snow. Uphill. Both ways."

If you're like me, you probably swore you would never bore your offspring with rose-colored memories of the "good old days."

And, if you're like me, you broke that promise a while ago.

Actually, I have no idea how much milk cost when I was a kid. And, I didn't walk to school either. I took the 66th street crosstown bus and transferred at Madison Avenue. The things I find myself making comparisons about are limited mainly to fashion, music and technology.

Especially technology.

Here is a partial list of the things that my fifteen-year old daughter takes for granted that were nowhere in the picture back when I was that age: the Internet, laptops, personal computers, remote controls, email, voice mail, DVDs, iPhones, iPads, iPods, iTunes.

Back then, Apples were fruit.

I'm not complaining really (yes, I have my share of iDevices); I'm just observing. What is more troublesome than the ubiquity of digital gadgets is the lifelong repercussions of being constantly connected. Our toys have certainly changed (cue The Jetsons' theme song here, please), but the real issue is how social media has changed our evolution as individual people.

Think back to your freshman year of college. Chances are, you were nervous about fitting in. You may have been on your own for the first time and had to build new friendships. You may have worried or you may have been elated at the idea of reinventing yourself. Either way, it was pretty much a clean slate.

Now fast forward to Thanksgiving break freshman year. For many of us, that was the first time we returned to our hometown and our old gang. You were glad to see each other but you were also aware that a new chapter had begun and that in some ways at least "you can't go home again."

Facebook completely changes this. Sure, a modern-day college freshman may still be on her own on campus, but as soon as she gets to her dorm room, she's instantly connected to every one of her 652 "friends" from back home. In fact, she probably doesn't even have to go that far. She can check-in with them via text or video-chat right from her phone. Anytime. Anywhere.

Less lonely? Maybe. But, how do these kids ever get a fresh start if their (granted, enormous) circle stays right there with them when they move on? What about the class clown who wants to be taken seriously? Or the nerd who wants to be cool? Or the victim who wants to leave the bullies behind? 

Several years ago, members of my high school class started a Yahoo group in order to spread the word about a reunion. It was wonderful to reconnect and find out what everyone had done with their lives. My classmates took turns posting their bios and one industrious woman put all of the stories into a booklet for us. It was wonderful! We had rocket scientists (yes, literally), educators, doctors, lawyers, writers, political figures, philanthropists, musicians. We reminisced (oy vey, did we reminisce!) and compared notes on mothering (or fathering) our children. Had we grown up in the age of Facebook, there would have been no need for updates of any kind. 

What I have to wonder is would we have achieved the things we did and become the people we had become if our entire class had been looking over our shoulders for twenty years?

Pretty in Pink in Post-Menopause

The other day, I had lunch with a former coworker I hadn't seen in more than ten years. As we greeted with a warm hug, I told him "You look exactly the same!" So, of course, he had to say that to me too.

But, I don't.

I am starting to go grey, and I am too lazy or too cheap (or too both) to do anything about it. My hair, cropped short as always, isn't aging in an even salt-and-pepper way either. No, always the drama queen, I have one of those Cruella DeVil localized, high contrast streaks. It's working its way from my right temple back. Lovely.

And, then there's the additional weight. When he last saw me, I was a fairly trim 40-year old. Now, I've gained ten years and with that comes a mellow maturity and some additional baggage — mainly around my middle. Suffice it to say, I like to eat muffin tops, not wear them. Yet there we are.

(Fear not gentle reader, I'm on a strict new year's resolution diet. And, we all know how well those work.)

Still, I may be older, I may be greyer, I may be ... er ... pleasingly plumper, but I have much to be thankful for. One major thing for which I count my blessings on a continual basis is how my daughter is turning out. Oh sure, she's a teenager and often she's sullen, moody, stubborn, disrespectful (did I mention she's a teenager?). But, I certainly derive satisfaction from all of her good qualities — y'know, the ones she exhibits to everyone except her loving mother.

My daughter and her peers are coming of age in a world that recognizes the power of youth and unashamedly markets to it. So, while I watched a handful of TV shows with my family (M*A*S*H comes to mind), these girls have entire networks devoted to their entertainment. ABC Family, for example (one of my daughter's favorites) boasts Pretty Little Liars, Switched at Birth, The Lying Game and The Secret Life of the American Teenager. 

