Growing Pains

This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

The New York Sun

At a dinner party this weekend, I sat next to the father of a 14-year-old girl who attends one of the competitive “hill schools” in Riverdale.


“What’s it like having a freshman girl these days?” I asked, eager and anxious to get a glimpse into my future.


“The kids are at a loft party tonight where some enterprising college grad is charging $20 to get in. There supposedly won’t be alcohol, but of course there will be,” he began.


I let out a little sigh of relief. That didn’t sound too different from the high school scene I remembered. But then he went on. “You know, there’s so much money floating around. Some of the girls have weekly standing blowout appointments for their hair. And then there’s the plastic surgery.”


“Nose jobs?” I ventured, thinking that would be the only viable option for a high school student.


“Oh no. Breast augmentation,” he said.


My jaw dropped. “Boob jobs?” I asked in shock. “You’ve got to be kidding.”


He wasn’t.


I felt vaguely nauseated at the news, like how I felt when I learned that Abercrombie & Fitch was making thong underwear in children’s sizes 10-16 with the words “eye candy” and “wink wink” printed on the front.


Sure enough, when I next had a few minutes to sit in front of the computer, I discovered that according to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, 3,841 women 18 or younger had breast augmentation surgery in 2003, a 24% increase from 2002. Only 978 girls had the procedure in 1992.


It’s not just in our imagination that girls these days are going straight from toys to boys. “A 10-year-old today is like a 14-year-old used to be,” said a friend of mine with teenage girls. “And a 14-year-old is like an 18-year-old.”


According to National Center for Health statistics, by the time American children turn 15, one-third of girls and 45% of boys have had sex. And it’s not just the sex that’s worrisome: According to the American Medical Association, boys try alcohol for the first time at the average of age of 11, while girls first drink at 13.


There is no single reason to explain why children are drinking and having sex when they are barely teenagers. But one cause that does come to mind is our society’s obsession with celebrities.


“I need to read People and Us Magazine to understand what my kids are talking about,” said my dinner partner, who has three daughters. “They follow the lives of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie.”


“Better to be interested in that stuff when you’re 14 years old, as opposed to when you’re 24,” I said with a smile.


But better not to be that interested at all. I can’t think of very many redeeming features of those women.


I don’t have teenagers, or children that are even close to being teenagers. I have no idea how I would handle my daughters if they were obsessed with Teen People or were religious about watching shows such as “The O.C.” I don’t know what I would say to a preteen who wanted to watch “Desperate Housewives” – yet it’s the most popular network show with children aged 9 to 12.


Let me be clear: My 3-year-old will barely get dressed without a first-class tantrum. When I moan about how much energy my boys require compared to my younger daughters, more experienced parents uniformly shake their fingers at me and say, “You just wait until those girls are teenagers. You’ll be wishing for the days of running after the boys.”


The thought of navigating the choppy waters of parenting teenagers genuinely intimidates me. Even if parents limit television, increase the number of family dinners, stay on top of our children’s coming and goings, are clear about our academic and extracurricular expectations, and stay as engaged with our children as we possibly can, there are always the children whose parents think Botox and booze are acceptable or ignorable.


There is no recipe these days for success in the city – nor in the suburbs, for that matter. But it seems like there are many more pitfalls and recipes for disaster than ever before.


The next time my daughter has a tantrum over Barbie underpants, I will remember the fact that girls just 12 and 13 years older than her are having the same kind of tantrum in an effort to convince their parents that a breast augmentation is necessary. If that thought doesn’t give me the courage to stand firm and hold my ground today, nothing will.


sarasberman@aol.com


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