sympathized with his ignorance because I hadn't known what it was, either, until Taz told me. And in case, dear reader, you don't know, allow me to educate you. G- Unit is the name of 50 Cent's brand and record label. And in case you don't know who 50 Cent is, he is a rapper who is famous for having survived being shot nine times. His first name is pronounced “Fiddy.”
If I thought about it for too long, I could get completely hysterical about the fact that my son listens to songs about gin and indo, and that he admires a guy who's been shot nine times.
But I try to put these things in perspective. I may be a Terrible Mother, but I try not to be a hypocrite. I grew up listening to “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and “Let's Spend the Night Together” in an era when rockers died from drug overdoses practically every day. I know from experience that singing a song with degenerate lyrics does not necessarily turn you into a degenerate.
Or at least, so I tell myself. Deep down inside, I fear that it might be so, but I refuse to dwell too long on the possibility, because it would just be too awful.
Besides, although it might seem irrelevant, I also like to remind myself that Fine Upstanding Citizens are hard to come by. Perhaps Fiddy is just as decent a person as anyone who has lately inhabited, say, the White House. Is a rapper who has been shot nine times reallyany worse than a president lying about weapons of mass destruction, Watergate, or, for that matter, sexual relations with
that
woman?
So I think I'll just save my outrage for more important issues. Like why, for example, elementary school class picnics are always scheduled for smack in the middle of the day, when I'm at work.
I also try not to be outraged by what I perceive to be the unfair disappearance of the ugly duckling stage of adolescence. (Unfair because
I
had to suffer through it, so why shouldn't everyone?) It used to be that most kids were downright funny- looking until they were about sixteen. They had braces and pimples and little- kid haircuts, and they were so embarrassed by their height and their bumps and everything else that they slouched in an effort to hide.
But all of that is no more. Now orthodonture starts with nine- year- olds, before the teeth that need correcting have even finished growing in. I suppose there are sound dental theories behind this, but one of the results is that the “metal mouth” stage is already well behind them by the time they hit thirteen.
And maybe I'm imagining this, but it seems to me that most teenagers don't even have pimples anymore. Do they all have personal dermatologists? Are they all getting facials? Or do they just know more about buying acne cream and cleansers than we did?
Not only that, but kids now all seem to have perfect posture. When I was a teenager, our mothers and aunts and grandmas were always yelling at us to stand upstraight. But when was the last time you heard someone tell a kid to stand up straight? We slouched and dressed in lumps and layers and sacks of clothes because we didn't want anyone to see how awful we looked. As far as I can tell, teenagers these days have nothing to hide. Instead they are all about “LOOK AT ME!” They want the world to admire them.
And why shouldn't they? They look like movie stars, with fabulous smiles, fabulous clothes, and fabulous hair. Sometimes when I see a group of adolescent girls hanging out somewhere I almost can't stand it. How did they get so perfect looking?
The other morning I saw five or six of them standing around wearing short, flouncy little skirts over capris, sleeveless camisole tops with their bra straps showing, and flat, round- toed slippers. They looked like Degas ballerinas, the
Little Dancer of 14 Years
come to life.
And their hair, all in ponytails, was shiny, straight, and clean.
But how is that possible? I distinctly remember that when I was thirteen, half the girls had dandruff, and the other half had oil slicks on
If I thought about it for too long, I could get completely hysterical about the fact that my son listens to songs about gin and indo, and that he admires a guy who's been shot nine times.
But I try to put these things in perspective. I may be a Terrible Mother, but I try not to be a hypocrite. I grew up listening to “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and “Let's Spend the Night Together” in an era when rockers died from drug overdoses practically every day. I know from experience that singing a song with degenerate lyrics does not necessarily turn you into a degenerate.
Or at least, so I tell myself. Deep down inside, I fear that it might be so, but I refuse to dwell too long on the possibility, because it would just be too awful.
Besides, although it might seem irrelevant, I also like to remind myself that Fine Upstanding Citizens are hard to come by. Perhaps Fiddy is just as decent a person as anyone who has lately inhabited, say, the White House. Is a rapper who has been shot nine times reallyany worse than a president lying about weapons of mass destruction, Watergate, or, for that matter, sexual relations with
that
woman?
So I think I'll just save my outrage for more important issues. Like why, for example, elementary school class picnics are always scheduled for smack in the middle of the day, when I'm at work.
I also try not to be outraged by what I perceive to be the unfair disappearance of the ugly duckling stage of adolescence. (Unfair because
I
had to suffer through it, so why shouldn't everyone?) It used to be that most kids were downright funny- looking until they were about sixteen. They had braces and pimples and little- kid haircuts, and they were so embarrassed by their height and their bumps and everything else that they slouched in an effort to hide.
But all of that is no more. Now orthodonture starts with nine- year- olds, before the teeth that need correcting have even finished growing in. I suppose there are sound dental theories behind this, but one of the results is that the “metal mouth” stage is already well behind them by the time they hit thirteen.
And maybe I'm imagining this, but it seems to me that most teenagers don't even have pimples anymore. Do they all have personal dermatologists? Are they all getting facials? Or do they just know more about buying acne cream and cleansers than we did?
Not only that, but kids now all seem to have perfect posture. When I was a teenager, our mothers and aunts and grandmas were always yelling at us to stand upstraight. But when was the last time you heard someone tell a kid to stand up straight? We slouched and dressed in lumps and layers and sacks of clothes because we didn't want anyone to see how awful we looked. As far as I can tell, teenagers these days have nothing to hide. Instead they are all about “LOOK AT ME!” They want the world to admire them.
And why shouldn't they? They look like movie stars, with fabulous smiles, fabulous clothes, and fabulous hair. Sometimes when I see a group of adolescent girls hanging out somewhere I almost can't stand it. How did they get so perfect looking?
The other morning I saw five or six of them standing around wearing short, flouncy little skirts over capris, sleeveless camisole tops with their bra straps showing, and flat, round- toed slippers. They looked like Degas ballerinas, the
Little Dancer of 14 Years
come to life.
And their hair, all in ponytails, was shiny, straight, and clean.
But how is that possible? I distinctly remember that when I was thirteen, half the girls had dandruff, and the other half had oil slicks on
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