Which brings me to the point of this post.

Yes, I have aged, but at least I haven't had to do it in the oh-so-critical public eye. The middle-aged mom of Secret Life's central character is played by Molly Ringwald.

How is that even possible? 

She looks really good for a woman her age. Really really good. Unfortunately, the world still and forever will think of her as the lovable, but slightly nerdy, girl from such classic 80s movies as Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink and Breakfast Club. Unlike her fellow brat-packers, she wasn't in St. Elmo's Fire, a rather whiny and thoroughly unbelievable story of a bunch of recent college grads kind of, sort of getting their sh*t together as grownups. (Hollywood legend has it that the tepid script was turned down by multiple studios. One executive described the ensemble of characters as "the most loathsome humans I have ever read on the page.") Yikes.

Still, the project attracted an A-list of then hot young things: Demi Moore, Ally Sheedy, Rob Lowe. So where was Molly through all this? Maybe she had better advisors (or better taste) than her cohorts. Maybe she was already committed to a better movie. Maybe the powers that be wanted to freeze-frame her as a perpetual teen. I think we all did. Real-life girls idolized her, dressed and pouted their puffy lips like her. She was a household name at a very young age. And then suddenly she was gone.

Or so it seemed. It's not as though Ringwald truly dropped off the face. After turning down the leads in Pretty Woman and Ghost (can you imagine?), she relocated to France where she continued to act in film and on stage. She's also appeared on Broadway.

And now, she's back and once again well-known amongst high school girls because of The Secret Life of the American Teenager. But, she's not the title's teenager and she has no secrets (well, none worth knowing if you ask the show's young audience). She is ... the MOM.

One day when my own American teenager was watching ABC Family, I felt compelled to point Ringwald out. "She was in these great movies in the 80s," I explained, "You would love them!" My daughter, to her credit and despite many other similar yet epic fails on my part, agreed to try some of those alleged greats.

I started with Sixteen Candles (my personal Molly favorite). It was exactly exactly, I mean exactly, as I remembered it. Those outfits, that adolescent angst. So deliciously dated.  Suffice it to say, it did not translate. My daughter's review was succinct: "Hated it." Okay, then. I think I may have pushed Pretty in Pink next, but we didn't make it all the way through. I abandoned ship before we ever got to The Breakfast Club.

So, where did we end up? Teen entertainment has changed pretty dramatically. I will never instill a love of the big 80s in my millennial generation daughter (although the new Carrie Diaries may be my best shot). Still, watching iconic teens turn into graceful grownups helps me know I'm not alone in this.

And whether she gets it or not, there's a very good chance that my girl will one day be a middle-aged mom herself, complete with her own tempestuous teen ... and muffin top.

Still Hopeful

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Day. My teenage daughter had no classes, but she had plenty of work to do. Six tests in four days — her very first high school mid-terms are this week, which has caused great stress in our household.

My husband was getting ready for a business trip, and I had a fair amount of advertising copy to write. And, since it was technically a "day off" here in Massachusetts, there was a list of chores about a mile high. (Isn't that how you spend your days off? Doing all the things you don't have time or energy for on days on.)

Nevertheless, I took a little break midday to watch Barack H. Obama become our president again.

Obama is a consummate speaker. In fact, it was through his inspiring oratory that he first came onto the national stage back at the DNC in 2004. The convention, which formalized the less than successful ticket of Johns Kerry and Edwards, was held here in Boston. I know. I was there.

You see, I was tired of hearing all of my liberal friends bitch and moan about President Bush and the Republican party without actually stepping up, so I decided to try and contribute to the cause. I volunteered and was duly vetted and security-checked, then sent an official badge and lanyard and a very nice DNC polo shirt. I can't quite remember what my expectations were in terms of my conference assignment, but I ended up playing an enormously valuable role. I — and I alone — ensured that all of the delegates — not just a few, mind you, but all — from the great "show me" state of Missouri got on the correct bus for dinner. No truants, no stragglers, no misplaced Missourians. I did my job and I did it well.

Yes, that is the extent of my political career and I am damned proud of it.

