You ain't got to go home, but . . .

I believe in complaint letters. In fact, I just wrote one about the horrible service we just received at a restaurant. The first time I wrote one was to the local newspaper after a night of hanging out with friends and being harrassed by mall cops. I think I'm going to have to write another one soon--also about mall cops.


Hubby and I were shopping at the mall today with the children and noticed that there seemed to be mall cops everywhere. Initally, I thought that they were looking for a particular teenager because they seemed to be stopping the same type of people and directing them to leave the mall. Then I saw that they were also stopping girls. It was like watching hunters seeking out prey. They were relentless, like flies on poop.

Finally, we discovered that there is a new program in place that requires anyone under 18 to be accompanied by an adult after 4pm. My husband thinks this is a fabulous idea, but I uncomfortable with it. As I looked at the boys being escorted out of the mall or pulling out IDs, I imagined my son. It was hard, but I tried to see him even in the ones dressed inappropriately (by my standards) or who seemed less than cooperative. I thought of my daughter when I saw the obvious time put into outfits meant to impress some smooth talking boy. There were officers everywhere, at every entrance, talking on radios about how many kids were coming to the door now. There were making notes in little notebooks and almost chasing the teenagers out of the doors. They seemed to be treating them as if they had done something wrong just by being there. And it was 4 o'clock! Where are these children supposed to go? What else will they find to do and where will they do it?

Remember the "The Cosby Show" when Vanessa hears through the rumor mill that her boyfriend has broken up with her? She finally calls him and he tells her that what he actually said was that he hopes they never break up. "Let's meet at the mall!" She says. Now where would Vanessa go to meet her boyfriend without a safe, public space full of adults where they could walk around innocently holding hands?

Hubby attributes this decision to the recession and the need to fill the mall with shoppers who might appreciate being free of pesky teenagers. I guess it's supposed to make people spend more money. But if I were 16 or 17 years old and wanted to get a bite to eat with friends or buy a cute outfit at Forever 21, I'd be annoyed that I couldn't simply because it was 6 o'clock on a Saturday.

I'm confused

So, I was watching this sports show (see how much I love TV--I'll watch practically anything!) with a profile about a recent high school graduate who has choosen to play basketball in Rome rather than sit out the required year before he can play in the NBA. He seems fairly miserable, not enjoying his new surroundings, even while living in what some might call an enviable vacation spot. I mean, how many people get to live in Europe the year after they graduate . . . and get paid fistfuls of money? When the interviewer asks if he's happy, the baller says, "Not really. But it's better than being in college. I could be sitting in class right now."

Huh?

So, sitting in class is a horrible condition? Isn't that what college is actually for? I know the whole back-and-forth about how sports brings money and recognition to universities, that they pay for themselves, and how the academics should basically shut up and be glad that the money's rolling in. I don't really have a dog in that fight since I went to college for, uh, college and had to take out loans for my trouble; I was too slow to be a quarterback, my jump shot sucks, and besides, I'm a girl. But maybe there's something to that argument, as annoying as it is.

My issue is that this dude seems to suggest that "sitting in a class" something nobody would want to do. That's really disturbing. But we still, perhaps, have to wonder what college is for. If it's the whole experience of learning, he can do that inside or outside a classroom. But this attitude seems to be that it's the actual learning that's objectionable. I feel sad for this fellow. There is pleasure to be found in the exchange of ideas and the fervor of intellectual pursuit. Is he experiencing that in any way? Even if he were only excited about basketball and learning about it, well, okay. Learning is about exploring the world. College should be a journey towards that. If the NBA is the only destination, what good is an new, alternate avenue when the journey doesn't matter? There's something sad about this.

For Real, though?

