Monday, May 7, 2012

Really?


Russian viewers will know what this is. It's already circulating around the world, including the U.S. Putin protest, riot police, kid on bike. They're calling it an viral, iconic even. Until the next image goes viral. Meanwhile in Syria...

This is why the voting age could stand to be lowered. Maybe not to these boy's age, but lower than it is now. I think fourteen is a good number. Young people don't have to live under dictators-they have to grow up under them. And they don't have the luxury of saying, "This was my vote, I brought this on myself and now I'd like to change it next election day."

Thursday, May 3, 2012

"Only a Kid"? So?

Benjamin Coady, a guy who knows a thing or to about history, was strolling around the Metropolitan Museum of Art a few months ago when he noticed something interesting. He'd expected to just see "art on a wall", but here was, of all the captivating things, a map of the Byzantine Empire, supposedly at it's largest. He checked the dates and found something out of place.

This one includes parts of southern Spain and northern Africa. That one did not.
Coady did the natural thing for a guy confident in his own knowledge: he informed the front desk.
They didn't believe him. They instructed him to fill out a form. So he did.
Several months later, curator Helen Evans emailed him back. "You are, of course, correct about the boundaries of the Byzantine Empire under Justinian."
And now the story has gone viral. Because everybody is fascinated by the Byzantine Empire (What, you've never heard of Justinian? Good. I'm not as stupid as I thought I was).
Benjamin Coady is thirteen years old. He said, "The front desk didn't believe me. I'm only a kid."
This is Benjamin on an exclusive tour:

During%20a%20September%20visit%20to%20New%20York%27s%20Metropolitan%20Museum%20of%20Art%2C%2013-year-old%20Benjamin%20Lerman%20Coady%20noticed%20an%20error%20in%20one%20of%20it%20maps%20of%20the%20Justinian%20conquests.%20He%20notified%20the%20staff%20and%20in%20January%20he%20received%20a%20letter%20from%20Dr.%20Helen%20Evans%20the%20museum%27s%20Mary%20and%20Michael%20Jaharis%20curator%20for%20Byzantine%20art%20%28shown%20with%20him%20here%29%20notifying%20him%20that%20he%20was%20correct%20in%20his%20assertion%20and%20the%20map%20would%20be%20updated.%20%28na%2C%20hc%20%29
Benjamin impersonating a work of art while on an exclusive tour:

And Benjamin on a normal day:

If he were thirty, nobody would care to read it and no reporter would care to look up the spelling of 'Byzantine'. But now everybody from yahoo to upi is abuzz with responses.
"I to would be proud if he were my child. Heck, he's not my child and I'm proud of him. Nice job young man."
-Barbara
" Let us all take a moment to rejoice in the fact that there are still young people genuinely interested in History..."
-cm
"Wow! A teen who has actually opened a book instead of an iPad, laptop, new Playstation game. Maybe there is hope for the next generation. Good catch!"
-tcquilter, Tampa, Florida


Why is it so surprising that a thirteen-year-old knows something? I'm more impressed by his courage to speak up. And the whole idea that teenagers spend the majority of their time doing this:

It's a stereotype. Whenever I walk around with my earphones in public, whether I'm at a library or movie theater or simply walking down a street, I can't help but feel that all the adults are sorting me into a single category.
Teenager.
Smart people exist. Smart people occasionally do something worthwhile. Young people are not any stupider than they were thirty years ago. It may seem that way because now you read about a car crash and think "one of them" instead of "one of us". Everything's different looking back.


Funny how "them" seems to be the biggest scapegoat in history, more than Obama, communists, witches, Jews, Muslims, youth, and even the weatherman. Everything that happens must be somebody's fault, but somebody is too vague a term to pin down on some mortal human being we come in contact with.
And no, history isn't doomed either. Not unless you layoff our teachers for not teaching math and science. the ways of the future.