Anyway, even with all of that responsibility on my shoulders, I could easily see that this charismatic young man from Illinois was going places. When he ran for president in 2008, he did so in the name of "Change" and "Hope."

It's been a long four years. Poor Barack has had to fight a partisan Congress, an economy on life support, and a host of disastrous events both natural and man-made. He hasn't moved as quickly or definitively as many of my more progressive friends would have liked. 

But, if yesterday's inaugural speech is any indication, it looks like second-term Obama is going to stop beating around the bush (no pun intended) and push through the things he believes in. 

Like equality. He specifically mentioned Seneca Falls (women), Selma (blacks) and Stonewall (gays) in the same sentence. In doing so, he endorsed LGBT rights and equated them to suffrage and the civil rights movement. And, in case any listeners didn't see the connection (or weren't caught up on their American history), he came right out and said, "Our journey is not complete until our gay brothers and sisters are treated like anyone else under the law for if we are truly created equal, then surely the love we commit to one another must be equal as well." 

Wow.

He spoke about all of the policy bogeymen that have haunted his first term. Climate change (finally), immigration, universal health care. And, he evoked the victims of Sandy Hook Elementary School in a timely reminder (particularly timely as Vice President Biden's recommendations for gun legislation are considered). 

"Our journey is not complete until all our children, from the streets of Detroit to the hills of Appalachia, to the quiet lanes of Newtown, know that they are cared for and cherished and always safe from harm."

What I think was most powerful of all was his assertion throughout that his more progressive agenda was actually true to the very core of our country's values and the original mission of our founders. For good measure, he alluded to the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence throughout.

And, to top it off, he asked God to bless us. Can anyone really argue with that?

This is the man I voted for again two months ago. And that was the speech I waited four years to hear.

And I only have one more thing to say. "Hillary 2016."

Mid-Terms

Mid-Terms
(Sung to the tune of Michael Jackson's Thriller)

It's close to midnight.

But someone here's still working in the dark.

She's got her laptop, 

Hoping she'll succeed and make her mark.

She wants to scream but panic takes the sound before she makes it.

She starts to freeze as index cards dance before her eyes,

She's paralyzed.

'Cause this is mid-terms, mid-terms week,

And no one's gonna save her with the answers that she seeks.

She knows it's mid-terms, mid-terms time.

She's fighting for that grade and it's an uphill, uphill, uphill, uphill climb.

She hears a door close and on the steps she thinks she hears a shoe.

Her parents would help — if, that is, they had the slightest clue.

Geometry, it doesn't make much sense. The test is looming.

But all the while, she feels her college chances slip away.

Filled with dismay!

'Cause this is mid-terms, mid-term tests.

She wishes she had studied a little harder with the rest.

She knows it's mid-terms, mid-terms week.

She's running out of time and really starting, starting, starting to freak.

An exam each day, and there's really nowhere left to hide.

The tests are coming, they're closing in on her on every side.

Honors English: Copperfield, Gilgamesh, Of Mice and Men ...

Biology, French, World Cultures ... oh, if only she could trade,

And go back to eighth grade.

'She can't, it's mid-terms, mid-term days.

She knows she'll soon regret her former care-free lazy ways.

Because it's mid-terms, mid-terms time.

And it's an uphill, uphill, uphill, uphill climb.

(spoken)

Darkness falls across the land,

Mid-term tests are close at hand.

Terror seizes freshman blood,

All throughout y'alls neighborhood.

The saddest cries in the air,

The grim prospect of three more years.

And grizzly ghouls each dawn awake,

Because they stayed up way too late.

And though she tries to cram her head

That A+ isn't firm

For all mere freshmen come to dread

The evil of the mid-term.

Pass the (Microwave) Popcorn: The Carrie Diaries

A few years ago, my then tween daughter begged to watch Sex and the City with me. At first, like any conscientious mother, I resisted. I mean sex and cosmopolitans and sex and Manolas and sex. (Did I mention sex?) Oh my!

Soon, she grew up a little (and wore me down a little), so I let her watch the basic cable version of the show, which was by then in syndication on E! and Style Network. This was the kinder, gentler Sex and the City. No nudity, less profanity, more euphemisms, more commercial breaks.

