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I'm going to not try to pretend I'm good at keeping up with blogging anymore. I'm still good with pictures. But blogging, not so much. Every once in a while I'll be struck by something, and so I'll attempt to get it out "on paper", but then the baby will wake and start crying, or I'll feel just guilty enough to do the dishes, or I'll just be so tired I need to go to sleep, and the writing will get postponed until I forget about it.
Aah, well. It's a season.
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I grew up just down the street from one of my best friends. We grew up in church together, and ended up living across the street and 5 houses down from each other through middle and high school. We would spend an afternoon together, and then spend an hour or more "walking each other home" back and forth, back and forth between our homes.
I don't remember a lot of specifics of our conversations. I'm sure a lot of it revolved around our completely innocent crushes, church, school, friends, and other things, but a lot of our conversations were full of silliness. We grew up in Midwestern, middle-class comfort, with not a lot of baggage or trouble. We had very little knowledge of scandal or drama; most of our struggles were how to get our hair sprayed just the right way, or how to peg our jeans (and I NEVER got those things right, anyway). We spent the majority of time making up silly stories or laughing over games of M.A.S.H.Y. We had a very elaborate ongoing story that kept getting continued by the phrase, "and that was the beginning of pig snorting!" We had a habit of reading all street and business signs backwards, cracking up at trying to pronounce azziP tuH over and over again.
Ingrained in my memory is the sound of my friend's laughter, something I always recall when I think of her. It's an incredibly happy memory.
As with many aspects of the middle schoolers' existence, I recall sharing a lot of these laughing fits while in the presence of my parents. They would drive us to the mall, or to Kings Island amusement park, or to church and back again, all while we cackled and giggled and told completely nonsensical stories in the car. They would watch us in bemused wonderment, and probably ask us more than once, "What in the world are you girls talking about?" to which we would crack up again.
I read a story tonight about a local 12-year old who was talked off of a bridge by a police officer. Without going into too much about the story (because oh. my. God. It breaks my heart into a million pieces.--you can read about it here), it just made me reflect on what I was like as a 12-year old--and I was instantly taken back to those times with my friend, laughing and cackling in the back of my parent's station wagon. I have zero instances of moments where I wanted to take my life. None. And this is coming from someone who had a pretty terrible middle school experience. There were definitely days I never wanted to go back to school. I wanted to transfer. I wanted to melt into the pavement and never see certain people ever again. But end my life? Not once. It would never have even entered my mind.
The life of my 12-year old existence and the life of the 12-year old in the news seem so diametrically opposed to each other. So much so that it actually makes me worry.
Is this what I have to prepare myself for? I am raising two girls. In Los Angeles. In the social media-driven, celebrity-obsessed culture for which I am immersed but also well-prepared for. HOW IN THE WORLD am I supposed to get my girls ready to handle it while they're also up to their necks surrounded by it?
I picture myself now, not as the kid laughing with her friend in the backseat. That careless abandon and whimsy seems almost weird now that I'm immersed in "adult land", full of bills and responsibilities and mothering. I now picture myself as the parent, and it is a much more wistful scenario. I now see myself as my mom probably saw me--hearing laughter, looking in my rear-view mirror. And where she saw my friend and I, I *hope* that I get to see my girls laughing together with their girlfriends in the backseat. That they're laughing over silly stories and songs, and not laughing at others' expense. On a more basic level, that they're *laughing* together, and not crying over boys or their bodies or (God forbid) their existence.
God, I need your help in raising my girls! Help me to protect their innocence to the world while also preparing them for the reality of it. Help me to instill in them a love of laughter and friendship and staying young. Help me to be an example to them of silliness and loud songs and climbing and dancing wildly. Lead them to friends like I had: friends that smile and laugh and joke and act their age. Give me grace to make mistakes and not feel too guilty about "screwing them up totally." Bestow upon them courage to make mistakes and live boldly and serve humbly and make this world better than it was when they came into it.
It's gonna be a wild and crazy ride. I hope to see them giggling in the rearview.
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