12 year old YIKES

My 12 year old neighbor and I had a discussion yesterday surrounding her shitty day at school. It seems that a playful physical encounter with a boy got a little rough, and she ended up on her ass. This little incident of course played out in clear view of all her friends, and of course there was laughter from her peers. This was one of many conversations between me and my 12 year old neighbor regarding adolescent angst. This started me thinking about two things. My own adolescent angst, and the adolescent angst that will be my daughter's some day. I was struck by the fact that I was having this conversation, more so that here I was remembering being 12, and just starting to notice boys. Or rather that boys were starting to notice me. It was all very innocent. Or so I thought. A boy name Donnie had taken a liking to me, and I was just flattered that anyone could be interested in little ol' me. He was older, say 13, and ran with a rougher crowed than I did. At the time I did not seem to notice this. He began writing letters, and having his friends hand deliver them to me. One day I gave him my phone number so that he could call me at home. This would be the onset of one of the most difficult periods in my life. While this may seem pretty normal development for a 12 year old girl, just beginning to become curious about boys, it would create a tension, and supreme upset in my household when the boy did call. To say that my father went crazy would be a profound understatement. To say my father went completely ape shit, would also be a profound understatement. I can recall being sat down, and screamed at, for what seemed like hours, being told essentially that sluts and whores have boys call them, and that all would be done to prevent me from meeting such a fate. That is being a slut and whore. If that meant death, so be it. The line "I brought you into this world, and I'll take you out", was as common in my household as "good morning" is in other households. Having already given my number, I could not now undo it. And Donnie didn't seem to get the backlash that had occurred, and figured calling my house, and hanging up if I didn't answer would resolve any upset his call would cause. This of course made things worse, and for years after, when someone would call, and hang up, I would by default be in serious trouble. My father went as far as to tell me one day, that I was his woman. Weird. But that was my life. And this nightmare did not go away quietly. After one such call and hang up, my father was at my Junior High School, threatening to "stomp" the offender. If I were dismissed late from school, from that moment forward, I was accused of all kinds of things I'd never even heard of. Who knew you could squeeze in a blow job right after dismissal? And so my life began to suck in a way most people could not begin to imagine. My public humiliation would come in the form of my father, restless, out of his car, looking at his watch, and then hollering at me the second I emerged from the school doors with my classmates were routine. Yikes. And what did I learn? Something is really wrong with my family. And while the word dysfunctional was not commonly used to described fucked up family life in the olden days, fucked up family life suited my own personal description just fine. I learned to never give out my phone number. To keep secrets, and that to survive anything was an option. Lying, stealing, maiming, whatever had to be done to prevent the fury of crazy man. By the time I left my junior high school, I had gained a notoriety as opposed to popularity. The deans, the guidance counselors, and the principal all knew my father. I remember getting a detention once for tardiness, and our dean Travelli called me down to his office and said "Are you crazy? You can't get detention!" With that he ripped up the detention slip, and remarked "I can't have your father up here again", and with that he dismissed me. And off I went, never to get detention again. Well, there was that time for chewing gum, but that slip got ripped up too, and prompted another visit to Travelli's office, but after that, I would get no more detentions! I swear. Determined I was to have as normal an adolescent life as I could under the circumstances, I allowed myself to enjoy my later junior high and high school crushes, which involved nothing more than talking, and walking to class. And so here I am, many years later, with a daughter of my own, and dispensing wise sage advice to my 12 year old neighbor. Looking at the bright side of things, my little neighbor shuddered with relief that as bad a day as she had had, at least she doesn't go to my daughter's school, which is an all girl catholic school.