When did being a kid become uncool?
As toddlers, we lived in a state of eternal bliss, unaware that our lives had any schedule beyond wake up, eat, play, and sleep. We were sent outside, where we allowed our imagination to turn us into everything from Batman to a monkey. No one cared if we felt like humming to ourselves for an hour straight, or colored the sky purple and the ground orange. We were encouraged to be whatever and whoever we wanted, and to not care what anyone thought.
Then elementary school hit. Dragged kicking and screaming from our sleep-deprived parents, we learned everything we needed to learn for the rest of our lives: colors, numbers, and to not go around putting worms in people’s hair because you wouldn't like it if they did that.
Making friends was never easier than in elementary. Show a kid your toy trucks or Barbie dolls, and 90 percent of the time you’d be BFFs within ten minutes. Of course they could always just call you a fart-face and push you into the sandbox, but there were thirty other kids in your class who appreciated the subtle beauty of Hot Wheels.
Sure we felt like we were growing up, but elementary school was really our last immature hurrah. After elementary, our childhoods screeched to a halt and our imaginations were packed away into airtight shipping crates.
Middle school took everything elementary school taught us about how to make friends and chucked it out a high-rise window. If you went up and showed a guy your Hot Wheels, you’d basically be signing your name on a list called “Please Pick on Me Every Chance You Get.” Barbie dolls were basically the same, but middle school girls can think of some names that put “fart face” to shame.
I recently had a chance to observe seventh graders in their natural habitat (as a reluctant chaperon for a middle school dance), and there were a few times where I thought I was watching “Jersey Shore: The Early Days.” Hair had been flat ironed into submission, push-up bras peeked out to say “howdy-doo,”and the so-called “shorts” they wore contained less material than an average pocket. Oompa-loompa makeup jobs abounded, and I’m pretty sure most of them would need a shovel to take it all off.
The guys were no better. I’m not sure if the dance had a “skinny jeans, Vans, flat brims, condescending attitude” dress-code, but if so, they were dressed to the nines. A large pack congregated in the back, occasionally shoving one poor soul forward into the gyrating maw of the girls, only to have him retreat in shame when he realized he doesn't know how to dance.
Watching a guy and a girl dance was like watching two people trying to get out of one straight-jacket (except during slow songs, when the walls, ceiling, and floor became the most interesting things in the world to stare at as you and your lucky date sway awkwardly from side-to-side, a minimum of two full feet apart). I verged from hysteria brought on by trying not to laugh to absolute disgust.
But beyond the actions of the tweens, the most surprising things were what they said. From my perch by the pretzels, I had to spend my entire night listening to guys talk about how they “did so much beer last night” and girls calling “dibs” on guys (including one very entertaining moment where two girls “dibbed” the same guy and one said, “He’s mine! We talked for like, five minutes, and he said he liked my hair.” Truly a deep, meaningful connection).
I didn't think much on it, until I walked down our hallways and listened in to a few conversations. A group of senior girls were debating furiously whether Captain America and Iron Man made a better team than Superman and Batman- and which would win in a wrestling match. A boy in my History class made a speech about Obama and Romney’s health care plans, then was heard telling a group of his friends that “Toy Story 3” made him cry- to which his friend pointed out that “Up” was WAY sadder. Choir kids spend their time either talking about musicals, or singing Disney songs in large groups.The other day, I saw a boy thoroughly entertained by a Razor mini-skateboard (and making “whoosh” sound effects while jumping with it).
When did middle schoolers decide that it wasn't “cool” anymore to enjoy being thirteen years old? When did middle school just become an excuse to practice everything you think you needed in high school- and did they base their impressions on purely from “Glee” and “90201”? And, more importantly, if they could see us, would WE be “uncool”?
These are the last years of our lives that we can still claim to be kids; mature kids with stubble and drivers licenses, but kids nonetheless. Don’t spend it trying to grow up. Just step back, pop in a Disney movie, and savor the moment.
No comments:
Post a Comment