Friday, September 19, 2008

The Shrug

I have decided to learn sign language. Why? Because I need to be able to interpret all of the subtle meanings contained in one gesture. The shrug. From time to time Weston morphs into a sullen teen. Typically he wakes up in a pretty loquacious mood and is able to communicate with us in monosyllabic grunts. Spending a day at school seems to rob him of all ability to speak however, and upon being asked any question his response is limited to a shrug of his shoulders. When he does decide to speak what does come out of his mouth would probably have been better off staying put. Apparently everyone he goes to school with, excepting perhaps his two best friends, is an idiot. School administrators, staff and teachers are equally gifted with the added benefit of not giving a crap about anything, at all, ever. Except maybe for the hair-phobic gym teacher who vomited in front of her students upon seeing a glob or hair in a cup next to the pool.

I think I understand though. I still remember just how much junior high/middle school sucked. It was a huge popularity game that could be won pretty much only by stomping on someone else's soul, beating up someone younger and smaller, or getting in trouble for something that could be considered cool. As a girl you could choose your identity from a small set of equally unappealing personae. There was the the űber-bitchy girl whose small circle of BFFs was determined by their loyalty when she felt the need to pick on someone less fortunate, usually cursed with braces and a poor fashion sense. Or you could be one of the stoners, the kids who had given up on academics in favor of smoking pot and using that cool droning voice made popular in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Or you could be the slutty girl who was rumored to have let a boy grope around under her shirt. Oh and don't forget the nerdy smart girl. You know, the one getting picked on by űber-bitch and her posse. I'm sure that choices were and still are just as appealing for boys, and that Weston is currently wrestling with the same angst, trying to figure out how to walk that fine line between tough and compliant.

Fortunately we are only a year away from high school during which some better sense seems to begin to prevail. Maybe then my son will have more to offer up than a shrug when I ask how his day was.

1 comment:

hdawson9 said...

You did say he was going to be a perfect teenager back when he was a wee bairn and screamed non stop. There's still six more years for your prediction to come true.have faith.