the Change I Wish to See

...and whatever else it takes to find my pants

Many teens don't keep virginity pledges.

You don't say.

 
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Before I continue, I considered issuing a "mea culpa" to anyone this topic might offend.  Truthfully, however, it's only about the idea that highly-hormonal teenagers can be convinced that sex outside of religiously-sanctioned coupling is on par with murder, as far as eternal damnation goes.  And since an idea is one of the few beings in the world that doesn't have feelings or fight back, I enjoy bullying one when it gets cocky.
I now return to our regularly scheduled programming.
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You mean to tell me that teens -- people who generally can't really afford to go out and can't buy cars, and therefore often end up hanging out at each others' homes with nowhere to go but to the bottom of that cheap bottle of vodka and gallon of orange juice -- shack up like rabbits when the parents are away, even when they promise to be on their best behavior?

Consider my

  

You know what this means, right?  This means there are teenage boys out there that lie. about. sex.  Before, we thought it was just about to whom they gave the HBI*.  Well now, apparently, they even lie about whether they give it at all.

Whoa.

Word.

I, very personally, am dismayed.  Based on her not-at-all-stereotypical proclivity for telling nothing but the truth about money, I entrusted a 13 year-old cousin with one of my credit cards.  She pledged to only use it in emergencies.  So, what?  You're saying she took my card and rented a room for her and a desperate-to-be-beneficial friend?
  
Of course she did.  So would/did we.  Because underneath the classically pimply facades, teens are volcanic assortments of unfulfilled desire.  In fact, nine years ago, in preparation for this very post,  I looked deep into a 17 year old friend's soul and I took a picture.  I still can't reveal that picture's location because it is too deviant to share.  Think
    
  
+
      
emo Sponge Bob
       
      
+
     
super-thick molasses
     
              
It was like an oil spill on the set of The Soup.
      
Anyway, the editorialized point?  We buy great clothes, and shoes, and so many different fragrances that walking into a bar on any night after 7 can smell like walking into a Sephora.  And we convince ourselves that we're so far removed from those naked, crotch-sniffing animals we watch on Discovery.  We insist that what makes us better is that we can choose not to wallow in the wild and rather step into a pristine myopia, when one of the most relaxing things about this thing called life is that we can choose to wallow; we're not slaves to our instincts.
    
Teens definitely need some guidance,** but the lies we've told about sex -- that it should be demonized or done politely before you each return to matching twin beds -- aren't that.  Our guidance should be as responsible as the behavior we encourage.
    
I've done my fair share of things to be embarrassed about (you've read about one or two).  But thinking it's really amazing that we can safely play "naked, crotch-sniffing animals," or cops-and-robber, or what.everwithout the permission of any institution?  Yeah, proud of that.
    
  
  
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*Hot beef injection.
**I get my lessons from Meerkat Manor.