A lot of people are talking about teenagers these days. There are some who believe that this youthful generation is not living up to the standard of those who have come before. This generation of teens is lazy. They are disrespectful. They cause trouble. They are selfish. Unreliable. They have no work ethic. They are mouthy. Greedy. Reckless. Dangerous. Today's teens are Rude. Freeloaders. Immoral. Untrustworthy. Punks. Vandals.
I've heard a lot of Evidence: saggy pants, hats turned sideways, loud music full of swearing, sleep all day / up all night, glued to the TV / Xbox / computer / cellphone, driving too fast, sexting, graffiti, low-rise jeans, belly shirts, piercings everywhere, boys with holes in their ears, mohawks, blue / purple / green / pink hair, boys wearing nail polish, all-black clothes, drinking, partying, casual sex. The list is long. Much longer than this.
I've seen all of that Evidence. It is true. There are teenagers everywhere that could be labeled Exhibit A, B, C, etc. There is Evidence in every high school, at the mall, in the local movie theater. Teenagers hanging out = Evidence.
However, most of the Evidence has applied to every generation. Think Grease. Elvis the Pelvis. Make Love Not War. Dead Heads. Purple Haze. Purple Rain. Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n Roll.
Most of the Evidence is exterior. It doesn't speak to character. Or Standards. Morals. Values--or Value. Saggy pants, painted nails, piercings ... none of those tells us anything about the interior.
I wish that I could gather up the cynics, the critics, those who sneer at teenagers and only see the Evidence and furrow their brow and cross their arms. I wish that I could take those people to school with me. I wish that they could stand at the door of any classroom, every classroom, with me and hear the Good Mornings and Good Afternoons. Hear How Are You Today? I'm Fine, Thank You. How Are You? I wish they could see the smiles and waves. I wish they could see how affectionate teenagers are with each other--boys and girls in every combination--not because it's sexual, but because they care about each other. I want them to see teenagers holding doors for adults and their peers. I want them to see teenagers share. I want them to see teenagers show sympathy and concern for those who are struggling. I want them to see teenagers' support and excitement for accomplishments and victories. I want them to see teenagers who work hard, study, ask questions, participate in class, volunteer, stay on task. I want them to see teenagers who make signs to decorate the school and lockers to celebrate their friends and peers. I want them to see teenagers who are honest and kind and thoughtful. I want them to see teenagers who want to do well. And want to do good. I want them to see teenagers who make mistakes. I want them to see teenagers who fall short of their best but try again. I want them to hear teenagers say I'm Sorry.
I want them to see teenagers as they really are ... human.
This generation of teenagers is no different than any before. Some teens make mistakes. Big mistakes. Some sell themselves short. Some break the law. Some are inconsiderate. Some are selfish. Some pick fights. Use hurtful words. Cause damage to themselves or those around them. Just like some of the adults in this world.
Most teenagers, though, are Good People.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Confession: I'm lazy.
I'm coming clean. Putting it right out there for all the world to see. I. Am. Lazy.
I'm not a Supermom who makes her children's clothes by hand or bakes them delicious from-scratch treats for after-school snacks with a glass of milk. I have never made crafty and cute little Valentine cards for them; I just buy them a box of whatever-they-pick-out-in-the-aisle-at-the-grocery-store. Heck, I don't think I've ever made a batch of cookies or cupcakes for them to take to school on their birthday to share with their classmates. When the school instituted a "no sugary treats to celebrate students' birthdays" rule, I obediently listened. Not because I was necessarily supporting the policy, but simply because it was easier for me.
I'm not organized, focused or energetic enough to stick to an every-day-we-come-home-from-school-and-sit-at-the-table-and-practice-all-our-math-facts kind of routine. I'm too lazy for that. The kids do their homework when they come home. We study and review--some weeks more often than others. I help with assignments when they ask and I check in with them to see how they're doing. Most of the time.
I don't keep up with stuff around the house very well. I have gone to bed with dinner's dirty dishes lined up on the counter, sitting there because the sink was too crowded to hold all of the offending plates and glasses. I have left wrinkled laundry in the dryer for days. Thank goodness turning the dryer back on for a while is enough to shake out the wrinkles, because I really don't iron either. It's a very rare and odd occasion when my little Rowenta sees any action. I barely dust. It seems pointless to me. When I finally muster the will to do it, I see little flecks of dust gathering the following day. Why waste my time?
My children are only allowed to be involved in one activity at a time when school is in session. I don't want the hassle of driving them all over the place and hustling to drop kid #1 at point A, scurrying to leave kid #2 at point B to speed back to point A to pick up kid #1 then truck it across town to collect kid #2. I am not a fan of coordinating every minute of every day to serve as a taxi service ... I'm too lazy for that, so my kids have to choose their extra-curriculars carefully.
An ideal date with my husband: rent a movie, microwave some popcorn or pour a glass of wine, slip into my sexiest pair of flannel pajamas and chill out. I'm not opposed to going out on dates at all. That's fine once in a while. Heck, I love to go out to dinner. It's perfect for the lazy girl in me: I walk into a restaurant, sit down, tell someone what to bring me, have someone else cook for me, let them set and clear the table AND do all the dishes. Yep. Perfect.
Another lazy non-activity: I love to lay around the house. With a cat cuddled on my lap. A kid snuggled into my nest (the L-shaped area behind the knees when they are bent). Maybe reading a book. Could be watching a movie. Better yet, taking a nap. Sigh. Ideal.
