Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Who wants her number posted on the boys' room wall? Jenny probably didn't. Trinity definitely didn't. Truly, there's nothing new under the sun...
“For a good time, call: 867-5309…” My name’s not “Jenny,” but I do know that back in the day, no respectable girl wanted her number on the bathroom stall. Today, the “stall” comes with its own keypad. God help the girl whose number gets "posted." You might as well put it in a song, for anyone to call, for all eternity. If you came of age in the eighties, you’re laughing with me. Sort of. But your stomach hurts, because now it’s our kids we are talking about. The song is theirs, and they-- God forbid—could be the victims of these “posts.” This final story of the “social media” series—it is the one I saved for last. Or is it the one I put off until last, because I knew it would gut me to write about it? When I began this series, a girl …
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
"Facebook is our escape. For a few hours, we can hide behind that Mac and be whoever we want to be."
Facebook. Some people believe that it’s “of the devil.” I’m serious. I’ve actually heard those words come from their lips. And I think: Hello?!! Facebook is nothing more than an electronic medium. A neutral entity. A tool. Tools can be used for productivity or as weapons. This has always been true. It’s not Facebook that gets us in trouble; it’s our humanity. Just this week, I vented and posted. Within the hour, my words came back to bite me, in the form of a text. “Friends” aren’t necessarily our friends (don’t expect confidence!) and those whom we’ve "removed" miraculously are able to decode even the most encrypted messages. Some things are better left unsaid. Yet, I still believe in self-expression, “To thine own self be true,” and all …
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
What was once a (comparatively benign) comment on the bathroom wall is now atwitter for all to see. How do today’s teens deal with the exponential nature of such harassment? Many stand strong by using their voices for good.
In this cyber-age, meanness and bullying have been propelled to a whole new level. So how do today’s teens deal with the exponential nature of such harassment? Many stand strong by using their voices for good. Recently, two young women shared their stories with me. I’ve chosen to use pseudonyms, in part to protect these women from further harassment, but also because their stories represent those of countless others. As an eighth grader, Laurel was sitting in art class when a girl said, “Hey, Laurel! I’m not sure if you know but someone made a ‘MySpace’ about you ...” At home, Laurel typed in the link the girl gave her: “Laureleatstoomuch.” What she saw broke her heart and is with her even now, in her college years. "It scarred me to …
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
As a "Word Person," I can't help but wonder if SSEWBA. If so, will I still be able to talk to my kids?
The Conversation U up? Yep. <3 Texting ALAP. TYVM. :) HUD? Good. HBU? M$UlkeCraZ. Want 121, F2F. Not 2nite 4sure. L?^L8R? 2moro? COBRAS? Lol. Not sure. LHOS. Now. IYD! Yep. DISTO? JK. Sort of. FOGC? RMMA. BTWITIAILWY. ? CUWTA. LOL. Looked it up. Aww…that’s sweet. ;) Still, IDK… AUNT—u can trust me. TBH, B4U I never would've…but 1432. It will b ok. FTFOI? I will delete right after. KPC. WDYT? WRU? IDK…In my room… J Send me a Pic? Plz? GNOC? GOI. UR cra-cra. GNSD. No. Let’s GOWI. IPN. Sending u a pic now. NVNG…SHMILY? The Grade Patch Parents, if this were a test, would you make the grade? How much of this conversation did you get? Take <3, B4 2day, my answer would have been: “Not much.” If u2 would earn an “F” in text-reading, you’d…
Monday, May 14, 2012
When a mother blazes a trail through hardship, there are miles to go before she sleeps ...
It was Christmas morning, 1978. She watched as her children opened their presents. The grandparents were there enjoying the kids — as much as they could — under the circumstances. Did the children sense their grief? About what was missing that morning, but more than that, about what had been forever changed? About the thing the children had yet to know? When the last present had been opened, she asked the children to sit on the sofa. It was time. Time to do what she did not know how to do, the hardest thing her 43 years on earth had ever required of her (even though she knew it would now get harder). Time to do the thing no mother ever wants to have to do. Certainly not on Christmas morning. Time to do that which she could not do on her …
