The Young And The Restless (And The Angry. And The Sad. And The Confused.)
The way she stomped around this morning, concluded by the slamming of the back door as she left for the bus stop, reminded me of something that I sometimes try to put out of my head: She is fifteen, and fifteen is hard.
Do you remember fifteen? I do.
I was a sophomore in high school, though she is a freshman, and I hated everyone. Except Kevin Bacon. Him, I loved.
My mom and dad fought, constantly, and had just announced that they were having another baby. I found this confusing and, ultimately, unacceptable. I couldn’t believe that they were still having sex, and my mother’s protruding belly would be visible, mortifying proof of that. I cried to my friends that old people (33 and 35, respectively) shouldn’t be doing the things we read about in Judy Blume novels. And when, exactly, was this happening? Because, seriously, they despised each other. Weren’t feelings black and white? The shades of gray where someone could scream at someone else (or be screamed at) and still want to “go all the way” with them made me sad and angry. Also, at fifteen, wasn’t I the one who was supposed to be getting knocked up in a dramatic attempt to be noticed? Why was my mom living my teen years?
On top of the turmoil at home, I was the chubby girl at school (I considered myself fat but, at 5’6″ and 145 lbs, I WISH I were that fat now!) and poor for my very West Beverly-ish high school (I grew up just south of LA and was living Beverly Hills 90210 every day). As the penniless round girl, I was teased, mercilessly, and became “the funny one” as a defense mechanism (thank god I’ve matured so much since then. heh). I used self-deprecating humor (“Yo mama’s so fat, she borrows her panties from me!”) (“We’re so broke that Laura Ingalls turns up her nose at my outfits!”) to make sure that everyone was aware that I was aware of my own shortcomings, hoping they would feel relieved of the need to point them out.
I was awkward in my interactions with others; I never, EVER timed my period right, usually ending up in some reddish-brown disaster on the back of my thrift store pants; I was secretly hoping my parents would divorce just so they would stop yelling; I liked boys, but was chunky wallpaper to them; I WAS A FLAG GIRL FOR FUCK SAKE. I was a goddamn disaster.
So, when my beloved slams the door, or snaps at me, or rolls her eyes, or cries for some small reason (or no reason at all), or forgets to be kind (even though she is a kind girl), or acts just like I acted, I die. Because I am reminded that she is fifteen. And fifteen is so, so hard.
HeatherVonsj@gmail.com
You just described my life. I’m glad I wasn’t the only fifteen year old just like that.
Twitter: pattypunker
/ Mar 12 2010
i’m so glad you cultivated your humor as your coping mechanism. you save me on a regular basis.
i was so relieved when my parents divorced. i can’t imagine if they had another baby instead. hugs to you and your beloved cuz 15 does suck ass.
Twitter: jennytalia2009
/ Mar 12 2010
Another great post
And happy to have 2 little girls in the house
‘Cause when they’re 15? – I’m sending them to YOU!
x
Twitter: laels_mom
/ Mar 12 2010
Thinking of my 15yr old self makes me shiver!
I remember 15 vividly, because it’s when my mood disorder first kicked into full swing. Yup, raging teenage hormones, normal teenage drama, & a mood disorder on TOP of that! My parents spent awhile refusing to believe it was anything other than normal teenage stuff, but eventually my mother made me go to see the psychiatrist. Thank the gods.
Suffice it to say, surviving 15 is one of the hardest things I have ever done. And I sincerely hope that I will be as understanding as you are when my own (yet to be born) children are teenagers. I sincerely hope I don’t kill them. I don’t know how my parents managed to deal with me, but I suspect they found a deep well of patience they didn’t even know they had.
Twitter: subWOW
/ Mar 12 2010
Awww. {{{{hugs}}}} Growing up in Asia I guess I did enjoy some advantage of a gender-segregated life in my youth: No boys allowed or around. Was in same-sex school till I was in college. The only thing I had to do was to study, study and study some more. I now know to appreciate the simplicity such a narrow life afforded. I never experienced any teenage angst when I was a teenager. I am experiencing them now though. So perhaps everything evens out at the end…
15 is when I started drinking.
Yeah, it was hard. Mostly because of expectations unmet… everyone’s!
I didn’t make the Flag team… and that wasn’t the worst part of fifteen. Hugs to your girl.
Becky – Even those with the most idyllic upbringings and perfect brains struggle at 15, I think. Sorry you went through all of that, and it certainly does not preclude you from being a fantastic parent. Take it from someone who knows. Thanks for reading.
pattypunker – I’m so happy to have you as a blog/twitter friend. The internet is a cool invention, huh?
I wouldn’t do 15 again for a shit ton of money, which is saying something because I’m really poor.
Sara – Isn’t it funny how EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US was the only one? That’s adolescence, I think, feeling like everyone else has it figured out when no one does.
Jenny Talia – Mine can be the guinea pig. If she survives, I’ll take yours!
You are so amazing. Love this.