A Study in Contrast

Remembering my childhood, I realize the maxim "youth is wasted on the young" has become true for me on a personal level. It's very possible- probable even- that the original author meant that saying towards young people around my age, speaking from the perspective of a more aged adult- but as for my personal meaning... it all became so completely true when I stumbled upon my Grade Six yearbook.

The cover is a brilliantly neon amalgam of yellow and green, still shining bright after all these years. It remains in better condition that you'd think- armoured in cheap laminate, something that my welfare-sponsored elementary school splattered on everything, like the way an eleven-year-old girl playing with her mom's makeup. Covering up for something that isn't there? Trying to give an illusion of beauty? Or a thousand of other pretentious similes. Inside are blurry photocopied computer sheets adorned with our photographs.

Our photographs. We were so innocent, then.

It makes me sad, for the children of today. It's only been a few years- but of course, because of my relatively small experience, it seems like a lifetime.

We're so different.

They're so different.

Our faces smile so innocently. They try to look sexy, mean, angst-ridden, or smile not at all, afraid of their appearance, that their smile might not be up to par. We're dressed in oversized grey or navy sweaters, cheap department store jeans, and any sneakers that have soles on them. They're adorned- not dressed- with Diesel, FCUK, and Puma gear, with clinging sleeveless tops, distressed jeans and only the latest kicks. We listened to Green Day, Our Lady Peace, or in all reality the largely sexless Backstreet Boys- they weren't "sexy", but "cute", or at most, "hot." They love Justin Timberlake's coying lyrics, 50 Cent's violent gangster posturing, Christina Milian's commands to "dip it low."

We lived for the adventures of Ash and his unbearably cute Pokemon, Pikachu, singing along merrily to the tuneless theme songs. They die for Tony Soprano and his human meat-grinding.

Maybe I'm being... no wait, I am being melodramatic, but of course. The point is that I feel sorry for the children today. They're missing their childhood, their time to be innocent and free and fun and whatever. They're having their childhood taken from them by the juggernaut of the media machine and the societal pressures of coolness- probably two things that are inextricably linked.