For whoever is writing MG do read this. As adults we seem to forget what it was like when we were twelve-years-old. I didn’t keep a diary, God forbid if someone may have found it. The growing up, the hormones, a new school. Just read this post.
I’ve been thinking about the girls of this world.
I’ve been thinking, for example, about a moment, not so long ago: it happened during one of those “What To Expect Now That Your Child’s in Middle School” programs — the sort of occasion where parents and teachers talk anxiously about how to guide kids through these painful, beautiful, impossible years. From the back of the room, a father raised his hand. He glanced around tentatively. “How do you deal with…” he began, then frowned. When he continued, his voice was a little harder. “…with mean girls? You know, queen bees?”
The other parents nodded, leaned in, listened closely. The implication was clear, as was the “correct” answer: girls can be dangerous. There must be consequences for such dangerous girls.
I’d probably have joined in the nodding, the consequence-seeking, without second thought, but for this: I’d recently been reading my…
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