Poppy Mom

Being 14 was never this much fun

On Saturday I got a reminder that I am no longer a kid. Nor am I even in my 20s. And yet, I still find myself hanging out in a parking lot with a trio of 14-year-olds farting around on a skateboard.

My dear friend Kicking Bear has two sons. The eldest, Lance, is the coolest guy in the world. Period. Don't bother trying to be cooler than Lance. You'll fail. Lance is cute. He's smart. He plays football and is a skate punk. Lance just bought his first electric guitar. Lance was wearing a Doors t-shirt yesterday. Lance loves my baby and his 5-year-old brother. He calls me Aunt Poppy and, if I have to carry something, he insists on doing it for me without being asked. Lance sat with me seven days after I had my baby when I thought my insides were falling out of my c-section incision, and he didn't complain once.

Yesterday, Lance called to invite me to Ted Drewes to share a malt with two straws. Seriously. Is that not the sweetest damn thing?

"We'll be just like Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky!"

Um, Lance, I hope you mean because of our age difference. Anything beyond that and we're getting into pervy turf.

Of course, I accepted, after I asked my husband if he would take care of Clara "Love Child" Jane while I had my date.

I joined Lance, his mom, and his pals Andy and Jen for a little thrift store shopping. My beau purchased a trucker cap, made back when we just called them caps. He also bought a pair of crutches because they were only 90 cents.

Evetually, I found myself in the thrift store parking lot with the minors while KB finished shopping.

I watched them gabbing on their tiny cell phones. Did I even have a phone in my room when I was 14? I think I was still using the avocado green rotary dial that hung in our kitchen.

I admired Lance's shiny new black guitar. I also admired his latest collection of skateboard and bike-related scars, gashes, scabs and bruises. I shouldn't be impressed by those. I'm a mother. I'm supposed to be appalled at anything that brings potential harm to children. So, don't tell Child Protective Services that I really was impressed, ok?

I was even involved in a tiny skateboarding incident while standing in the thrift store parking lot with my new young hoodlum posse. Jen, a sweet little girl with blonde curls and pink braces on her teeth, was testing her balance on the board.

"You're gonna fall," Lance and Andy kept saying.

"No I'm not!" she said, holding on to Lance's shoulders.

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not!"

"Um, Jen," I said, trying to find a way to not be an old-fart killjoy. "I think they're going to make sure that you fall."

And, of course, she fell. Well, almost. She lost her balance and landed on her feet, the skateboard shooting out from under her and nailing me in the shin.

I probably should have grounded them, but I thought it was pretty funny. It didn't hurt. Well, not much. And we did have a set of 90 cent crutches, just in case.

We then headed to Ted Drewes for yummy frozen custard, and then to Old Navy. Well, KB and I went to Old Navy to scrounge the clearance. Lance, Jen and Andy went to Barnes and Noble. The kids. A bookstore. Voluntarily. I fainted in a pile of $9 graphic tees when KB told me.

And Jen ...man, I've got to give this girl credit. On the surface she looks like a cute, giggly little girly-girl who probably likes Hillary Duff. But she's a field hockey player. And she hangs out with this pack of scabby, scarred boys. Voluntarily. And she holds her own. And she loves it.

Jen's a girl who "gets" it. She obviously adores Lance and Andy - as friends - but also has the fundamental knowledge that's essential for any woman to survive:

Boys are often dumb. Sometimes you've got to throw rocks at them.

While wedged in the backseat between the boys, Jen rolled her eyes. "They're text messaging each other," she said in exasperation.

She had no qualms about telling one of the boys that his feet stank. Badly. Repeatedly. I think she even issued some mighty big threats of meelee that was going to ensue if the stank-footed one didn't put his shoes on, pronto.

Yep, Jen's gonna be ok. So are Lance and Andy. As long as whatever was causing that foot death stench doesn't spread to a vital organ.

I had fun. And I'm not too worried about the future. I just hope I raise a daughter who's that confident and comfortable in her own skin.

Although I hope Clara "Bam Margera" Jane's a bit better on a 'board. I probably won't take being whacked in the knee as well when I'm 45 as I did yesterday.

Posted by Robin at July 11, 2004 08:40 PM | TrackBack