And the People who Raise Them
Maria R. Burgio on Difficult Kids, Inept Parents, and Societal Indifference
I am often flabbergasted and worried as hell about the fact that every year teenagers commit 2,000 homicides in America and that ten per cent of these are committed by girls. This concern makes me excruciatingly aware of disruptive behavior in children. Over the holidays, I had an opportunity to observe two bad-mannered teenage girls. I say ‘bad-mannered’ to be polite; their behavior would actually be called “acting out” or aggressive in psychological terms.
My sister, her husband, and I walk into Tiny’s Bar and Grill located on State Street in Utica, New York, a neighborhood bar and family eatery that’s been offering an interesting jazz venue for about twenty years. It’s a bitter cold night, but in the holiday spirit, we’re excited to spend a fun night out. We take the only table left, meant for a party of eight at which sat two teenage girls. Tiny’s is tiny: small tables cramp into what looks like the basement of a ranch style house converted into living space. The acoustics are awful and the food is just as bad, but the family atmosphere during Christmas week makes it all okay.
Most of the servers are off for the holiday, so the bartender takes our orders. I go up to the bar and case the stools for people I’ve known in the past who never moved out of Utica like I did. I didn’t recognize anyone except for the usual local crowds of men with one too many beers in them. The Utica brewery is nearby and well known to the locals for good cheap beer. Utica is a beer town, your classic upstate New York small town where long brutal winters, high unemployment, low paying jobs and cheap housing creates a simple life centered on raising kids. It’s a lonely place if you’re not married.
The two fifteen-year-olds (not so young that they look thirteen, not so mature looking that they may be sixteen, I thought, aging them as I do any child I see) are quietly sitting bent over the table as they look into the minuscule screens of their cell phones. They could almost be twins wearing the same skin tight jeans, sneakers, short tight bomber jackets, their short straight hair meticulously brushed into ponytails that are held in place from the elastic band wound several times to coerce each hair into place. Both of them are spaced out into their cell phones as the twenty piece brass and string ensemble is playing one of Chicago’s hit songs. They are oblivious to the music and I later find out that they had left their table to get away from the adults that brought them. They remind me of those I encounter in the shopping malls of small town America, arrogant, bored, toting cell phones with text messaging so they can stay “connected.” I try to ignore them as best I can.
To be continued...
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