Tina Jordan’s article about her daughter’s choice of reading material sparked yet another article about her reader’s admissions of the books they hid from their parents as teenagers. It also got me thinking about the books I read as a teenager too.
It’s a rite of passage to read saucy books at so young an age. I think anyway. First, I don’t know if I could have made it through young adolescence without Judy Blume. Blume really spoke to me in her books. Are you there God? Its me, Margaret was the manifesto of budding girls everywhere. It was the book that made you realize that you weren’t alone during that scary event called “growing up”. Blume took a child to a young woman. Innocent tomes such as Superfudge, helped youngsters deal with everyday problems and annoying siblings. Blubber, was a step up, had minor swear words, and taught kids that it’s okay to stand up for others and question your friend’s motives. After AYTGIMM, I should have gone onto other Blume classics such as Forever, but my mind was occupied with something else, something much more grown up -- and forbidden. This was the tome of epic proportions, and it catapulted me from burgeoning adolescence to over-knowledgeable and somewhat confused teen.
Back in the 80’s, there were a whole slew of mini-series to be had on television. Every major network went mini-series mental. One thing to remember is that the television of yesteryear was not like the television of today, and mini-series were heavily advertised for months on end. One of these series was called “Lace”. Based on the book by Shirley Conran, this series was severely cut down and heavily sanitized for the ABC network. If you remember, the commercials showed a young Phoebe Cates confronting a group of women and demanding, “WHICH ONE OF YOU BITCHES IS MY MOTHER!?” Well! That certainly got my attention! We had a subscription to TV Guide and the glossy print ads, coupled with the small black & white teaser ads, just kept making me brace for the excitement of what was to come (okay, I was kinda weird back then).
Then it happened. Like an answered prayer. One day in the supermarket. There it was. A cardboard stand filled to the brim with thee book - LACE. I conned my mother into buying it for me, and if she only knew what her hardworking dollar contributed to back in 1984, she would pass out. Picture an innocent eleven 1/2 year old reading this book about a baby given up for adoption by a group of sexually active teens at boarding school. Okay. Any book that centers on a boarding school is an automatic recipe for sexcapades. This child, through unfortunate circumstances, grows up to become…now brace yourself…a porn star.
Would you want your eleven year old reading such a book? No. I wouldn’t. However, there has to be a time in parenting when you have to let go and convince yourself that life isn’t squeaky clean. Teenagers need something a bit enticing, which will help them handle the hormones and mixed information they receive on daily basis. As long as it’s not actual sexual activity, or something that will lead them on the path to degeneracy, everything’s going to be alright mom and dad. Kids require a small segment of their lives to be secretive. Where one can feel like they themselves found the answers to life’s biggest questions. Nothing that consumes them however, just a little part of life that they feel they own.
Well, Lace was my secret. It was the little part of my adolescence that I could have all to myself; to control. None of my friends knew I read such a book. And it was kind of satisfying to have this secret all to myself. The story was to the point of vulgarity for a girl my age, but it opened up a world of backstabbing and sexual intrigue that my sqeaky clean soul never could have imagined. It was tantalizing to peer into an adult’s life, even if the characters didn’t live the way they should have or like anyone I ever knew. While this reading was going on, I still lived my life as a normal eleven ½ year old would. I listened to Top 40, watched tons of MTV, and faced the same insecurities someone my age would.
I’m not going to lie to you. Over twenty years later, I still have no regrets in reading that naughty book at so young an age. Zero. After that chapter in my life, I continued back to the books my peers were reading. But apparently, nothing could top that book. Lace was thee epic, the Citizen Kane of my existence then, and nothing could usurp it. Into my mid to late teens, books such as Flowers in the Attic appealed to me. But by that time, everyone in my peer group seemed to be reading it. As much as we could share in the naughtiness of the subject matter, there was no real secret. I was old enough to know better, and old enough to handle such content. Through my teen years, I no longer had to hide my books. Although for years after, my dog-eared copy of Lace remained under my mattress practically forgotten. Until the binding became so worn and torn and I had to throw it out.
