Dear Teen Me Page 5
LOSING YOUR SIGHT SHOULDN’T MEAN LOSING YOUR RIGHTS
Laura Ellen
Dear Teen Me,
There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. The way you see—you know, with that sunspot-like-thing that blocks your central vision? That’s not normal. In a few days you’re going to go to the eye doctor and he’s going to tell you that you have an eye disease called macular degeneration.
Okay, stop freaking out. It doesn’t mean you’re dying. But it does mean that you have a label now, “visually impaired,” which will affect how others see you—and, unfortunately, how you see yourself.
I won’t lie. Life is about to get really hard. At times it will downright suck, especially when you discover there are things others take for granted that you just can’t do. Like drive, or read regular print, or see faces unless you’re really close up (and even then you’ll have to look at their ears to see their eyes). Weird, I know.
But seriously, who cares? Most of the people in New York don’t drive, and there are audio books and magnifying glasses and ways to make print really big…. It never gets easy staring at ears, and there’s no surefire way to deal with the jerks who embarrass you by looking all around before asking, “Are you talking to me?” And yes, all of that stuff will make you feel flawed and “abnormal.” But normal is boring. It’s predictable and monotonous. “Different,” though, different is cool and intriguing and way more fun.
Some of your teachers will try to pretend you see like everyone else, however—because being different means more work for them. They don’t want to type their tests, because they’re used to handwriting them at the last minute, and they don’t want to print their lecture notes in advance, because they actually don’t have any notes; they usually just wing it.
But try to understand: Their refusal to help has nothing to do with you. They’re tired and overworked and set in their ways. They’ve lost sight of the fact that their job is to teach. They see your request for accommodations as annoying and time-consuming, rather than what it is—your only way to access the material.
Shake their behavior off. I promise, for the handful of rude and ignorant teachers that you’ll have to deal with, there will be so many more who will go above and beyond for you—like the school nurse. She’ll spend hours enlarging Emma and other novels for you on the school copier whenever a large-print version isn’t available.
Like I said, don’t let those other people stress you out—but don’t stand for their ignorance either. You aren’t being difficult. It’s your right to ask for those accommodations. Don’t sit red-faced and silent when that history teacher hands you an illegible, handwritten test for the twentieth time. Don’t cower in the corner when that Spanish teacher writes the entire exam on the board and doesn’t let you get out of your seat to read it.
Stand up for yourself.
I know, as shy and timid as you are, it’s hard to imagine pushing back, but do it. If you don’t, no one else will. Those teachers are banking on your passivity, so that they can continue to sit and be passive themselves. Don’t let them get away with it. What those teachers are doing, or not doing, is wrong. And when they humiliate you in front of the class with their insensitive remarks, not only is that wrong, that’s bullying. And it’s not okay.
So…
Open your mouth.
Say something.
Refuse to accept it.
You’re not a second-class citizen; don’t let them treat you like one.
This whole thing is a lot to hear, and I’m sorry if it’s a bit overwhelming, but I need to tell you a little more. As your eyes get worse and you find yourself battling ignorant, insensitive individuals on a daily basis, you’re going to become angry and frustrated, and very, very confused. Everyone suddenly treats you differently, but you don’t feel any different. This will make you wonder if they see someone else when they look at you. You’ll start doubting yourself, hating yourself, and yes, you’ll even contemplate ending your life.
Stop.
Take a breath.
Write.
Listen to music.
And then write some more.
You can do this. I promise.
I know you feel lost. You want to talk to someone about it, but you feel like your family and friends don’t understand—and, well, they don’t. But neither do you, right? This whole thing is new to everyone, and no one knows quite how to act or what to say or what to do. Don’t let all that confusion stop you. Tell them how lost you feel. Let them help you.
And try not to trade your friends for those idiot boyfriends I can see creeping up. Once upon a time—okay, just a year before you were first diagnosed—you were interested in sweet, decent guys. But when your confidence began to plummet and you started doubting yourself, you left your friends behind and started gravitating toward losers.
I get it. I do. Things with your friends have gotten a little weird. You hate that they always have to drive you around and read the menu to you. You feel like you’re a burden to them. Meanwhile, those guys make you feel wanted. Normal. And they never ask you any questions about your eyesight, which comes as a relief—even though your friends are only asking because they actually care (which is more than I can say about those guys). So instead of drowning yourself in the loser brigade and getting hung up on what you can’t do, focus your energy on what you can do.
Stay away from the guy who acts like you have to be with him every waking moment (he cheats on you when you’re out with your friends). Run from the guy who demeans you, insults you, and throws your eyesight in your face like it’s something shameful that no one but him would ever put up with (that’s emotional abuse—and he has no right to treat you like that). These guys know they don’t deserve you, but they also know your eyesight has made you insecure and self-conscious—weaknesses that losers like them are looking to prey on. You’re not a loser, so don’t date guys who treat you like one. Having an eye disease doesn’t make you any less of a human being.