We had to laugh at some of the rules for bleeping out foul language. For example, they could say "ass" but not "hole," so if Carrie or one of her BFFs was putting down a particularly jerky guy, they would call him an "ass-BLEEP!" Shouldn't it have been the other way around?

If the adult content was a bit much for my daughter at times, I was right there beside her. Explaining, demystifying, assuring her that some of it was a little far-fetched. Let's not kid ourselves, though. Teens today know more (way more!) than we did about ... well, about pretty much everything. I'd rather have my daughter learn about the details of sex through an entertaining show than through some shaky handheld video on YouTube. I know a lot of moms wouldn't agree — and that is absolutely their prerogative — but this is how I saw it.

At one point, my daughter asked me, "Mom, which are you? Carrie, Samantha, Miranda or Charlotte?" I didn't know what to say. She had already decided for me, apparently, and informed me that I was half-Carrie because I'm a writer and half-Miranda because I'm a workaholic. So, I was spared the slut and the romantic. Okay, I guess I can live with that.

At any rate, we were both fans, and it gave us something to do together. I also hoped it might make my daughter appreciate my hometown a bit more. Sex and the City is as much about the city as the sex.

And so is the new prequel series, The Carrie Diaries.

Set in the mid-80s, the new show follows the adventures of a starry-eyed young Carrie Bradshaw, a small-town high school student who is just beginning her love affair with the big apple. Recovering from her mother's death, Carrie takes an internship at a law firm in Manhattan. She immediately (as in on her very first lunch break) meets some fabulous urban types — editors, artists, fashion designers — and the rest is, as they say, history.

It took a little while to accept that this was the same Carrie even in the hands of a young pro. AnnaSophia Robb is no newcomer, having acted half her life. In fact, a younger daughter and I knew her well as the very first American Girl in the very first American Girl movie. (How I miss those days sometimes!) More starring roles followed, including Bridge to Terabithia, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Because of Winn Dixie. She's very good as Carrie, it's just that it's hard to think of anyone other than Sarah Jessica Parker.

Then there's the issue of the backstory. We have seen all six seasons of Sex and the City (many times, too many times — just ask my husband), and I don't remember ever hearing that Carrie's mother was dead. Or that she had a sister. Or a father. Or any old friends either. Hmmmmm ...

Then again, part of the magic of New York is that it is a place where people reinvent themselves. So can we really blame Ms. Bradshaw for leaving the past behind?

The 80s references in the new show are fun, as is the fashion. (I keep telling my daughter "Yes, we really dressed like that!") The teen angst is familiar from countless other shows my daughter's already addicted to. I let her watch them on her own; I just can't quite get my arms around The Lying Game. 

But, I think I'll stick with The Carrie Diaries. For a while anyway. Being "on the groundfloor" of a new show? Nice.

Having a reason to share something with my daughter for an hour every week? Priceless.

What Was She Thinking?

Looking at the title of this post, you probably assumed I was referring to my teenage daughter. Right? After all, that thought "What was she thinking?" does cross my mind sometimes. But, no. This time I'm writing about someone older, someone educated, someone in a position of responsibility. An adult, and a mother no less.

No, I'm not talking about myself either. (Very funny.)

I'm wondering about the "prominent Massachusetts lawyer" who had a New Year's Eve party for her teen daughter and friends and served them alcohol. Oh boy.

The mother, Tracy Miner, is considered the top white collar attorney in Boston. She is best known for representing the Kerrigan family when the Olympic skater Nancy's brother was accused of manslaughter in the death of their father. She also represented former FBI agent John Connelly who had been implicated in the "Whitey" Bulger case. One must assume — and hope for her sake — she knows other good lawyers.

Because she's gonna need one.

Shortly after midnight early New Year's morning, the police in Scituate, a lovely little coastal town south of Boston, received an anonymous call that there was an unconscious young man at a party. Upon arrival, the officers ran into a stream of teenagers fleeing the scene. Although doors were locked, one first responder spotted the boy slumped in a chair and was able to get inside to aid him. There were still a handful of teens in the house along with Miner who was in her bedroom upstairs.

