My sister found this photo a couple of weeks ago. I am thirteen, standing on the street with a cigarette, obviously looking for trouble. I found it, but that’s another story.
I was a child of the ’60’s, but god knows why I thought it was good to look like this. I remember the place in Venice where I used to buy long silk-velvet gowns for $6. I didn’t wear underwear or shoes, but eye-make-up was a priority.
Can you imagine being my mother? What a nightmare it must have been for her. She sometimes screamed at me, “I only hope one day you have a child just like you!” I’ve tried not to hurl this same curse at my own kids, but teenagers tend to challenge one’s patience and sanity.
At thirteen, I insisted that I was adult enough to do whatever I wanted, but in reality I was a complete idiot. Thinking about Tavi now, I see how focused she is. At least she knows something about something, even it’s all about runway fashion. I was an empty vessel, rebelling against authority with all my might, with no other interests or concerns.
I used to blame my parents for how defiant and out of control I was, but now I’m thinking that teenagers have to be awful, if for no other reason than to break away and live their own lives. If they weren’t awful, you might not encourage them to move the hell out of the house.
But some teenagers are more awful than they need to be. Were any of you as awful as me? Or even more awful? Do any of you have an awful teenager of your own to try not to kill deal with? Please share with the class!