Politically Correct Playthings

This isn't specifically for teenagers, but all young people. Admit it-everybody has played with toys at some point. When a kid plays with a toy, they think, "Ooh, plastic thing. Fun."
But from an adult perspective, toys are horrifying. Young girls are indoctrinated with old fashioned girly-girly thoughts by the cult of Barbie. Boys are taught tough and aggressive behavior.
Tell me, when did adults become experts about on fun, of all things? Adults don't have fun. Adults drive children to football practice, pay mortgages, and complain about politicians.
A while back, a Swedish preschool drew international attention because of procedures designed to eliminate "gender bias".  The staff no longer uses the Swedish feminine and masculine pronouns, han and hon respectively. Instead they use the genderless pronouns "hen". They also banned the stories Snow White and Cinderella, because they "cemented stereotypes". Most of their books focus on homosexual or adoptive or single parent families.
Wait a second, didn't both Snow White and Cinderella have single parent/blended families?
Wander around any toy store and you'll see politically correct dollhouse families.



(Extended family dolls)
Notice something wrong? Gasp! No multiracial families. No Asian-American children. No white family with an adopted black kid. Of course you could by multiple sets to mix and match, but who has that kind of money?
Little sidenote: Whenever I see girls with those child development class dolls, they always seem to be black. I hear they make Caucasian ones as well, but all the girls I talk to say, "Black babies are cuter."
Most dollhouse families are what I call basic families-Mom, Dad, Son, Daughter, and maybe Baby in Mom's arms. The small size makes sense-no company wants to manufacture a ten person family. But why don't you see single parent or blended families?
Growing up, my dollhouse set had a dad and two moms. I got mom doll number two as a Christmas present from my brother after he sent mom doll number one on a long vacation to the bottom of the sandbox. I never thought to make her a stepmom, she was always the aunt or babysitter. My mom had both a dollhouse and divorced parents growing up. She always made her dolls ideal families. I've never heard of anybody playing differently.
And, of course, somebody's going to complain that you don't see gay dolls. Again, mix and match if it really means that much to you. I had around ten or fifteen Barbie dolls and one Ken. The one thought I had in elementary school concerning gay marriage was that it would make pairing of Barbie couples a heck of a lot easier. But I never did it. Sometimes my Barbies were widows or adoptive mothers, sometimes they had husbands on business trips. Mostly I married them to those plastic Madame Alexander boys you could get in Happy Meals.

I think his name was Tom. Or possibly Tommy.
I could have just asked for more Ken dolls, but who wants an ugly male doll when you can have more pretty Barbies in princess dresses?

Here's an interesting philosophical question. If a feminist halfway around the world reads this and nobody's around to hear her scream, do I care?
Oh well, here's some self empowered career Barbies to make you happy.
We have Barbie as an architect:

Such stylish boots. And of course she's wearing a skirt, or it wouldn't be stylish  and feminine. Do all architects dress like that? And look, now she's running for president.

Strangely enough, she lost to a guy named George whose hair wasn't nearly so pretty.

She's very patriotic and tough, you see. Here she is on a combat mission, and yet her hair is still perfect. How does she do that?
Barbie has changed over time. She used to have flat feet not built for heels.

But look at that figure. Is it approptiate for young girls to look at this doll and possibly feel inadequate? Perhaps we should sue somebody.
I read an article a while ago by a grown woman whose mother never let her have a toy kitchen in fear that it would brainwash her into male dominated submission.

This girl appears to be happy, so the brainwashing rumors must be true. Then again, maybe she's just happy because she's a toddler model being paid decent money to pose next to a toy. Then her parents can buy her a toy kitchen of her own, or perhaps save the money for something boring. Such as college preparation.

Because kids love educational learning. Except for Jack-Jack.


And Kari.
Don't get it? Shame on you. Watch the Pixar short. Yes, now.
And what about those violent toys?

I've heard of families banning play swords, too. Then the boys have to get creative.

Real original. Toys date back to every ancient civilization. Boys got wooden swords and miniature bows to prepare themselves for the battlefield. (And their parents disguised it as fun. Talk about stealth teaching!) Girls got rag dolls and hand-carved cradles, strollers, and coffins to prepare for the joy and sorrow of motherhood. That's how the world worked for thousands of years. Joan of Arc probably had a rag doll. And I believe there are several species of sticks native to France.

