THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 16, 1994 TAG: 9410140275
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 08 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Ron Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 75 lines
Growing up isn't easy these days.
It never has been, of course. There's never been a generation of adults who didn't think their descendants were going to hell in a hand-basket.
My dad made it clear some 50 years ago that I and my pals didn't have enough respect for authority, and were going to wind up in big trouble when we got big.
My pals and I, of course, thought we were on the cutting age of change and our dads and our moms and our teachers were stuffy old codgers who ought to step aside and let us run the world.
We grew out of that, of course, but we didn't turn out to be the disaster that our parents predicted, either.
Many of us when we got big were just about like our ancestors - hard-working, church-going folk who generally did right and gradually became convinced that OUR kids were headed for trouble.
We knew that if they would but listen to us experienced mothers and fathers, they'd get about the business of becoming responsible adults.
And our kids, of course, were bemoaning our old-fashioned attitudes and rules and waiting for the day when they could strike out on their own and straighten up the mess we'd made.
No, it's never been easy growing up, nor has it been easy for older folks to help their offspring make it through their youth.
But as one of those ancient, out-of-date oldtimers like the adults I scoffed at as a boy, I think it is tougher to be a teenager now than it has ever been.
And it also is tougher to be a parent or a teacher trying with love and care to safely shepherd teenagers into adulthood.
When I grew up in the bucolic openness of Nebraska's Sand Hills, beer was the drug of choice for the daring, as I imagine it was in coastal North Carolina in those days, but it was rare when a teenager drank too much and went on a rampage. And it was cheap (often homemade) so nobody robbed or burgled or mugged to get drug money.
The only representative of the law my pals and I ever saw was the game warden, Mr. Cunningham. He didn't carry a gun. He didn't need to. He could scare even the adults into submission with a steely glare from his left eye. His right eye was covered with a black patch.
Most everybody was poor. We didn't feel angry about it because there was almost nobody to envy.
And every kid I knew had two parents, with mom home whenever we needed advice or sympathy and dad nearby in the fields, often our mentor as we learned about plowing and harvesting and calving and fixing fences.
It wasn't heaven. But it was easier to get through puberty and pimples and paranoia as a teenager then than it is now.
Which is why I am not surprised at the walkout by some students at Manteo High School.
The students, after some dumb acts such as setting off false fire alarms, have stated rather calmly their objections to new rules such no book bags in class, private lockers with locks the administration can open, and the presence of an armed officer in school.
Principal Linda Holmes has been open and understanding in her dealings with the students.
She's kept open a channel of conversation, and more meetings are scheduled this week.
Hopefully, it will work out in a way that will help the students in their struggle to deal with the old and the new challenges that face teenagers, and increase the opportunities for teachers to help their charges make it safely through waters more troubled than ever.
I don't have the answers, but I do wonder whether the officer assigned to the school needs to carry a gun.
Maybe a black eye patch and a stern left eye would be a better sign of authority. by CNB