So, I'm watching this tell-all, retrospective-type show about MTV's "The Real World" and how fabulously fabulous the show is. I realize that I haven't actually watched this show in several years. I used to watch it religiously, and in the back of my mind I thought that I'd be on it one day. Since everyone has to have a "character" on this reality show, I'd be the innocent Southern belle with Malcolm X tendancies. I'd spend my time regurgitating brilliant ideas from all my thoughtful, idealistic reading material, and my roommates' eyes would be opened about race and gender and the beautiful contradictions of the South. I'd be angry and passionate, but sweet and endearing. Some cute guy would fall hard for me, but it would be fleeting. "That girl," my roommates would say, "She's a sweetheart, but don't cross her!"

Had I been on the show several years ago, perhaps my fantasy season would have come to pass. But now, the sex-ed up, hot tub, type cast show would never have me; they've had a thousand versions of my imaginary character. It's just ridiculous and not at all real, and I remember why I stopped watching this silliness. Most importantly, though, I realize that I am now waaaayyy too old and jaded to ever be cast on that show. Now, I'd roll my eyes at the cast's whining and arguing and go crochet something.

Still, I feel a little sad that I'm no longer young and restless. My "Real World" dream is never going to happen. It seems like every twenty-something has a media presence, whether on TV or the web (I don't really envy that--I'm sure they are making dumb decisions that will come back to haunt them). Instead of those exciting experiences, I'm wondering why my 3 year old is suddenly wetting her pants 3 times in a week and being depressed because my university President just gave the most depressing speech today about the economy and the sad state of the school (and of the jobs therein, many of which will be vaporizing soon). I'll never have flat abs to show off (did I ever?) or some exotic manufactured experience of my youth. Who's thinking of me and wondering, "Where are they now?"

Anybody think there'll ever be "Really Real World"? Maybe that's the show for me.

I Hate Young People

I’ve just read a series of articles about, first, the astronomical suckiness of college students, and, second, the plethora of reasons for it. Then, I heard about a website solely dedicated to the wretchedness failures of young people and why they deserve our collective ire. I’m not so sure that I can still consider myself a young person (especially given my creaky knees and the unwelcome layer of fat showing up around my waist), but I feel offended and sad. I do, however, freely attest that there are some drawbacks to youth. Chief among those drawbacks is the way in which we really don’t know what we think we know. It’s a cruel joke of the universe because young adulthood is the time when we begin to feel that we have things figured out. We think we know how this life thing works and have a list of the answers to life’s questions. Of course, time has an (un)funny way of teaching us that there are footnotes to nearly all the answers, qualifiers that throw off our neatly drawn portraits of life. The fine print is impossibly small and young people don’t bother to read fine print anyway; they’re too busy squandering sleep and doing fun things with their flat stomachs and flexible knees. That said, being a young adult is like being a toddler. They feel the need to remind people that they are not babies and they know how to do lots of things all by themselves and don’t want your help. Then they fall down or put their shoes on the wrong feet. But it doesn’t really matter to them because they are in the process of figuring it out. That’s what young adulthood is about, too.

I’m putting my money on the fact that young people “today” are very much like young people of days gone by. They act without thinking, they pursue what makes them feel good, and they can’t see past the noses on their faces. In many ways, the stakes today are higher; sex can kill you, and there are thousands of ways to be distracted from the business of adulthood. Youtube and myspace won’t let anyone forget about our youthful stupidity. Still, it’s not okay to forget that, as Malcolm X said, young people change things. Old people don’t. The problem is that some of us are already old when we’re still young.

Don’t get me wrong, now. Young people get on my nerves, too. I wish almost every day that students would bring their behinds to class—on time—and actually complete assignments without spending an hour coming up with a sob story. I wish that they would say “please” and be grateful for other people’s time and attention. But, for me, it’s too depressing to leave the discussion there. Youth is only the beginning of the evolution. They might deserve our disgust sometimes, but they also deserve our mercy and—sometimes—our pity. They’ll get past this all too brief moment in their lives and turn into the fabulous caregivers, workers, or jerks they intend to be. It’s a process. And it’s fun to watch because, eventually, they’ll probably hate young people, too.