Not for a Million Dollars

I was at a YW Presidency meeting yesterday and we were talking about the girls, sort of getting to know them. As we were discussing them and the challenges facing so many of them, I told our president, "You couldn't pay me enough to be a teenager again, not even a million dollars." And, I meant it. I could really use a million dollars, so you can understand how awful it was. Just what made it so bad? I think you already know, unless you were one of the rare ones who was self-assured and had perfect skin and hair and a boyfriend who spoiled you, if that's you, you can stop reading now. For the rest of you, here's my take on why I hated being a teenager.

1. Skin. How is it that you could go to bed at night looking fine and wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and 'aaaaahhhhhhh!' Where did those come from? I was lucky enough that it wasn't just my face, I got the cherished zits on my back and chest, too. Ugh!
2. Hair. Ok, hairstyles aside, taming teenage hair was a pain. You'd think we were all dining on Crisco, as greasy as we were. Hair and skin combined, you could have lubed a car with all that oil. Then, there were the hairstyles. I always wanted long, straight hair, like Jan Brady. For those of you young ones who may not remember, this is her-

Of course, I didn't have straight hair, I had natural curl and when my hair was long, it was wavy. I lived at a time when there was no such thing as a flat iron, so I had to deal with what I had. Then there was the Farrah Fawcett-feathered look, which I also couldn't pull off. My thick, curly hair rebelled against that one too. (see the picture below) Bad hair days happened regularly. We (meaning my sisters and I) also tried to give ourselves haircuts. Not a good idea. I trimmed my bangs one time and couldn't even get them around a curling iron. My sister, Ellen, had my older sister, Heidi, cut her hair one time. Not sure why, it's not like she had any training. Lets just say that Ellen wore a stocking cap to school for two days.
3. Friends. You know, girls this age can be mean. I don't know if it's on purpose all the time, but it's true. Even girls you consider your friends can turn on you in a moment. Oh, the pain of finding out your friends went somewhere without you. And the way they criticize, oh! Little digs here and there that just pick away at your fragile self-esteem. I had a friend in junior high. Shelby was the youngest of 3 and rather spoiled. One day I had gone shopping with her and her mom. I was looking through a rack of clothes and she says to me, "Shouldn't you be looking in the chubby section?" Oy, knife to the heart. Thing is, I was really thin, but that one comment made me see myself quite differently. (Which is another thing, body image. Jacob asked me today what that is. I thought, the thing that tells you you're fat when you don't even have hips. )
4. Becoming a woman. Seriously, why were we so anxious to have this begin? I know, I know, we wanted to be like everyone else and it was such a rite of passage, but really. If we'd known all the years we'd have to deal with this, we would've prayed every night for it to happen later. As it was, I couldn't wait. I was fascinated by other girls who had started. It made them seem so grown up. I even got teased once because I was almost 14 before I did. Now, sheesh. Ever hear that commercial, wishing you a "happy period"? If I ever meet that woman with that voice, (and I'd know that voice) I think I might have to smack her just for doing the commercial. How many happy periods has she had, I wonder?
5. Boys. Oh, the tragedy! Just the thought of all those crushes and unrequited 'love' makes me grateful that I'm past that. You like a boy and do everything you can to get him to notice you. You try to talk to him and laugh at his stupid jokes. You don't know how to flirt, but you try. Then, he flirts with your friend and you realize he doesn't like you after all. If you do have a boyfriend, that brings it's own problems. I vividly remember my first kiss. I was 14 and was 'going steady' with a boy named Mark. We had held hands, but that's all. One day after school, he was walking me down the hall and stopped and asked me if he got a kiss goodbye. Eeek! I was sooo nervous. I said yes, hoping that somehow my lips would know what to do, some kind of kissing instict. He sort of pinned me against the lockers and planted one on me. No fireworks or anything, all I could think was that I hoped no one was watching. I got more comfortable with it, sadly. I really hope my kids don't make out as much as I did.

There's much more to those years, but I'll stop there. I think maybe it happens this way for a reason. Being a grown up is hard, so maybe we're given those terrible teenage years so we can appreciate our lives now. We can say, this is bad, but it could be worse- I could be 15 again.