Youth

Youth is gorgeous and difficult - but this splendor is incomprehensible until you grow up and have the opportunity to look back. This is a time of unexplained inconsistencies: the body stretches upward, and the voice becomes lower; whiskers, even kill, do not germinate, but the physiognomy is strewn with the whole crop of pimples; by the time you finally become interested in the opposite sex, the opposite sex demonstrates a clear loss of interest in you; Parents demand that you “be an adult,” while simultaneously demanding that you “stop pretending to be a nurse” (who would know what this means?).

They treat you not as a child, but not as an adult, but as something in the middle. Paraphrasing one of my favorite Alice Cooper songs, “I'm Eighteen,” you are a boy - and you are a man, you are a girl - and you are a woman (or both man and woman - if this is the case, you should contact the appropriate specialist).
Even Pat Boone, thirty years ago, grasped the essence: "We feel that we are separate, that we have been expelled, that we are guilty as a community." Society has always driven youth into the closet. By the way, forty-five years ago, the words “teenager” did not exist at all: because then, in the days of grandparents, young people straight from childhood went to adulthood, through the gates of early marriages.

I guess this means that you are not the person you should be. Parents, teachers, in general, all adults are so busy to “shape” you, that they fail to notice that you are already formed to a certain degree, that you are a person.

But who is this person? Is he a clumsy boy or girl whose eyes are still filled with tears whenever the teacher scolds, or is the “tough guy” or flirtatious and quite feminine girl when they find themselves in their company? Your mood, like a swing, soars up and falls down: from complete, jubilant, incredible happiness to unthinkable grief - and all this during one school day. I remember how monstrous these ups and downs can be.

You go to school, you meet friends on the way, you go straight to class, and everything is fine. The first lesson is English, but you can doze it quietly, because the teacher also didn’t really wake up. You're in a great mood.

And then the second lesson. Gotta go to the gym. And go past the autoclass, and there all eight lessons a day loaf about this ambal Kavalski. Last time, he used your hand as a wrench, "because today is Wednesday, and I hate Wednesday." And although this little tragedy lasts no more than two minutes, you are in a panic. You look out the window. On the street in January, terribly cold, snow lies. You have a choice: either try hiding behind the backs, slip past the autoclass, or risk double-sided inflammation of the lungs and rush to the locker rooms through the outer entrance. And what if Kavalski from all months most hates January?

So, you scratch down the street and, checking yourself for signs of frostbite and throwing the ball in the basket, the whole lesson is tormenting yourself with thoughts about what you really should have done: “You should have covered him with textbooks on his face. Well, next time ... "

On chemistry, you sit with Robin Titarsky. This baby - what you need! Maybe today she will somehow react to your presence?

You're at the top of bliss - a friend invited me to play a new computer game after class. And you are in absolute down - it turns out her parents are divorcing and she moves to another area and goes to a new school. And someone from the gym was dragged to the doctor because he swallowed pills. And some of your friends doubt that it happened by chance. And then you come back home, and mom, looking up from the next telecommedia, asks:
- How are things at school, baby?
- Nothing.
You can’t tell her that almost today I’m not mad because of this Ambala Kavalski, because you know: Mom will either answer “Well, why didn't you just tell him to leave you alone?”, Or “Well, why did you just didn't tell the director about it? ”
Because then he would have called the whole football team to kick me in the ass.
So how to talk to her about more serious things? She still does not understand!