Those perching in the lookout tower...

Listening to all of the presentations last night in my YA Lit class made me very hopeful for the teenagers out there and the librarians they will hopefully encounter. So many dishes brought to the feast -- resource lists to tend to the questioning, growing, hurt, and creative young people out there who need helpful guidance from wherever they can get it.

Studies have been conducted on how the teenage brain differs from the adult brain. Judgement can be clouded, possible consequences don't appear in high relief as much as they should. The teenage years are such a cusp, a cusp that bridges a short childhood and (hopefully) a long adulthood that stretches on further than the eye of the mind can see.

As long as there are adults who care, who are watching both for warning signs and signs of gifts that should be developed, these teens will be in good hands. Thanks, Jack, for being such a great teacher, and for being one of those on the lookout...

How is a teenager like a lobster?

After I finished Boy Toy for class last night, I remembered something I read years ago about lobsters that has stuck with me all this time: even though lobsters' shells are inpenetrable, when lobsters molt, they are extremely vulnerable while their new shell hardens. Wikipedia fills in the details: "American lobsters molt two to three times per year while juvenile, but only once a year or less often when fully mature, which is about four to seven years old. When a lobster nears its next shedding period, it will start to grow a new shell underneath the current one, and the outer shell will become very hard and darken. The line that runs along the back of the lobster's carapace will begin to split, and the two halves of the shell will fall away. Claws and tail will be pulled out from the old outer shell, as the inner shell is very malleable....In the first two weeks after molting, lobsters are very vulnerable, as their shells are so soft they can neither move very fast nor defend themselves with their claws."

I just realized that this is SO like what a teenager goes through. Their new shell is growing underneath their soon-to-be-old one, and after the old, outer one splits open and falls away, lobsters (and teens) must seclude themselves for a short period of time while their new shell hardens. Josh from Boy Toy, and all other teenagers I can think of, seem to be in a perpetually molting state; their adult selves forming and coming to the surface under their tween and teen selves. While their newer and more mature shells are hardening, we must all watch out for them and protect them. From predators, from preventable dangers, and even from themselves if we can. Even if they don't know it, they are depending on us to stand watch outside of their underwater caves until their shells are hard and the coast is clear...

What was I reading when I was a teenager?

In preparing for my first interview with a teenager for next week's "interview teenagers about what they're reading and how they feel about it" project, I thought it would be a good idea to try and remember what I was reading when I was a teenager. Stumbling through the mists of time, I was able to remember some things that I read and that made a difference to me (in no particular order):

Poetry -- I found Carl Sandburg in 8th grade, and was mesmerized by everything he wrote. In fact, I started keeping quote books right before high school started, and snippets of Sandburg were the first things I wrote down. I found Lawrence Ferlinghetti's Coney Island of the Mind in a box of giveaway books, and my world cracked open. I found a beat-up copy of one of e. e. cummings' books, and my world opened up a little more. I started only using lowercase "i"s when referring to myself in letters. Just a small tip of the hat to Mr. Cummings. When I stumbled upon Richard Brautigan, it was all over. I also loved Langston Hughes and was electrified by Ntozake Shange's For Colored Girls...

Fantasy -- I loved anything King Arthur-related. I devoured Mary Stewart's Merlin Trilogy, as well as both books about Arthur and Merlin by T. H. White. No hobbits for me! I loved anything by Patricia A. McKillip, and would later devour anything that Margaret Mahy wrote. I was also a huge Susan Cooper fan, and still am.

Reincarnation -- I was totally into reincarnation, but was only able to find one book (Green Darkness by Anya Seton), and one movie (The Reincarnation of Peter Proud) about it at that point.

Books about black kids -- I read anything I could about my "other half", from novels to slave narratives. I remember liking To Be A Slave and A Hero Ain't Nothin' But a Sandwich. I also read some of Mildred Taylor's books.

Other stuff: I remember loving The World According to Garp, and would years later, inhale A Prayer for Owen Meany and be haunted by A Widow for One Year. I still remember reading and loving A Fine and Private Place by Peter S. Beagle of The Last Unicorn fame, and yes, I was into unicorns then. It was the 1970's after all!! I loved The Prince of Central Park, which they later made into a movie...

Many books made me who I am, and there are many books and movies that nudged me to live in this great land of Oz I've been living in since I graduated from college...

Mulatto Nation!

There has never been a better time to be a mulatto! Or so I have discovered doing research for my biracial teen project for YA Lit. Now we have a president who shares our heritage! Now we can connect with each other on the internet! Now we have better products for our naturally curly hair!

