oh, good, golly...

Remember when you were in high school? Remember how everything sucked? Remember how weird you felt?

It all came rushing back to me yesterday when I met up with my niece. I was flooded with memories of pimples, heartache, crisis after crisis, mean people, and the awkwardness of it all. Uck.

Thank goodness I'm 30. Oh, sweet Jesus! Thank. Goodness. I. Am. 30.

The good news is that she is figuring out that she's got to make better choices, the bad news is that her "friends" have little to no ambition. Nearly all of them have been kicked out, dropped out, or just don't go to school. They hang at the mall. All day. Every day. Sweeeeet.

Not just any mall. Oh, no, no... This mall is something out of my high school days. Nothing like the new "lifestyle" centers that are popping up in Colorado. No Williams Sonoma's to be found. This was ol' school, 1980's style mall. I half expected to walk into a Spencer Gifts. Wait, we did. We also spent some time in the "knives and swords" store. She didn't seem to notice that I kept pronouncing "swords" like the Sean Connery parody on SNL.

She must of thought I was cool enough to introduce me to all her good pals. I think she was trying to shock me. Like, look how weird my friends are! Aren't they rebels? Ah, no. Not so much. Mostly just loooooosers. Capital L. I know these types. They are some of the same people I knew in high school. The same people are still living with their parents. The same people that still hang out at the mall. I kept that little tidbit to myself. She called them losers all on her own. She doesn't like one of the girls. She's a skank, or so I'm told.

When I had her alone, she was sweet. Cute. A growing young woman adjusting to life's changes. A little shy. Funny. Very observant. But clearly seeking out something, anything, different from her own life. I gave her a hard time for things. I was sarcastic, she responded. I told her I only get this way with people I like. Ask your uncle.

I took her into Ann Taylor Loft. I needed my summer t-shirts. She looked like she would pass out from the pastels. Then she suggested I get one of the purple shirts. When we were walking out, she told me one of the clerks gave her dirty looks. I told her in a most snarky way, well, I can't imagine why?! (all black, trench coat, purple hair) She laughed.

She took me into Hot Topic, thinking I would be shocked, shocked! I say. Nah. I used to shop at these freaky places. I used to dye my hair strange colors. Hang out with odd people. The difference was that I was also an overachiever. I got away with nearly anything because I had good, no, outstanding, grades. Academics came so easy for me. I did weird things on my own time.

We talked about anything and everything. She's into art, music, drama, and travel. She seemed surprised that my preset radio stations were the same as hers. She was impressed that I knew who her favorite bands are. I told her how I felt her pain, that I was once awkward, weird, out of place. Now I'm mainstream. I pay taxes and run a business. I walk my dogs and never have run-ins with the law.

We talked about her mom. They're on the outs right now. Her dad's trying to get her into an alternative high school. We talked about drugs, drinking, sex, tattoos, just about anything. Her candor was surprising. We talked about college, her future, the choices she needs to make to get there. The hard part is that she knows what she has to do, but like all teenagers, she is impatient to get there.

She jumped at the idea of working for me. I told her I would pay her real US dollars for her time, just once a month or so. (Anything to get her away from those losers at the mall.) Perhaps I was fooling myself, perhaps she was pretending, but I felt we had something going there. I felt that I could actually do something positive for her. She seemed to be reaching out, nearly begging for positive attention. I never had a sister. I wonder if this is like that.

After I left, I had this sudden urge to apologize to my mom for everything and anything that happened in my teens. It could not have been easy for her. I've walked in her shoes and they don't fit me that well. They're much too big.