I have a terrible confession to make: I like teenagers. I know that such a thing is supposed to be taboo—while it’s great to like babies and permissible to like children we’re all supposed to be united in out fear and loathing of adolescents—but I just can’t do it. I know I am supposed to kvetch about their music, and their hair colors, and their clothes, and even about the fact that they are ungrateful for their youthful metabolisms which allow them to eat french fries (remember french fries?) on a daily basis with no ill effects, but the truth is I like their music, their Ramona Flowers hair, their super-zippery pants, and even their efficient digestions.
And yeah, I also know that as a parent (especially one who writes about her children) I am doubly not supposed to admit to this, but instead am supposed to toe the party line and complain incessantly about how sloppy, forgetful, disrespectful and naïve they are. But the secret truth of the matter is that I really, truly, actually do like them.
I’m not saying that they don’t have the negative traits they have been ascribed to them, nor am I saying that I like them because of those traits. I’m only saying that just as there is a whole lot more to being a parent than the stereotypical sitcom image of the clueless dad and the harried mom, I think there’s a whole lot more to being a teenager than the equally stereotypical sitcom image of the surly, hoodie-wearing disaffected youth and the gum-chewing mallrat.
When you think about it, it’s kind of ironic: for all of the times we accuse them of being oblivious to the fact that we, as parents, are fully formed human beings, (and not just a set of car keys and a wallet with legs), we are also guilty of the same sort of oblivion when it comes to them, treating them as just a series of increasingly difficult problems to be solved. I know that I am certainly guilty of that, especially on those days when it seems like all I can do is respond to one crisis after another.
Because there certainly are a lot of crises in the lives of teenagers—not just problems, but crises. And that intensity is what makes it so easy for us to mock them. Of course, that is true of anyone, teen or not. Consider for a moment that guy in the next cubicle, who owns every Star Wars figure that was ever produced (and two of Jar Jar Binks), or the woman three desks down, who has every episode of “Glee” memorized. Of course we mock them, but in the midst of our mockery we’re also, if we’re honest, kind of envious of their passion.
There’s a great quote by the writer Edmund White, and it goes,
“I have no contempt for that time of life when our friendships are most passionate and our passions incorrigible and none of our sentiments yet compromised by greed or cowardice or disappointment. The volatility and intensity of adolescence are qualities we should aspire to preserve.”
I always try to remember that quote when I am tempted to roll my eyes at a teenager’s description of the worst teacher, the best new band, the dumbest assignment, or the dopest hat. I try to remember that just because fanaticism is so easy to mock doesn’t necessarily mean that cynicism is the better choice.
And that maybe, instead of just being envious of their ability to eat the entire contents of our kitchens while only adding inches vertically, we should also be envious of the way they still approach the world with something many of us gave up at about the same time we gave up french fries: a little tiny bit of hope.