Rebel Without a Cause

Teenage rebellion.

Some suffer through with a whimper, some burst out with a shout - but we've all gone through those crazy years of loudly churning hormones. Mine was surprisingly sedate in comparison. Figured I'd already rebelled enough by turning queer, I didn't need to add junkie, skank and school dropout to my list of sins. So no, my liberal parents never really had the opportunity to read me the riot act.

Hell, I never even had a freakin curfew.

Same goes for my brother. Though I seemed to think rules were made to be bent, I doubt my straightlaced brother ever broke any rules in school! Bet my parents were a tad disappointed that we both ended up pretty okay to say the least.

Certainly would have made it tough for a third sibling if we'd actually had one. Perhaps that's fortunate since he or she would be living up to impossible expectations! Not only would I be riding him hard, my older brother would probably be torturing the lil fellow with hours of additional homework. And daily nagging.

And possibly a noogie or two per day to keep him on his toes.

Poor kid.

So I could definitely sympathize when a friend of mine returned after a stint abroad only to find her younger brother changed from what he was previously. Raging testosterone had changed the chubby angel into an ill-mannered, hot-tempered tweenager with mood swings, dubious hairstyling choices and a tendency to slam doors.


Rebels without a Cause!
What my teacher-parents would term the middle class syndrome - an unfortunate effect of streaming classes academically. These lost, demoralized kids are caught in the middle - not quite fitting in with the overachieving school elite in the upper classes and yet not mentally challenged enough to mesh with the simpler folk in the lower classes. Just the perfect recipe for juvenile delinquency.

Of course when I met up with James Dean Jr, I could see what my friend meant by acting out. Seriously an aspiring lil Chinese gangsta with the spiky hair, the grungy checkered shirt and lackadaisical attitude to spare. One glance was enough to tell me that the dubious posse he'd fallen into could only be interested in skipping classes, hocking contraband dvds and hooking up with impressionable ah lians.

And gelling up their hair into impossible heights reminiscent of the karst pinnacles of Mulu.

My initial response would be to spank first, talk later. Though handing him the Turkish treatment would be wrong of course. For rebellious boys his age, I doubt a decent caning would even leave a discernible dent. Sparing the rod would be wise since I think all he needs is a keen watchful eye and a firm hand to guide.

After several minutes of observation, I found the black sheep far from a lost cause. From the horror stories I'd heard, I half expected him to curse in six different native languages, toss chairs about and spank waitresses as they walked by. Certainly didn't display any of the irrational habits I'd expected and he turned out to be quite reasonable for his age.

No, he's not irredeemable. Especially with a sister who cares.

Though maybe a trip to a reputable hairstyling salon wouldn't be amiss.

Seriously. How lax are schools these days? Doesn't the discipline teacher give razorcuts to recalcitrants anymore?