“I’d never let my kid leave the house looking like that.”
How many times have you had that thought, maybe even turned to somebody else and said it out loud? It might have been a purple mohawk or an inappropriate T-shirt. Maybe it was one of those gauges that make 3/4 inch holes in people’s earlobes, or pants hanging down low in the back.
I clearly remember when those saggy pants came into style. It was the early nineties and west coast rappers like Dr Dre and Snoop Dogg were crashing the suburbs in a big way. Movies like Boyz In The Hood and Juice shined a light on the plight of our inner cities, but also made cult anti-heroes of Tupac’s Bishop and Ice Cube’s Doughboy.
I had no interest. No saggy pants or thick gold chains for me. Not because I was a white kid from a cow town in Connecticut, but because I had already spent too much time and effort cultivating a different look.
Ripped jeans, denim jacket, Metallica T-shirt. Crosses and daggers hanging from my left ear. Hair was business up top, all party in the back. I thought that I looked like one of the vampires from The Lost Boys, but the truth is I was much closer to being the third Frog brother. ( If you are too young to understand this reference, stop reading and go watch it on Netflix. You’ll thank me later.)
My parents thought I looked ridiculous of course. My father still brings up the fact that they once bought me a jewelry box as a Christmas present. The Yosemite Sam tattoo on my bicep certainly didn’t help my cause.
He busts my stones now, but at the time was surprisingly silent. My grades were good, I stayed out of trouble. Access to old pictures of his sideburns and James Dean leather jacket may have helped.
As parents our worries are endless. Conflict unavoidable with potential arguments lurking around every corner. Picking our battles is not only sensible, it becomes absolutely crucial.
The list of things I expect from our teenager is a long one. Go to school, try your best, brush your teeth, don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t do drugs, treat others kindly and with compassion. Be honest, but be respectful while doing so. Always be yourself and take pride in who that is.
I grew up in a rural area and many of my friends owned livestock. It’s the last time that I can remember seeing anything like my daughter’s current nose piercing. She wore shorts for most of the summer and seems to prefer flannels now that it’s getting warm. She insists on wearing glasses that she doesn’t need, something I find particularly strange as I’d love to be able to see without mine.
I don’t really care about any of it.
I don’t care because there are so many more important things to care about. I don’t care because I once spent a summer convinced that going shirtless with boots and a cowboy hat was a good look. There was a time in the late ’80s when most of my clothes were the color of today’s energy drinks. My pants were something straight out of a clown show.
I don’t care because I love her and she’s beautiful.
I think sometimes we forget how hard it is being a kid. How hard it is to carve out our own identity and try and come to an understanding of who we really are. Clothes, hairstyles, and piercings are all tools used in the process of that discovery.
Oftentimes they look completely ridiculous.
Just like we did.