She watches the distorted shapes of the adults scavenging through the ghetto, like vermin, for food and information. Mr Carsten's radio filters rudely through the ragged plywood partition. The announcer is listing off more restrictions. Her officiously bored voice is cut off in mid xenophobic rant as the scream of the sirens pierce the routine drudgery.
The ragged gray figures are frozen in place, as only their drenched heads move, in unison, to locate the eerie whistling sound. A sudden perfumed gale blows the cling wrap window into the young girl's face as she is thrown back. The gentle silence is broken by intrusive radio static. Picking herself up, she is disquieted by the lack of response.
Where there should be adult voices screaming for their children and property, there are only the sobs of small children. Tiptoeing past her grandmother, asleep in the chair, she peers out the empty windowsill and sees hundreds of children's heads, likewise craning hopefully. The adults are all laying down where they fell, like rats after a flash flood. The ghetto children venture outside their hovels to wake their immobile parents. The rain is still drizzling as more and more children crowd into the narrow streets.
She approaches Nana and gently pulls her arm. Nana's body crumples to the floor in a slow motion, serpentine, slither. The radio crackles to life next door and a timid young voice pleads for help over the airwaves. Children now rule the world. Can they do better?
Friday, October 23, 2009
Teenagers: Orignally published in Cambridge Times Newspaper
Ageism: Its just so silly!
While touring the neighborhood with my children last week, we happened to come across one of the most feared suburban entities...a wild pack of teenagers. Their pants were hung shockingly low, hair was expertly coiffed and they carried more electronic gadgets than a future shop. Their Travolta-esque strut kept beat with the MP3 player jacked into one ear and the loud, cuss-filled dialogue on the their cell.
The majority of people would have instinctively gone on the defensive and tried to avoid contact. I am not the majority of people. Although I strive to keep terms such as “F'n this” and “Beeeyotch that” away from my children's delicate ears, I feel they could learn far more than colourful language from a close proximity to this age group.
I, immediately, plastered a smile on my face and attempted to establish eye contact. The usual response to this manouver is a reflex snub, but, some are surprised into momentarily dropping the “cool” facade.
It's those moments when it is easiest to recall that these so called “trouble-making-idle -youth” are some one's children, sports coach, babysitter or even the bored voice behind the drive thru teleprompter. We read letters to the editor complaining about raging hoards of teens trashing personal property and keeping whole neighbourhoods up all night. I have lost sleep as well as a few flower pots but hopefully I will never lose my perspective. These assaults on our homes and ears are the exception and not the rule. The vast majority of teens are not engaging in hoodlum activities and are most likely sick and tired of being painted by the same brush.
Skip back to my original encounter and witness the outcome of my daydreaming 8 year-old crashing into the knees of an equally distracted vulgarity-spewing teen. The phone goes flying, my son is gently kept from hitting the cement and the teens dive in to help. Their language immediately becomes G-rated and we commiserate on how none of us were really paying attention. We all go on our way.
However, the next time we happen to converge on the same sidewalk, I and my children are treated to knowing smiles of recognition, a wide berth and enough cool guy nods to bolster my sons' egos for another week. The most important thing my kids can learn from this is that all people regardless of age, race, religion, sexuality or whatever signifier you like, deserve to be treated with kindness and acceptance. Teens are just like the rest of us, trying to get through another day.
The only thing I can't figure out, is how the heck those pants can stay so low and still stay on?
While touring the neighborhood with my children last week, we happened to come across one of the most feared suburban entities...a wild pack of teenagers. Their pants were hung shockingly low, hair was expertly coiffed and they carried more electronic gadgets than a future shop. Their Travolta-esque strut kept beat with the MP3 player jacked into one ear and the loud, cuss-filled dialogue on the their cell.
The majority of people would have instinctively gone on the defensive and tried to avoid contact. I am not the majority of people. Although I strive to keep terms such as “F'n this” and “Beeeyotch that” away from my children's delicate ears, I feel they could learn far more than colourful language from a close proximity to this age group.
I, immediately, plastered a smile on my face and attempted to establish eye contact. The usual response to this manouver is a reflex snub, but, some are surprised into momentarily dropping the “cool” facade.
It's those moments when it is easiest to recall that these so called “trouble-making-idle -youth” are some one's children, sports coach, babysitter or even the bored voice behind the drive thru teleprompter. We read letters to the editor complaining about raging hoards of teens trashing personal property and keeping whole neighbourhoods up all night. I have lost sleep as well as a few flower pots but hopefully I will never lose my perspective. These assaults on our homes and ears are the exception and not the rule. The vast majority of teens are not engaging in hoodlum activities and are most likely sick and tired of being painted by the same brush.
Skip back to my original encounter and witness the outcome of my daydreaming 8 year-old crashing into the knees of an equally distracted vulgarity-spewing teen. The phone goes flying, my son is gently kept from hitting the cement and the teens dive in to help. Their language immediately becomes G-rated and we commiserate on how none of us were really paying attention. We all go on our way.
However, the next time we happen to converge on the same sidewalk, I and my children are treated to knowing smiles of recognition, a wide berth and enough cool guy nods to bolster my sons' egos for another week. The most important thing my kids can learn from this is that all people regardless of age, race, religion, sexuality or whatever signifier you like, deserve to be treated with kindness and acceptance. Teens are just like the rest of us, trying to get through another day.
The only thing I can't figure out, is how the heck those pants can stay so low and still stay on?
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