There is nothing tragic about being a mulatto. There is something tragic, however, about not being comfortable in one's skin. Those of us lucky enough to come of age before miscegenation was legalized, before shiny, happy, ethnically-ambiguous celebrities filled our screens and airwaves, and before the Chief Mulatto himself took the highest office in the land, do remember how easy it was to feel marginalized. How choosing a race (parent)/rejecting a race (parent) was a common and accepted practice. How it was so hard to find a foundation that matched your face. How everyone in your presence stammered over "african-american" when the term was introduced. How classmates stared at you during discussions about slavery in class, and some even apoligized for it. Be happy that those born after these awkward and trying times will have different things that hold them back. They are now considered "in", and in my opinion, should use that status for all its worth.

I used to think that since both white and black "rooms" seemed closed to me, I would dance in the hallway between those two closed doors. There are now a LOT of people dancing in that hallway with me. I think we'll have to rent a bigger space...

Little pieces of the future are arriving everyday

Dropped the girls off yesterday for their first foray into sleepaway camp land. Being at my old camp brought back so many memories. Most great. Some unpublishable. Both girls were eager to see us go back to Brooklyn so they could start their time there. After forcing them to hug me and pose for a photo, I realized how necessary their semi-rejection was. I remember just how important it was to reinvent myself in a new place. A place where it didn't matter who I was back at home, but did matter who I was there. At that moment. All these YA books I'm reading for class feature characters trying on personas, new friends, new identities, new ways of looking at the world. Seeing if they fit. Seeing if they need to be adjusted. The self I developed over 9 years at this same sleepaway camp is truly at the core of who I am now, and who I have been in my adult life. So I won't mind the hasty and embarrassed good-bye too much. I know now I am hugging a little more of who they will become. More pieces of these new young women are arriving everyday...

Peeping out of pigeonholes

Finished a great YA book yesterday: The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks. It really made me think about putting people in boxes and labelling them. I am allergic to that activity. I hate when people judge other people as being too black, too white, too gay, too straight, too young, too old, too east coast, or too west coast.

I love it when people prove me wrong and make me realize that I was unconsciously boxing them up. I love that Obama reads Urdu poetry. I love being surprised by people and what they do with the filters they were born with -- cutting eyeholes into them and dressing up for our pleasure and theirs. Underestimate Frankie at your peril. Pigeonhole me or yourself at your own peril...

Wrong book, but fun read!

Okay. So I TOTALLY read the wrong book for class tonight. The Altar Ego I was supposed to read was about how people select their avatars. Pretty cool photographic book with the gamer's photo directly across from an image of their avatar. The Altar Ego I read was a souped-up British chick lit concoction (very witty and more than a little naughty) that I am very glad to say is not on any recommended reading list for young adults. Phew!

Kids today...

Well. I just finished another book for my YA Lit class. It was pretty great - like Bridget Jones' Diary on crack. When fellatio is mentioned on the third page, you know you've got a winner. Makes me think about all the books that were "risque" when I was 13. I remember those Judy Blume books (voyeurism! masturbation!) that adults tried to keep out of our hands. I also remember Jaws (p. 76 was it?) and one particular section of The Godfather. Once the dangerous passage was figured out, the page number was communicated between me and my sisters, often whispered in doorways.

Who knew that all we had to do was to wait it out and pick up YA books in the late 2000's? These kids have no idea how easy they have it! No sneaking around! Things are named and described! I'm sure they'll find something else to be stealthy about. Just give them time...

Morphing into my mother?!

It's scary how fast and seamlessly I'm becoming my mother. Last night in class there was a teen popular culture quiz. I got 11 out of 26 correct (although there were some two-parters that I had half of correct). One of the questions was about a song lyric that went "do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips". I didn't know who sang the song, but just the other day, two of my three kids ran into my room singing that line. Not knowing it was from an actual song, I berated them for being so callous about someone with obvious physical shortcomings. I am SO behind the popular culture times!

I remember my mother whistling while she washed the dishes (she has a very strong whistle). She would whistle along to Barbra Streisand (her favorite) and I would cringe and beg her to stop. Now, it is I who whistles along to old songs (e.g. Saturday in the Park), and it is my kids who cringe and beg me to stop. That transformation didn't take long!

The Beginning...

Since it's not possible for me to read articles out loud to my husband, sisters, or mother at all times of the day or night (or preferable to them), I have started a blog so I can throw what's inside onto the screen. Watch out!