Milk carton runaways were my make-believe friends. I knew them by their names and secretly, I knew where they were hiding. Moreover, I knew what they were hiding from. I wasn't so much hiding from it, but rather attempting to rationalize the hatred and fear that surrounded me.
Reading what I wrote when I was younger makes me realize why kids today end their lives so early. I should have had a mentor, a coach, a friend who taught me wisecracks, comebacks, or the power of enlightened silence. Thankfully, I learned all those tools myself. It drips from my writing: the incessant need for tools, weapons, implements, an arsenal, and love.
We need to show our children that awkward happens forever, not just between the ages of 9-14. What was once pimples and unibrows eventually becomes obsessing over text message innuendo and anonymous sex just to feel something. It is our uneasiness toward our own adulthood that should appeal to the next generation. Facebook stalking happens at all ages. Hopefully, the stakes are lower when you're 12, but from the nature of periodical evidence it's entirely plausible they're pretty damn close.
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