Though other sources suggest she spent a great portion of her childhood praying. Which is also fun.
As a child, it seemed like I was getting two things: new baby dolls and new baby brothers. Maybe that's the reason my mom kept giving me the dolls-pity.
My favorite toy, as you might have guessed, was my dollhouse. Sometimes my brothers would play with me-and stick to Tommy. I spent many hours playing Legos with them.
And by Legos, I mean three bins full of tiny bricks, a small table with several Lego platforms glued down, and a sea of Lego 'islands' and scattered pieces. This collection was begun by my older brother sometime in the mid 1990's. It still takes up three quarters of the room I'm sitting in.
Like my brothers, I had a few favorite pieces. Their names were Mary, Jenny, and The Monkey. Mary was the princess that came with the castle set. Jenny was a normal soldier or whatever with girl hair on top. In hindsight, I suppose The Monkey could have been a girl too. I never thought to ask for more girl pieces and my brothers never ordered them, so I played with the boys or got creative.
Take your average male Lego. Remove the legs. Insert torso on top of a wedge shaped brick, aka skirt, preferably teal because that goes with everything. Now you not only have a girl, but a girl one head taller than all the guys.
Got that, feminists?
And now I see these girly lego sets on the market.

Do you know what would happen if I tried to set up one of these beauty salons with my brother's legos? First he would gather all his clone troopers, knights, and pirates, and arm them for battle. As if they aren't always armed for battle to begin with. Then he would tear off all the easily breakable parts, kill all the girl figurines, and mix the heads into our lego vat so I don't find them for a couple days. In exchange, I'd have to steal some of his weapons and prepare my lego girls for war.
Sidenote to the world: People very rarely say 'tomboy' anymore. Girls can play soccer. I think we're all aware of that. And off the field, most of them wear makeup and, yes, skirts. A girl who refuses to wear any form of makeup isn't a tomboy, just noncomformist with undisguised acne. For somebody to call you a tomboy, you have to run along the river with a bow and arrow.
In other words, take your politically correct ideas into another room and let the children enjoy their childhoods.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Rant

I love reading the news, but I can't stand it. Every week it seems as if there's another story about child brides in India, child abuse in California, teen prostitution in Georgia, child labor in Pakistan, rape in England, child soldiers in Uganda, student suicide in South Korea, and don't even get me started on the young people dying in Syria. Basically, we do everything except vote. I think it's great that the stories are out there-we need to raise awareness. What infuriates me is every story is accompanied by shocked comments.
"How can that still be happening today?"
"Those people should be in jail."
"These practices should be outlawed."
"It's all Obama's fault somehow."
"No child should have to go through that."
"Horrible...just horrible."
These can't be the first shocker stories anybody else has seen, but the reactions is always the same. We know this stuff is happening, somewhere in the distant corners of the world, somewhere in the distant corners of our brains. But we treat each one as a searing new revealation and then turn around to bemoan teenagers these days, media these days, politicians these days. We have to give somebody all the blame and glory-otherwise we might actually force ourselves to stand up and do something positive. Not likely, but possible.
Why doesn't anybody acknowledge the stupidity and brutality of this world? Why do we convince ourselves youth are the acception, that problems belong to grown-ups?
I can only thing of two answers: We live euphamism and we're lazy.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

The Instruction Manual

How-To-Raise-Your-Parents
I've heard lots of adults say they're disappointed that kids don't come with an instruction manual. Maybe not, but you can pick one up at Barnes and Noble for $14.99. There are books to help out parents from the moment the kid is conceived to the time that kid moves out and has kids of their own. Funnily enough, I haven't seen very many books on how to deal with parents. Yes, it is just as hard on this end of the spectrum. Scratch that, it's harder, because we can't end an argument with "Because I said so and you shall obey".
A few months ago, I was searching the internet more or less aimlessly when I found a page for a book called How To Raise Your Parents: A Teen Girl's Survival Guide. Today I finally got around to picking it up from the library. I was hoping this book would explain how to win an argument with my parents or, better yet, how to prevent arguments in the first place. Seriously, those things can last up to two hours and I have homework to do.
I was very disappointed. Like most of the world, the book seems to think a "teenager" is a person between the age of sixteen and eighteen who has a car, a tattoo, and several piercings. The book was published in 2008, so it also believes we use myspace. Oh how times have changed.
There's a whole chapter on The Essentials of Declaring Independence-Hair Dye, Piercings, and Tattoos.  Four pages are devoted to What If Boys Aren't the Issue? aka how to tell your parents you're gay. Which the majority of the population isn't.
Here's teenage life in a nutshell:
Grades, grades, grades. Your existence depends on getting into a good college. Your friends are stupid and melodramatic but you still find yourself having a good time. You live in a universe of homework, friends, soccer games, dance lessons, guitar practice, and the internet. Oh, the joys of the internet. Mindnumbing online games, amazing multimedia youtube videos, and hilarious facebook quotes. Above all, you wish you could get in maybe twenty-two extra hours of sleep a day.
And by the way, not all teenagers spend weekends drunk. It irritates me when adults-especially the ones in charge of media-base their perceptions of teenagehood on cloudy, outdated memories influenced by other media presentation. An grown man gets drunk at a Friday night party and crashes an SUV into a stop sign. Sucks to be him. A teenager does the exact same thing and it makes the papers. "Oh, young people these days. They're all so bratty and irresponsible, we were never that reckless as teenagers. Just watch, they will be the doom of our society."
Yeah, it's already here. Has been for a couple millenia. History moves in cycles, people.
Being a teenager is tricky. Adults have a plethora of parenting books at their fingertips, but I've only ever seen one useful "teenagering" book.
See previous post "This Guy is Awesome."

