Moments Before the Sullen Years

During the East's recent heat spell, I decided to take the kids to the beach. I haven't done this since my middle guy, Philip, became a full blown teenager. My nine year old eagerly helped pack the car, organized the towels, and was twitchy with excitement. My 16 year old looked at me when I announced we were going to the beach. "With you?" he asked.

I wasn't sure if Philip's response would prove eager or sullen.

"I can't leave right now," he told me.

"You're busy?" (he had spent the morning in only two pursuits: heating and eating frozen

pretzels and tormenting the cats with a laser pointer)

"No, I just found the best website of my life."

Thinking the parental controls hadn't filtered what a teenage boy might seek, I sprinted to his room. He was, as usual, on the phone. He and a friend were clicking through a website that depicted adult twins attached at the head, folks with tumors hanging off them like giant squids, women with full, dark beards, people born with a "vanishing twin" that hadn't quite vanished and now draped limbs (and only limbs) from the twin host's chest.

"I have to see this, Mom. It's amazing. Then we'll leave, okay?"

I endured two minutes of medical nightmare, and then, almost smiling, he looked at me. "Wasn't that awesome?"

I nodded and handed him his bathing suit. He was, I reasoned, still a kid. Philip took the suit, and looked at me, his face suddenly clouding.

"Wait. Are you going to wear a bathing suit?"

"Nope." He smiled, this time a full smile of relief.

"This time, I'm going all natural at the beach."

It's hard to find words for the sound that emerged from Philip at that moment; his sister described it as "a big animal roaring inside a tornado."

Sexting in Middle School

I think, all in all, I am a pretty liberal parent. My kids talk to me (okay, we shout, and cursing is allowed during these times), but generally, they know what I expect from them,

and I try to

meet their expectations. But a few days ago, while some friends were over, a group of girls began sexting the boys -- my boys and their friends.

I had heard of sexting, in the same way I had heard of bombs and assassinations and plagues. They were terrible events, but blessedly distant. I didn't worry too much about any of it. But then, over the weekend, during a sleepover, these girls decided to shoot pictures of areas that are covered on American beaches and send them to boys' cell phones. The girls are 13.

My response? I wanted to call the girls' parents.

The boys quietly deleted the images. They sat me down and explained this had been happening for quite some time, but since they knew I would become "justice mom" they didn't want to tell me.

"So, do you think there's something wrong with them?" I asked.

My high school boy told me if they took a picture of someone else and sent it, then, yes, that was wrong. But girls did it all the time. It was, he reasoned, their body and their choice.

My middle schooler agreed. He explained girls sometimes did this as a way of flirting.

"They're in the eighth grade," I protested, "they are children. Can't these pictures be downloaded to the Internet?"

The boys looked at me. After a few seconds of glaring, they explained the pictures (and sometimes acts) made them uncomfortable, but they came unbidden as text messages. The end result? They wished I had never found out.

But I did. And what I have learned is that there are potentially criminal charges for the sexters.

It is a form of telecommunications harrassment and depending on the age of the sexter, sending pictures like these can be construed as pandering obscene material. But that wasn't as bad as the next fact I discovered: kids as young as ten are engaging in this behavior (modeled by older siblings) and the behavior is not only increasing: it is exploding in popularity.

Behind the Blog: Another Perspective

One thing about reading blogs or myspace profiles is they only give you an idea about that person. My name is Philip, and I am going to guest blog on my mom's blog and give another point of view.

I am in the eighth grade this year. When my mom's book came out, a lot of the girls in my school bought it and they kept asking me questions about the plot. I haven't read it yet because it's not required. If a book isn't required, I pretty much don't read it.

It's a little bit weird growing up with a mom who is a writer. When I was little, we used to get magazines in the mail and we would find mom's name in them. I thought all mom's wrote until I was in the first grade and none of the kids in my class had moms who had stories in magazines.

Mom is very big on reading. She's the kind of mom who buys everyone books for their birthday, and then asks them if they liked the book like a week later. She bugs us all the time about not reading and tells us we are going to end up homeless if we don't start reading more. She says weird stuff to us, like, "Why don't you go journal that and see what you come up with?" And she puts commas on birthday cakes.

But there are good things about having a mom who writes. She can figure out the symbols in a movie right away. I have perfect English homework. And she's easy to buy a present for: we just get her gift cards to bookstores. This usually backfires though because she comes home and says, "Look what I found for you to read at the bookstore today, Philip." That's my mom.

Living A YA Theme

If asked, and I haven't been, but if asked what a major YA theme is, the one that comes to my mind first is the learning and earning of trust.

After we moved to a new state, I knew it would take time for my boys to meet new friends. They had mingled with the same kids since pre -

school. I took for granted the convenience of knowing all the parents. In a new state, none of us had any idea as to a kid's background. I had never realized how much I had navigated my sons' choices in friends: steering them away from homes where lawns grew cars, and the insides of houses smelled like cabbage boiled in beer.

Here, in our new home, my teens experienced a battlefield promotion: I had to trust them to go

to school and come home with friends. All that lip service about me trusting them to make the right choices would now be tested. For all of us. I was terrified. But I knew (because I watch Dr. Phil) that I had to let them make their own choices. Here is one choice I met this morning:

6:46 a.m. -- My front door opens after a rapid knock. In my foyer stands an obese teenager in big boy shorts that reveal a good deal of his skull and crossbone boxers. My nine year old daughter, still in her nightgown, opens her eyes very wide and takes her cereal bowl into another room. "Phil home?" the teenager asks. I say I'll get him.

