I’m not good with teenagers.

I’m especially not good with twenty and thirty something teenagers, people who are emotionally in their teens but in big people’s bodies. Who carry their high school attitudes and personas long into adulthood. Who wait longer to grow up, get through school, move out, become independent. Who drift through life, unfocused, going from job to job, without a care or responsibility in the world.

Don’t get me wrong, I recently let a friend see my journal/collection of poems which I wrote in my early twenties called “A Descent into the Abyss” (*vomits a little in my mouth*), so I was emo before emo was cool. Now emo’s a way of life:

Maybe it’s a matter of us being culturally soft, having no defining event to sweep us up and make us grow up. Our generation has had no Depression (yet), no World War, no Viet Nam. In fact, from my generation on, we’ve encountered little we couldn’t largely avoid.

But life still happens. I’m a grown ass man with grown up responsibilities to my family, my job, and my community. And I have better things to do than wade through what amounts to third grade antics with big people body parts or Twitter/Facebook/Myspace self-created drama.

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