And the other guy? The one that you think is so different from the others? I know how nice he seems—and he is nice. He doesn’t call you names or put you down, and he always puts you first. But he’s also using your eyesight as a crutch, as an excuse for his own shortcomings. Anytime he fails at something, he says it’s because he has to help you. Because you’re “disabled.” You’re not disabled, and you’re not a fool. Walk away, girl. Just walk away.
You’re a capable, strong, creative, and intelligent girl. You don’t need some guy to define you. You need to define yourself. All this turmoil that you’re about to go through—as unfair as it seems right now—is going to teach you to be self-reliant, confident, and strong. But most importantly, it’s going to turn you into a survivor—and those survival skills are things that you can turn around and teach to others, too. And in the meantime, all that writing that you’re doing right now (because you’re the only one you can talk to who actually understands)—keep at it! It will actually turn into a career someday. Seriously, it will. So do what you want, be yourself, love yourself. Once you do, I promise, things will start to fall into place.
Stay strong.
P.S. PLEASE stop pretending you don’t know the answers in math class! It’s okay to be smarter than the boys. Really. They’ll get over it.
Laura Ellen used her experiences growing up with macular degeneration to add powerful authenticity to her debut thriller, Blind Spot (forthcoming), a suspenseful and emotional page-turner for teens. A former language arts teacher and special education aide for middle and high school students, Laura Ellen now writes YA mysteries and thrillers full-time from her home in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where she lives with her husband, three children, and her dog. Visit her at LauraEllenBooks.com.
I HOPE YOU DANCE—TO THE THEME FROM BONANZA
Beth Fantaskey
Dear Teen Me,
First of all, rest easy: Mom and Dad’s prediction that you’ll “burn the house down someday with that deep fryer” wi
ll never be realized. Of course, this is largely because your parents will ban you from ever using the deep fryer, after what you did to their kitchen. (Unfortunately, you’ll never be the type of person who can be trusted with hot grease.)
Similarly—and this may disappoint you—you will always be weird and shy. While you’ll eventually lose your unruly curls and adopt a trademark “pixie” cut, you can’t snip away these traits, which are so central to your personality.
Right now you’re worried about both your shyness and your weirdness. It’s clear that you’re never going to be a cheerleader or go to the big parties on the riverbank. And not only is it obvious that you’ll never date a football star, but also, right now, you’re worried that you’ll never date anyone. Ever. (But don’t worry: you will.)
And yet: You’ve got lots of great friends who are also on the margins, and there are moments when you see through the myth of “popularity” to realize that you secretly like your spot among the geeks, dweebs, and “arty” kids. There’s the day Bonnie eloquently challenges your civics teacher’s opinions on Keynesian economics, leaving everybody speechless. And the night when Sandra unveils a stack of records from an old jukebox, and you spend hours dancing to the theme from Bonanza. And there will also be a moment when one of your closest male friends finds enough courage and support to come out while you guys are all sitting around the campfire.
All this stuff—it leaves you conflicted. You’re pretty sure that the popular teenagers don’t have goofy dance parties to crazy old records—I mean, they usually just hang out by the river, drinking. And “normal” teenagers don’t like economic theory, or—heaven forbid in rural Pennsylvania in 1984—“come out.” Yet you like your small group of friends and the things you do together. They get your offbeat sense of humor and don’t make fun of you when you decide to wear thermal underwear as leggings one day, or that you quit tennis because the whole idea of hitting a ball for hours just leaves you feeling…eh.
Go ahead and embrace life on the social fringes, because one day you’ll realize—without a doubt—that it’s where you want to be. You’ll reject all accepted definitions of what’s “cool” and actively seek out friends who see the world a little…differently. You’ll even marry one of those weirdos—and it’ll be great. You’re going to laugh. A lot.
And that weirdness inside of you—the quirkiness that compels you and your best friend to speak French constantly throughout your junior year—is going to have a more immediate payoff too, because your teacher will note your strange habit and help both of you win scholarships to spend the next summer at a university in France. That experience—living on a foreign campus at age sixteen—will ignite a lifelong passion for travel that will take you around the globe. You will never have the attention span needed to safely operate a deep fryer, but you’ll confidently navigate life in places like China, India, and Eastern Europe. That’s not bad, right?
So best wishes, be true to your inner geek—and expect to have a truly “bon voyage!”
In spite of not having a date to the senior prom, Beth Fantaskey went on to live a happy life in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, with her husband, Dave; their three daughters; and a fish named PrimeTime. She is the author of Jessica’s Guide to Dating on the Dark Side (2009), Jekel Loves Hyde (2010), and Jessica Rules the Dark Side (2011), all published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
JEKYLL & HYDE
Caridad Ferrer
Dear Teen Me,
You’ve got a bad case of the Jekyll and Hydes. I mean, sans the whole split-personality thing, it pretty much nails you, doesn’t it? C’mon, let’s examine the evidence.