6:47 a.m. -- Philip explains that Josh is "amazing" because he can eat an entire pizza. "And they give that award through the Kennedy Center, right?" I ask. "No, Mom, you don't understand." I know I have to be quiet. I nod and go back down to tell Josh that Philip will be right down. I know I should be quiet, accepting, all that Zen mother stuff, but I can't help it. "So," I say casually, "how did you meet Philip?" Josh explains that they met while taking the late bus home. "Oh," I say happily, "you're in band, too?" "Nah, I was in detention."

6:49 a.m. -- We both look up as Philip opens his bedroom door. "Hey, Josh, show my Mom that

thing you have on your tongue." He obliges and I mumble something polite about his piercing. "He's going to get his tongue split when he turns 14, " Philip says enthusiastically. "Split?"

"Yeah," Josh says, "it's kind of an inside joke. See," Josh says, grinning, "me and Satan," and he

crosses his middle finger over his index finger, "we're like this."

"Wait, Mom," Philip says, "it's kind of a song he's writing. I'll explain it to you later." Philip and Josh turn to the door. Josh goes a little ahead. "Mom, listen," Philip whispers, "we can talk about it when I get home, ok? That thing about Satan...it's just a joke with him. It's what he does."

"Right," I whisper, "because that's the only problem."

Philip starts laughing and turns to look at me one last time before running to catch up with his new friend. I watch them until the bus disappears around the corner, remembering that like all YA themes, there is a quieter adult parallel.

Something About Teens

I am, quite openly, not much of a movie fan. I've never had the same quality of experience while watching a movie as I've had while reading. I endure most movies, but I cannot abide romantic comedy of any sort. Ever. So last night, after a really scattered week, I wanted to spend time with my two boys."Let's rent that movie, Something About Dan," they suggested. They had previewed a scene where Dan gets a couple of tickets, they said as I winced, and I should be open to new experiences. I shouldn't pre-judge. My own words coming back to me. A browsing Blockbuster customer told us the movied had gotten excellent reviews. The boys smiled smugly.

So fine.

A third into the movie, as the Disneyesque tribe of family gathered and played board games, ate amicably at a Viking-sized table, and openly discussed their emotions, my oldest son started laughing. "There's like nothing wrong with these people," he said, "all they do is get angry then frolic. It's a fury and frolic movie."

Thinking I had missed this genre, I asked him to explain.

"Watch. They get mad, then they go and put on a talent show or hop around on the lawn. No family is like this. No one gets drunk or stays mad or is really fat and weird. I never met a family like this. It's like a family made up by camp counselors."

"I think it's a lake house," I pointed out, "they all gather there."

"Right. And everyone gets along the whole time. No one messes up," my middle guy added.

"I think he likes his brother's girlfriend," I pointed out, "that's the conflict."

"So? That's the whole conflict cause like nothing else is going on. Right about right now, I'd like to see a bear come along or someone take out a gun and do something crazy," my oldest guy said, "you know he's going to get together with that girl in the end because nothing happens in this movie like it happens in real life."

"So what? Did you want him to kill his brother or something?" I asked. "Maybe take the grandma hostage?"

"Nah," Philip, my middle guy said, "just like mess him up or fight or insult him. And how come all of those kids get along so well? They do what the adults say almost every time. And they're all dorks."

"Yes," I said eagerly, "that's not at all like you two. They're so wonderfully obedient."

They both laughed. "Pull this crap," they agreed, "put something on that's realistic."

We ended up watching the last hour of To Kill A Mockingbird, the old black and white version where Tom Robinson's undeniable innocence falls victim to racism. The boys had no comments while watching this except to say it was pretty good.

Pretty good.

Perhaps that's the lure of YA literature: the audience has such a low b.s. threshhold that romantic comedy would never be a possible genre...

Teen Spaces

Over the weekend, I was in the library looking at new YA titles. The part of the library was called Teen Zone, a space separate from the rest of the library. An older woman walked by and asked me why this fiction was separated from the rest of the fiction. "I think the topics are different," I shrugged. She clearly disapproved of the expansive area given over to teenage themed fiction. "There's a children's section over there," she pointed out. I nodded, not wanting to get into an argument since I already live with teens and argue too much. I didn't think of the woman again until this morning at breakfast.
My nine year old enthusiatically confided details of her imminent plans: planting a strawberry patch, scattering seeds on a barren patch by our house to create a wildflower garden, a trip she wants to plan to the zoo, and because she is still a kid, she informed me that she may (or may not) pen a novel. Lovely. Then, because I was in a good mood, I went in to talk to my sixteen year old. He is not a kid so I try to be in a good mood when I talk to him. I figure that way I won't grit my teeth quite so visibly. Of course, his door is locked, the music is blaring, and he doesn't answer my knock. "Christopher!" I holler. The cats run for cover. The dog raises her head. I pound on the door. "Did you die in there?" When he finally opens the door, he stands silently and glares."Why didn't you answer?" I ask. He yawns. "'Cause I knew it was you."

I mention how getting him to open the door is like goading the troll under the bridge, only it's more like a troll glued to the Internet.

"Huh." He half closes the door.

"I'm wondering what you have planned since you have three days off." He shuts the door. I hear the distinct click of a lock.
Teen Space. Different from kid space. Completely. And not just in the library.

Emma Gets Her Videoblog

If you are considering writing an MG novel, or if you just like them, I suggest you check out the kids on StoryTubes . These are kid-selected, kid-created videoblogs for grades 1 - 6. They talk about why they like books, and the some of the books they selected (it includes non-fiction) surprised me. Of course my daughter had to enter and explained to me, "Your book is a little weird, Mom, with the fires and the fish and all, and besides you have to be 12 to read it." She chose C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Guess dining with speaking beavers isn't weird...