Throughout my life, I have been on a pursuit of justice and equality.  Nothing chaps my ass quite like seeing someone oppressed or treated unfairly.  Part of this is because I, myself, have been a victim of cruelty and injustice in my past.  So, I tend to root for the underdog, seek out the meek, speak for those who cannot speak for themselves and all that good stuff.

My son came along and he was refreshingly just like me.  I knew I could raise him in a way that would shelter him from undue harshness and also give him the self-esteem to carry him through the tough parts that didn’t go his way.  That’s worked out all right.  He and I can huddle together and talk about things and hash it all out, brainstorming ways to navigate the tricky teenage hardships that come along.

Then my daughter came along and she’s not like me at all.  She’s exactly the kind of bright, shiny, popular girl that I hated when I was young.  The kind who always seemed to have the sun shining on her when she was chilly and shade appear from nowhere when she was warm.  You know those girls.  Don’t they make you kind of want to barf?  What do you do when one of them is your daughter?  You change your whole view of the world is what you do.

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It finally happened — I found myself turning into ‘an adult.’

Let me explain…

When I was a teenager and in my early 20s, I enjoyed this wonderful naiveté. I was EXTREMELY liberal, much more than today. I believed in the good in everyone. I was pro- EVERYTHING. I delighted in the differences that make people unique. I welcomed those who dressed differently than the norm. And I prided myself on seeking out those from backgrounds different than mine to befriend.

Then today, while working in a high school, I found myself being so critical of these non-assuming teens. Their pants hanging below their butt. Their hair was unkempt. Their make-up over-applied. I was annoyed with their taste in bands (so proudly displayed on their t-shirts). I even found myself categorizing them into the futures I thought them capable of.

Crap!

I spent the afternoon speaking with other adults about “these kids,” bashing politicians, and complaining about our deteriorating society. I complained about my grad-school loan payments and wallowed in my lack of an over-flowing savings account.

Then, while driving home during the first warm day of the year, the sun seemed to cloak me with a blanket of optimism and clarity (yeah, I know I sound a bit trite). Then I read Rita’s post — Mr. Positive. I was being too negative. I had forgotten my younger self (not that 26 isn’t young), and had become jaded.

I live in a cute home (although in need of renovation) in a great neighborhood. I have a wonderful husband and amazing dog. My parents love me and are always there to help. I have a nephew on the way, friends that make me laugh, and money in the bank. I’m not where I want to be in my career, but I’m just starting out. I can’t take luxury vacations, but I will someday. I’m lucky to have what I have. And patience is a virtue I need to work on.

There’s no reason to slight these bright-eyed kids. Being negative doesn’t have to be a daily part of my routine. Will I ever abandon my sarcastic rhetoric — not likely. In fact, not possible. But can I strive to see the good in people, the beauty in bad fashion statements, and the joy in not having to worry about the pitfalls of having too much money and too many assets. I can be patient and trust that, with hard work and determination, good things will come.

I will smile at the teenagers passing by, hope that they keep their sunny outlook, and ignore the fact that I can see their boxer shorts.

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