There’s the side that’s crazy shy (let’s refer to this as the Jekyll half) and born into a family that Just Doesn’t Get It. They don’t even know how to spell shy. Your dad is the life of the party; your mother is a natural attention (read: “man”) magnet; your brother could sell ice to an Eskimo, and your sister’s idea of a good time is going into a room where she doesn’t know a single soul. And that’s just your immediate family. The rest of the relatives? They aren’t any better, most of them falling under some variation on a theme of Extreme Extrovert.
Pfft.
To you, shoving bamboo shoots under your fingernails sounds like a better alternative to small talk.
So to say they don’t understand what you mean when you say you’re feeling shy is putting it mildly. They think it’s a silly pretense, especially when you balk at being paraded in public like a trained monkey, playing the Bach Invention that won you that piano competition or reciting the poem that your fifth-grade teacher insisted on entering in the Dade County Youth Fair, and which won first place. Which brings us to the second reason why they have a hard time understanding your reactions. After all, why on earth do you enter competitions if you don’t want the attention, right?
Which brings us to Hyde. That side of your personality is as competitive as Jekyll is shy. But explaining that you love competition—that you love competing against yourself as much as you love competing against others—is usually met with blank stares. They don’t get that you’re simply incapable of taking on a pursuit if you don’t intend to become the best you personally can. Which has the unexpected side benefit of allowing you to fake it—people will think you’re totally outgoing and confident.
No wonder people don’t get it. You hardly get it yourself.
On the one hand you’ve got Hyde saying, “Come on, dude. Those people out there—they’re not doing anything you can’t do. Let’s go!” while Jekyll’s all, “Oh, I don’t know, it’s getting pretty crazy out there, isn’t it? Hey, look—a nice dark corner!”
Welcome to the battle you’re going to wage for the rest of your life. The Jekyll in you will pull away from the spotlight, so scared of being made a fool of that you’ll work yourself into an anxious, stomach-churning lather, while your Hyde side will force you to overcome the nausea and just get on with it, already. Jekyll’s going to win for a long time—the anxiety will rise to levels such that you’ll abandon a lot of your dreams, finding it easier to retreat and blend into the wallpaper, even as Hyde writhes inside you, furious that you’re such a monumental wuss.
Don’t look at it as being a wuss—look at it as…hibernation. Because I promise, there will come a time when you’ll bust out, voluntarily, in full, glorious Technicolor. You’ll be an engaging (or so you’ve been told) presence on panels, win prestigious writing awards before your peers, and even step out onto a competitive ballroom dance floor.
And Hyde’ll be right there, helping you enjoy the spotlight.
Caridad Ferrer is a first-generation Cuban-American, whose YA debut, Adiós to My Old Life, was a Romance Writers of America’s 2007 RITA winner and was named to the 2009 Popular Paperbacks for Young Adults list, awarded by the American Library Association. Her latest young adult novel, When the Stars Go Blue, a contemporary retelling of Bizet’s Carmen, was recently honored as the first-place YA Novel: English Language at the 2011 International Latino Book Awards.
BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF
Michael Griffo
Dear Teen Me,
At some moments it seems like it truly has been thirty years since I was in high school. But at other times I can still hear the late bell ringing and the locker doors slamming shut. It’s like I’m still there with you, like a part of me has never let go.
So much happened during those four years, but the most rewarding and life-changing experience occurred when you were cast in the school play. Do you remember how quickly you made new friends, gained respect from your teachers, and learned that you loved being onstage? It was also the first time you fell in love.
I wonder: Was it really Love, with a capital L? I’m still not sure, but it was the first time you thought about wanting to kiss another person. The first time your palms got sweaty when you were standing next to someone else. And the first time you were forced to admit that these “firsts” were happening because of another guy.
I don�
�t even remember his name. Can you believe that!? But I can see his face so clearly it’s as if I’m back onstage, dressed as Barnaby Tucker in the musical Hello, Dolly! and he’s standing right next to me dressed in a brown plaid wool suit, his curly blonde hair spilling out from underneath his cap, as we’re about to perform the song “Femininity.” (Isn’t that an ironic title?!)
During the song, you had to do a barrel roll over this guy’s back and then jump back on top of him. You were short and he was quite tall and muscular and you loved the view of the world when you were holding onto his shoulders. And you never wanted to let go. You developed a powerful crush on him. So powerful and eye-opening that you never told another soul. You kept silent simply because you were too embarrassed and ashamed. And when he would smile at you and ask how you were doing, you would lie and say that you were fine.
This started you on a long and successful career of lying. Of keeping the truth about yourself hidden. You kept the fact that you were gay a secret for a very long time and it stunted your emotional growth. You had no idea how to form an honest, adult relationship, because you couldn’t form an honest relationship with yourself. And you didn’t know how to act with other guys because you never took chances. I don’t think you should have professed your undying love to your onstage partner, but you definitely should have looked yourself in the mirror and been honest. You should have told yourself that these feelings you had were real. And you should have confided in your parents, or talked with Rob or Don—your closest friends—and asked them to share some of the burden that you were carrying; that’s what family and friends are there for. You shouldn’t have tried to do it on your own.