I'm also lazy in motion. I walk slowly. I jog slowly. I don't really run. I'm more a turtle than a hare. Yoga and Pilates--those are my kind of workouts. Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold this pose. Slowly bend to that pose. Hold it just like that. Yep. Just my speed. I find that most fitness instructors count too quickly. Somehow while the rest of the class does 16 squats, leg lifts, crunches or jumping jacks I always end somewhere in the ballpark of 10 of the same. How do they manage to move with such speed and zest??
I see people who live big and bustling, bursting at the seams, constantly in motion with full and harried schedules. Maybe that's just how they like it and they feel bored and listless with a life like mine. That's OK. It's just too much for me to keep up a busy, fast-paced, packed kind of life.
It's taken me a while to come to terms with my laziness ... to embrace the lethargy and tortoise pace I prefer. I used to feel inferior to the crafty, creative, organized, impeccably clean-housed, Betty Crockeresque EnergizerBunnyUberWomen. I used to sneer and cast glares at those phenoms. How could they do all that? When do they ever breathe? Why are they trying to make me look so bad? I realized though that those TornadoWomen are just doing their thing. They are just different from me. Not better. Not more amazing. Just operating with different gears than I am. Now I am comfortable with my pace. My slow-moving nature. My when-I-get-to-it way. I am comfortable with my self-assigned Scarlet Letter L. I wear it happily.
I. Am. Lazy.
I'm not a Supermom who makes her children's clothes by hand or bakes them delicious from-scratch treats for after-school snacks with a glass of milk. I have never made crafty and cute little Valentine cards for them; I just buy them a box of whatever-they-pick-out-in-the-aisle-at-the-grocery-store. Heck, I don't think I've ever made a batch of cookies or cupcakes for them to take to school on their birthday to share with their classmates. When the school instituted a "no sugary treats to celebrate students' birthdays" rule, I obediently listened. Not because I was necessarily supporting the policy, but simply because it was easier for me.
I'm not organized, focused or energetic enough to stick to an every-day-we-come-home-from-school-and-sit-at-the-table-and-practice-all-our-math-facts kind of routine. I'm too lazy for that. The kids do their homework when they come home. We study and review--some weeks more often than others. I help with assignments when they ask and I check in with them to see how they're doing. Most of the time.
I don't keep up with stuff around the house very well. I have gone to bed with dinner's dirty dishes lined up on the counter, sitting there because the sink was too crowded to hold all of the offending plates and glasses. I have left wrinkled laundry in the dryer for days. Thank goodness turning the dryer back on for a while is enough to shake out the wrinkles, because I really don't iron either. It's a very rare and odd occasion when my little Rowenta sees any action. I barely dust. It seems pointless to me. When I finally muster the will to do it, I see little flecks of dust gathering the following day. Why waste my time?
My children are only allowed to be involved in one activity at a time when school is in session. I don't want the hassle of driving them all over the place and hustling to drop kid #1 at point A, scurrying to leave kid #2 at point B to speed back to point A to pick up kid #1 then truck it across town to collect kid #2. I am not a fan of coordinating every minute of every day to serve as a taxi service ... I'm too lazy for that, so my kids have to choose their extra-curriculars carefully.
An ideal date with my husband: rent a movie, microwave some popcorn or pour a glass of wine, slip into my sexiest pair of flannel pajamas and chill out. I'm not opposed to going out on dates at all. That's fine once in a while. Heck, I love to go out to dinner. It's perfect for the lazy girl in me: I walk into a restaurant, sit down, tell someone what to bring me, have someone else cook for me, let them set and clear the table AND do all the dishes. Yep. Perfect.
Another lazy non-activity: I love to lay around the house. With a cat cuddled on my lap. A kid snuggled into my nest (the L-shaped area behind the knees when they are bent). Maybe reading a book. Could be watching a movie. Better yet, taking a nap. Sigh. Ideal.
I'm also lazy in motion. I walk slowly. I jog slowly. I don't really run. I'm more a turtle than a hare. Yoga and Pilates--those are my kind of workouts. Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold this pose. Slowly bend to that pose. Hold it just like that. Yep. Just my speed. I find that most fitness instructors count too quickly. Somehow while the rest of the class does 16 squats, leg lifts, crunches or jumping jacks I always end somewhere in the ballpark of 10 of the same. How do they manage to move with such speed and zest??
I see people who live big and bustling, bursting at the seams, constantly in motion with full and harried schedules. Maybe that's just how they like it and they feel bored and listless with a life like mine. That's OK. It's just too much for me to keep up a busy, fast-paced, packed kind of life.
It's taken me a while to come to terms with my laziness ... to embrace the lethargy and tortoise pace I prefer. I used to feel inferior to the crafty, creative, organized, impeccably clean-housed, Betty Crockeresque EnergizerBunnyUberWomen. I used to sneer and cast glares at those phenoms. How could they do all that? When do they ever breathe? Why are they trying to make me look so bad? I realized though that those TornadoWomen are just doing their thing. They are just different from me. Not better. Not more amazing. Just operating with different gears than I am. Now I am comfortable with my pace. My slow-moving nature. My when-I-get-to-it way. I am comfortable with my self-assigned Scarlet Letter L. I wear it happily.
I. Am. Lazy.
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