Page 39 - Pat Brown (1)

Generation Gap: door- “Hating Life- Do Not Disturb”.
After the written sign was shredded in a moment of teenage angst,
I learned to read the physical signs that sent the same message. I
felt hope until I entered menopause. Menopause and adolescence
at the same time? I was distraught, so I made a sign for my bed-
Counterpoint room door when I needed a break. “Hating Life- Do Not Disturb”
(Well, if you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join ‘em!).
By Deanna and Taryn Bates Younger Generation:

My mother and I are very similar. We’re both people pleasers, both
writers, and both addicted to chocolate. But there are certainly
things we’re not so similar in… technology, for example. Every
time she wants to retrieve a voicemail I have to write it down step
by step for the billionth time. The television remote is constantly
handed to me with the words, “Oh, you do it!” She’s afraid to use a
computer in case it breaks. Still doesn’t know how to program the
time on the stove, and is even hesitant to put gas in her car by her-
self. I saw more differences between us when I was a teenager.
I got frustrated when she didn’t understand things like Facebook
or cell phones. I felt like we had more differences than anything
else. But after growing up a bit, I see more similarities. She does
understand me, regardless of what my fourteen year old self said
during an argument. She’s been in my shoes, and understands my
point of view. I guess since she understands me more than I give
her credit for - I can write down voicemail instructions a few more
times…

Talk to me-
You won’t understand
Tell me what’s wrong-
You never listen
I love you- San Diego
You don’t care Woman
I need you to listen to me-
I don’t need you anymore
I want you to be safe
I can take care of myself 39
You’ll always be my baby-
You don’t want me to grow up
I love you, even if you don’t hear it-
I love you, even if I can’t say it
The Older Generation:
How does it happen? One minute I had a little girl
swinging my hand and chattering excitedly about
everything in her life. Then it seemed like the next
minute the little girl turned into a teenager with a cell
phone attached to one ear, an i-Pod to the other, and
eyes firmly glued to the computer screen as her fin-
gers flew over the keyboard (Yes, I freely admit these
were all purchases her Dad and I made for her- but,
that’s another story that would be titled, “Tired Par-
ents Worn Down in the Battle against Consumerism”.
Anyway, as a teacher and a parent of an only child
with a sunny disposition, I never imagined the day
would come that sunny would turn to stormy. It truly
seemed to happen overnight. Chirps turned into
occasional snarls, and giggles turned into rolling
eyes. But every once in a while, when I least expect-
ed it, I would hear the deep throated chuckle of the
happy baby that would come out of the adolescent
throat, reassuring me that my child hadn’t entirely
disappeared into the dark cave of teenagerism. One
day, a handwritten sign appeared on her bedroom