meanwhile, has been gravitating toward the prep- school look— polo shirts with collars and three buttons. The only difference is, the polo shirt that used to come in sedate solid colors now comes with wild stripes of pink and gold. I know this for a fact because, of course, Taz has just such a shirt.
The look I find most puzzling of all consists of plaid Bermuda shorts and a white undershirt with slip- on canvas shoes. Yes, a really trendy kid these days looks like your father did twenty- five years ago the day you wanted to kill yourself because the neighbors saw him dressed like that to mow the lawn.
But the GYSC is not just about clothes. It's a whole culture, a frame of reference that assures any two kids from anywhere have more in common with each other than your own kid has with you.
Not long ago we hosted a visiting student from Colombia who was Taz's age. We brushed up on our
Holas,
but that turned out be unnecessary. Our guest, Sebastian, spoke perfect English. Not only that, but hepretty much got off the plane from Medellín, came to our house, sat down in the living room, and started playing Halo. You would have thought he lived on the block instead of on another continent.
I had set the clock radio in the room where he was sleeping to the local Spanish music station, but after a day, he politely asked if he could change it. “I don't really like Latin music,” he explained. Just like Taz, he liked hip-hop and pop.
I offered to take him to the museum of his choice, a Broadway show, or any other New York landmark he wanted to see. But all he wanted to do was go to Times Square. He was in New York for six days, and managed to get to Times Square on three of them. While he was there, he bought a skateboard in what he claimed— and Taz confirmed— was a famous skateboard store. I, of course, had no idea there even was such a thing as a famous skateboard store. How does a kid from South America know about a skateboard store in Times Square and I, a lifelong New Yorker, do not? You guessed it: GYSC.
Even in the small rural town where we vacation up in Maine, I've found evidence of the GYSC. One day, for example, I heard Taz and another kid singing a song as they paddled a little boat in our pond. How nice, I thought, what a great bonding experience. Two buddies, enjoying the great outdoors on a beautiful summer day, singing at the top of their lungs.
The song came wafting to me in bits and echoes from across the water. The two of them were pumping theirfists in the air and cracking up as they chanted the words together. But what exactly were they singing? I cocked my head and took a few steps toward the shore to see if I could pick it up. I could barely make it out, but I heard something about “gin and juice.”
When they got back to shore, I asked them what they were singing. They snorted their laughter and mumbled, “Nothing, nothing.” I filed the tidbit away. Later, when I was back home in New York and sitting at a computer, the incident popped into my mind again, and I decided to consult my dearest friend and all- knowing helper, Google. I typed in “gin and juice,” and was treated to the lyrics of a Snoop Dogg song:
“Rollin’ down the street, smokin’ indo, sippin’ on gin and juice.”
I had heard of Snoop Dogg, but not indo. Again, I asked Google, and was sent to a link in Urban Dictionary.com, which informed me that indo is a type of marijuana.
Well, isn't that charming? Here I was, thinking these two boys were out there breathing in the fresh air and singing some uplifting youth anthem like, I don't know, “Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore,” and come to find out that they'd been reciting the lyrics to a song about booze and drugs.
Another day up in Maine, Taz was wearing a G- Unit T- shirt. Of course, the other kids up there know what G- Unit is, but one of the other parents did not. He innocentlylooked at the shirt and asked, “Gun it? Why does your shirt say ‘Gun it’?”
I
The look I find most puzzling of all consists of plaid Bermuda shorts and a white undershirt with slip- on canvas shoes. Yes, a really trendy kid these days looks like your father did twenty- five years ago the day you wanted to kill yourself because the neighbors saw him dressed like that to mow the lawn.
But the GYSC is not just about clothes. It's a whole culture, a frame of reference that assures any two kids from anywhere have more in common with each other than your own kid has with you.
Not long ago we hosted a visiting student from Colombia who was Taz's age. We brushed up on our
Holas,
but that turned out be unnecessary. Our guest, Sebastian, spoke perfect English. Not only that, but hepretty much got off the plane from Medellín, came to our house, sat down in the living room, and started playing Halo. You would have thought he lived on the block instead of on another continent.
I had set the clock radio in the room where he was sleeping to the local Spanish music station, but after a day, he politely asked if he could change it. “I don't really like Latin music,” he explained. Just like Taz, he liked hip-hop and pop.
I offered to take him to the museum of his choice, a Broadway show, or any other New York landmark he wanted to see. But all he wanted to do was go to Times Square. He was in New York for six days, and managed to get to Times Square on three of them. While he was there, he bought a skateboard in what he claimed— and Taz confirmed— was a famous skateboard store. I, of course, had no idea there even was such a thing as a famous skateboard store. How does a kid from South America know about a skateboard store in Times Square and I, a lifelong New Yorker, do not? You guessed it: GYSC.
Even in the small rural town where we vacation up in Maine, I've found evidence of the GYSC. One day, for example, I heard Taz and another kid singing a song as they paddled a little boat in our pond. How nice, I thought, what a great bonding experience. Two buddies, enjoying the great outdoors on a beautiful summer day, singing at the top of their lungs.
The song came wafting to me in bits and echoes from across the water. The two of them were pumping theirfists in the air and cracking up as they chanted the words together. But what exactly were they singing? I cocked my head and took a few steps toward the shore to see if I could pick it up. I could barely make it out, but I heard something about “gin and juice.”
When they got back to shore, I asked them what they were singing. They snorted their laughter and mumbled, “Nothing, nothing.” I filed the tidbit away. Later, when I was back home in New York and sitting at a computer, the incident popped into my mind again, and I decided to consult my dearest friend and all- knowing helper, Google. I typed in “gin and juice,” and was treated to the lyrics of a Snoop Dogg song:
“Rollin’ down the street, smokin’ indo, sippin’ on gin and juice.”
I had heard of Snoop Dogg, but not indo. Again, I asked Google, and was sent to a link in Urban Dictionary.com, which informed me that indo is a type of marijuana.
Well, isn't that charming? Here I was, thinking these two boys were out there breathing in the fresh air and singing some uplifting youth anthem like, I don't know, “Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore,” and come to find out that they'd been reciting the lyrics to a song about booze and drugs.
Another day up in Maine, Taz was wearing a G- Unit T- shirt. Of course, the other kids up there know what G- Unit is, but one of the other parents did not. He innocentlylooked at the shirt and asked, “Gun it? Why does your shirt say ‘Gun it’?”
I
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