Youth

Teen Scenes

Jeanna GLeave a comment

When I was a kid back in the 80s, hair bands were rockin, hot rods were revvin, and leather, lace, and Lycra were stylin. We’d wrestle like Hulk and Macho Man, karate kick like Ralph, and Moonwalk like Michael.

You either watched what was on the one tv, or you went outside and acted like what you saw on tv. Celebrities were our idols. We’d scrape up our dog walking change and head to the corner store to buy the latest issues of Bop and Tiger Beat, tear out the headshots of our heartthrobs, and tape them all over our bedroom walls.

I used to watch our cousins compete over who could say the names of every rock star that covered their walls the fastest. There were a hundred if there was one. I always wondered how they could even see past their giant perms.

A couple years ago my daughter asked for a “big girl room.” At age 10 she wanted BoHo aesthetic with hanging ivy and macrame and gold accents. I was like, “Wow, times have changed .”

But then tonight she says to me, “I want to redo my room.”

“Oh yeah? How so?” I wondered as dollar signs blurred my vision.

“I want to paint it all one color and cover it with posters of all my favorite singers.”

Now that’s a trend I can buy into!

Makeovers

Jeanna GLeave a comment

In middle school, the early 90s for me, we had pretty mid-out hairstyles. The 80s were far-out, so we were in a weird limbo, working our way back to some form of reserved. Aqua Net was essential. I had “The Wave,” a hard wall of bangs high above my forehead. At a slumber party, I was dared to shave the side of my head. I covered it with a section of hair so my mom wouldn’t know. (I have an incredible amount of hair). When she picked me up, she caressed my head while talking to my friend’s mom. It’s like she knew. Wide-eyed, I slinked away like any tween would from her mother’s touch. My friends all covered their open mouths and held their breath.

My daughter told me today that her best friend decided to chop her own hair off on a whim. She covered her mouth and giggled. I looked out the window and smiled while cheering her friend on in my head. New style, new life! At that age, it was so easy to change our image and become someone new. Are we ever too old for a makeover?

Superlatives and Prophecies

Jeanna G4 Comments

At my high school, each graduating class would vote on who should receive the superlative titles of Class Clown, Most Talkative, and Best All Around, among others. I didn’t receive any superlative distinctions by my class. I should’ve been voted “Most Sure of Myself,” because I knew who I was and what I wanted in life. Even so, I was curious about what they (I assume the yearbook committee members were our prophets?) predicted for my future. I really just needed to make sure I’d been heard. And I had been. My Senior Prophecy was that I ‘will never pay off my chiropractor bills.’ It was a funny nod to the assumption that I would become a chiropractor – my career goal at that age – and would have a mountain of loans to pay off. What’s ironic is that I’m not a chiropractor, but I’m still paying bills for all of the chiropractic treatments I continue to receive, thanks to my exhausting life. I might now be superlative as “Most in Need of an Adjustment.” Somehow my Plan A disappeared, along with B and C, and now I’m on Plan D, which wasn’t a plan until about 6 years ago.

As the Yiddish proverb advises, “When you make plans, God laughs.”

As a kid, I had a grand plan. I knew what I wanted. I knew what was going to happen. I knew how old I’d be when I married and started a family, how many kids I’d have, what my career would be, even what my house would look like.

I wasn’t right about any of it. I’m now superlative at being “Most Gobsmacked.”

This revelation begs acceptance of what is, closely followed by a proposal to quit planning.

At church on epiphany Sunday, we all close our eyes and select a star from a basket. Each star has a word on it that we can contemplate for some time. My daughter chose “prophecy.” I chose “eagerness.” I nudged her in the pew and told her to hurry up and tell me what was coming my way. I couldn’t decipher her look; was she annoyed, or was she just thinking it best not to break the news?

I guess I’ll just have to be superlative as “Most Patient” and “Most Observant” for what is heading my way. I hope I don’t miss it while I’m busy making Plan E.