The attorney explained that she was throwing a party for her daughter and had taken the car keys of the guests. In addition to alcohol (and pizza — gasp!), the police found marijuana. The boy was taken away by paramedics and Miner, her daughter and six additional teens received summonses.

I repeat, oh boy.

In case you've been asleep since the Reagan era, the legal drinking age in Massachusetts is 21. So, here's what's in store for the teens. If they are convicted as minors in possession of alcohol, they will be fined rather than face jail time. However, their driver's licenses will be suspended for 90 days and their insurance premiums will no doubt go up. And, as far as the dreaded "permanent record," is concerned, a criminal conviction is not going to go away any time soon.

Hopefully, Ms. Miner knows more than one good lawyer.

As for her own part in this, the state's "Social Host Law" prohibits furnishing minors with alcohol. Miner faces a fine, a year in prison or both. One can only assume that this lapse in judgement will affect her professionally. Perhaps end her career. Isn't she honor bound to uphold the laws of the state in which she practices?

So, I return to my earlier question. Exactly what was she thinking?

Perhaps Ms. Miner views the current drinking laws as unfair and she was protesting them, much as our nation's founding fathers (and mothers) did two hundred plus years ago under unfair foreign rule. Maybe she believed that her wanton disregard of the law was actually her moral obligation.

I sincerely doubt it.

Here's what I think, as the mother of teen myself. I think that Ms. Miner took the easy road that night. She weighed her popularity with her daughter and her responsibility as a parent/grownup/lawyer ... and found in favor of the former. She wanted to be her daughter's friend first and mother second. Rather than think about consequences and life lessons, she made one extremely stupid short-term decision.

Sadly, that decision will have long-term effects. 

Say What?

Did you know that Samuel Johnson published The Dictionary of the English Language in 1755? 

Did you know that between the British variety (think Downton Abbey) and the American, there are 400 million people who speak English? (With all variations included, the number is closer to 1 billion.) 

Did you know that there are an estimated 750,000 words in the English language? That's more than Spanish and German and French ... combined!

Sacre bleu!

Well, don't feel bad. I will bet that my teenage daughter doesn't know any of that stuff either. Then again, she doesn't care. Because she and her friends are reworking the language to serve the combined and peculiar objectives of communicating as quickly as possible via text message and simultaneously stymying their parents.

It's working.

Here are just a sampling of the words and phrases that you may hear these days — and that may not mean what you think they do.

"That's sick nasty!" 
Despite what an older or literate person might suppose, this combination of negatives makes a positive. To describe something as "sick nasty" is to express great happiness with said article. It is the ultimate ultimate. It is cool. It is far-out. It is overwhelming and otherwise indescribably good. (This may also appear as sick-nasty or sicknasty. Ah, so many sick and/or nasty variations, so little time.)

"My bad"

This one actually means what one would assume it means. The speaker ("my") has done something wrong ("bad"). They are admitting that they are to blame. But, here's the usage rub. When a teen admits that something is "my bad," they typically do so with amusement. They shrug it off; they smile coyly. The subtext is "Yes, most certainly I am the party at fault here. But, I am fifteen and so much more attractive than you will ever be again. It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Chillaxin"
Another combination, in this case it means to relax and chill. It can be used by a teen to describe lying around doing nothing. "Why aren't you studying for your World Cultures test?" "I'm chillaxin." "Why haven't you cleaned your room?" "I'm chillaxin." "Why aren't you in the shower yet?" "I'm chillaxin." A shorter version can also be used as a command. "Chillax mo-o-om. It's covered."

"Truth is ..."
Troll around the Facebook pages of teens and you will see a lot of this phrase. They value truth and feel compelled to state it almost as a duty to their generation. Yet, most of the time they choose to articulate "truth," it is to point out something that's difficult to hear or "awk-ward." 

"Truth is, she shouldn't wear those jeans."

"Truth is, he doesn't like her anymore."

"Truth is, my parents make me insane." 

As Oscar Wilde (a man with an extreme appreciation for the idosyncrasies of the English language) once observed, "The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

Clearly, I have just scratched the surface. Please feel free to post any delightful words or phrases you've overheard from your own teenage linguists and I'll put together a part two post. 

Truth is, I'd love to hear from you.