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Too Busy

A few days ago, a classmate of mine asked our teacher, "Wouldn't it be great if we all lived in the  time of 'The Sandlot?'"

The man is forty. The movie is set in the summer of 1962.
I have three brothers who play baseball. And by play, I mean live. This is the third consecutive year we've set up a batting cage with a picthing machine in our backyard. To them, baseball is lugging around bag full of bats and mits and water bottles. It's being on time to hour long practices several days a week. It's spending Saturdays at the baseball park.
It's normal.
They've played outside the city sponsored diamonds. Bats aren't allowed in school, but they've played a few times. They've always played in our backyard, whether the batting cage is up or not. They played in the living room and kitchen until they got too big, using pillows as bases and a foam sword or lightsaber for a bat.
But to my knowledge, they've never played in a vacant lot.

It looks fun.
Yesterday my mom was bringing me home from gymnastics when I saw three of my friends lying around on the sidewalk. We pulled over to talk to them. They asked if they could ride on the back of our car. My mom wouldn't let them. But she did let me run out and play with them, so long as I did my two hours or so of homework and piano afterwards.
I don't usually hang out with friends beyond school and church. I'm not that busy. I'm enrolled in gymnastics and piano, work parttime, and I'm taking all honors classes plus AP geography. Not an overload, but factor in school, random orthodontist appointments, my blogs, reading for my other blog, sleeping, and the novel I write for about an hour and a half everyday (usually somewhere between midnight and one), I don't have the time. So of course I jumped at this chance and procrastinated a few assignments I'm still procrastinating now.
We armed ourselves with four swords, (two nerf, one plastic, one wooden), two shields, and a foam battleax, and ran through acid. Otherwise known as lawn sprinklers. But it was acid.
We also jumped off my one story deck, a fall of about ten feet. Unless you subtract the railing, which we stepped over. And our height, around five feet for each of us. And the porch, which is about as thick as my hand. And the trampoline underneath.

Most people-parents especially-don't see fun like this as beneficial. There are only 86,400 seconds in a day, and we must invest them wisely if we want to get into a good university.
I saw this article on careforthefamily.org. I didn't change a word.

Keep teenagers busy - find out why...

The most basic reason it is vital to keep our children busy is not to use the teenage years to introduce them to the wonders of the arts, great literature, or even for them to become sporting stars. It is simply to make them so exhausted that they don’t have the energy to get into trouble. The very last thing the testing teenager needs is a six-week school holiday where he is at home alone, with no idea what to do on day one, never mind day thirty-one. The same is true of evenings and weekends.
With the bold letters, you almost wonder if they're being sarcastic. Sadly, no. And by the way, not all "testing teenagers" are boys. At least, not in America. This is British writing, but I'm fairly sure England is one of those newfangled nations where boys and girls can go to school. In the same building, even. 
The kids in Sandlot got in their fair share of trouble. They do chew tobacco and go on a carnival ride immediately after, which the narrator describes as "the stupidest thing we ever did". 
This about the same group of kids who hit a Babe Ruth baseball over the fence, got themselves chased around the entire town by a killer dog, faked drowning to get a kiss from the lifeguard, and were banned from the swimming pool because of it.
And you know what? They learned from their mistakes. Did you see the kids chewing once after that?
Back to the article. Why "testing" teenager? Isn't there more to life than bringing home a good report card to Momma?
Aw, a gold star. Precious. 
Say this girl-let's call her Eulalia-stays inside for most of her childhood, watching educational television and playing educational video games. She learns to read impressively fat books and test well. She's a member of the National Honor Society, chess club, cheer squad, and cleans up highways in her spare time. Eulalia goes to a good university, then to a good grad school, then to a good post grad school, and eventually tries to hold down a job. She has no experience making her own choices, so she blows it all partying and racks up some impressive credit card debt.
Now Eulalia's parents have their adorable daughter living inside their house. At age twenty-eight.
sleeping on couch

