“This world will ruin them,” I often say.
But in no time, these beacons of purity and unbridled joy transition
into a phase that makes my Christian blood boil. They evolve into a brand of
person I bundle with Zombies, racists and necrophiliacs. They can be boy or
girl, 12 or 22, but invariably share the same maddening insensibilities.
They go by the name ‘Teeny Boppers.’
Their world is filled with schoolyard gossip, excessive
masturbation and the drama of finding out a friend is into studying. It’s a
small world perpetuated by things like glitzy magazines and Twilight, (no, I’m
not referring to the phenomenon that takes place when the sun sets, but rather
a movie series focused on a teenage girl and her decision to engage in bestiality
or, surprise surprise, necrophilia.)
With Hollywood greasing the Teeny Bopper gears, these
hormone-infused teenagers roam the streets and spill their silly problems all
over the public sphere. Take the train commute home for example.
“I think tonight I’m going to
kill myself. Yeah…I think tonight is the night.”
When I heard that on the packed train home from North Sydney, my ears prepped. I intended on approaching this stranger, on enlightening her on all of the things right with this world, on encouraging her to seek professional help, on showing her people care.
When I heard that on the packed train home from North Sydney, my ears prepped. I intended on approaching this stranger, on enlightening her on all of the things right with this world, on encouraging her to seek professional help, on showing her people care.
“Did he notice?” she followed up. She wanted Dean’s attention.
Dean had a lip ring. I didn’t like Dean.
Dean had a lip ring. I didn’t like Dean.
The rest of her conversation was
just as mind numbing with highlights including her random one-night stands and
her iPhone. She was still wearing her school uniform.
The Bopper epidemic can spill into the workplace. You’ll
receive post it notes signed with ‘XOXO,’ uncover their reliance on Facebook
and witness an impressive power play that involves welcoming asocial members of
management into their world of gossip.
Let’s face it: Boppers don’t scream ‘professionalism.’
But worse yet—worse than the reasons listed before it—is the
one thing about Teeny Boppers that grinds my gears the most, and that is they
remind me of a younger version of myself.
Their wayward values resonate with a version of me that didn’t
quite know who he was. The biggest thing in his world was school, and he filled
it up with its academia and gossips alike. At the time, when his parents were
enduring a nasty divorce, he didn’t know the walls that made up his world would
soon make room for real problems, like the ongoing war in the Middle East,
having his heart broken and losing a beloved relative to an incurable disease. He
was naïve, immature and unsuspecting of adulthood.
I feel for Teeny Boppers. They
approach an age of maturity that washes their innocence away and replaces it
with the enlightened burden of truth. They are awakened by knowledge and an understanding
their footprint is several sizes too small—for the time at least. Looking at
them, at their naivety, I now realise the transition from kid to adult isn’t an
easy one and hope they hold onto their innocence for as long as possible.
By Tony Ibrahim
Like Farewell Blank Page on Facebook here
By Tony Ibrahim
Like Farewell Blank Page on Facebook here
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