Poor teenagers. They get such a bad rap. Us oldies forget we used to be one. We forget what it used to be like to be the only person that ever felt anything, or had a remarkable thought. I remember sitting in my room for hours on end writing poetry and painting. While I wallowed in my own self misery, I may have forgotten to do the dishes, but I certainly wasn’t hurting anyone. I believed that no adult would ever understand me. And in some ways, I was right. Our teens have a pretty bad name with the oldies, and in most cases, it’s just not fair.
I had some readers send me some questions a while back and thought I’d try my hand at pulling them apart. I don’t have a teenager, but I do work with them. Message me in ten years when I do have one and we’ll laugh together at some of my attempted answers. Continue reading