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Childhood Lost

My friends and I have always liked movies about old fashioned kids, like Goonies and Huckleberry Finn. To me it seems like some kind of brilliant paradise. If only I could live like that-drop my backpack by the door, summarize my school day for my mom, and take off who knows where until dinnertime.
I've heard stories-real stories-about people living like that. My dad's first home was located on an orchard. Whenever I ask him what he liked to do as a kid, the answer is always, "Looking for frogs and toads."
Frog under Water
When my mom was a kid, a bunch of older kids gave her and her friends custody of a secret underground fort they had built. They played in it until some adults built a church on top of it. When the machines were clawing up dirt and dumping it into their hideout, they found an old wooden box sticking out of the dirt heap. There was nothing inside, but that didn't stop them from passing it around until somebody eventually stole it from my mom's house.
I talked to Brandon Mull, author of the Fablehaven series, a few weeks ago. He shared a story about a group of friends whose stated purpose was to find treasure. They dressed up in camoflauge and crawled across grass fields to infiltrate their neighbor's barn. They discovered old cars and radios, but never any pirate gold.
Did people really get to live like that once? We can't just play outside anymore. Outside is where the ax murderers are. Also speeding cars. And large bugs. When we go out, we take our cell phones with the parental GPS installed.
Wait a second. Large bugs existed back in the dinosaur days (1970's) while cell phones did not. How is it some of you old people survived?
Out of curiosity, were you allowed to keep them as pets?
We play indoors, where it's safe. And boring. Have you ever realized how little entertainment is created directly for teenagers? The only 'teenage shows' are on Disney Channel and Nickelodeon, and nobody really likes those. We're left watching Psych and The Office like everybody else. For music, we have Justin Bieber, Taylor Swift, and the grown up Disney stars. They're alright, but that leaves a lot of Adele and Bruno Mars. Nearly all teenage movies are based off YA books. Think about it. Hunger Games, Twilight (ugh), Harry Potter, Percy Jackson (sigh). The remainder are either cheesy feel good movies or Project X. Adults really have a screwed perspective on what teenagers actually do in their spare time, especially the ones in charge of the entertainment industry.
Video games. What's between Mario and Call of Duty? Exactly. Games rated T for teen. That's all you give us, and then you complain we sit around and do nothing else.
I don't live on a farm or small town. I live in a dinky suburb big enough to have its own high school and small enough that nobody sixty miles away has heard of it. Fortunately, there's this stretch of wilderness between my dinky suburb and next dinky suburb. This space contains a river, a pond, four bridges, two walkways, one ending a gazebo, two parks, trees, substantial undergrowth, a jogging trail, foxes, deer, evil cats, the random cougar, and a well drilling site. My dad said it will eventually be a thousand feet deep and they've been drilling for almost a year. I haven't been able to check. They have this wall around it covered with a tarp that's always tied down. What's the point of having a thousand foot hole practically in your backyard is you can't throw stuff down it?
I know six people have who have played out there in the last fifteen years: me, my friend, and my four brothers. I've climbed a few trees, built some makeshift forts, invented a game using only a tree and something that might have have been a softball in a former life, figured out the combinations on the park bathroom doors (they shut them off after four. It's quite inconvenient), and renacted the Hunger Games with real bows. And sometimes real arrows if we can get away with it. Otherwise we use sticks, which don't fly nearly as well and wouldn't be any help if and when the friendly neighborhood kidnapper took a stroll down the trail.
I've been able to eek out something of a traditional childhood, but what about the next generation? What happens when the new crop of parents have no experience with nature, no reason to shout at the kids, "Turn off that dadblamed digital device and go hit a tree with a stick or something."
Is outdoor play going to vanish forever?
Yeah, probably.