Dear Reckless Girl,
You met my husband yesterday at work. He was on patrol, so that’s not necessarily a good thing. He told me about you, in the late afternoon stillness of our house, on a Sunday afternoon. No names. No identifying data. That’d be confidential and it still is.
I’d been sort of napping, while the dog woofed, the phone rang and the children were next door, at the neighbors. I kept my eyes closed as he told about how you were woken up rather abruptly on Sunday morning, after a wild night of partying with college boys, yet you’re still in high school.
I listened. I heard. I thought back to over 20 years ago. Some things never change. Damn it. Why can’t they change for the better?!
Why can’t teenage girls, with a woman’s body and a girl’s heart, have enough self esteem and strength of character to resist this cycle of drinkin’, flirtin’ and gettin’ naked when the weekend rolls around?! Today’s Monday, and you’ll be sittin’ pretty in your high school honors classes, perhaps whisperin’, grinnin’ and gigglin’ with your best friend about your wild child escapades.
Next weekend will be much of the same. It’s a cycle. An ugly one. A hurtful one. It hurts on the inside, where no one can see. You’re hurting yourself, not those you are rebelling against. You. You’re hurting you.
What seems so fun in the moment is just a temporary escape. The dark of night only lasts so long, to hide your secret self. In morning’s light you’re still you, with effects from the night before lingering as a reminder.
You did those things. Now, face yourself in the mirror. That’s right, look into your eyes. Yep. There it is. Just as I thought. Hurt and brokenness, covered up with sass and feigned bravado.
I don’t know your name. You don’t know mine. But I know your teenage heart that yearns for true love, and your mixed up head that’s so smart in book learnin’ durin’ the week and so foolish in choices made on the weekend. Some things never change. Damn it.
It’s up to you. You have to break the cycle. Oh, it won’t be now. You’re having too much fun…or so you think. But someday, instead of drinkin’ until you’re so trashed you don’t care who you get busy with, you’ll meet him. And odds are good that it won’t be at a bar or a drinkin’ party. He’ll love you for your head and heart and well, as a bonus he’ll think you’re kinda sexy too.
For now, just think about it. I hope you have good friends. The kind who can tell you when you’re being too reckless, even for them, to hang out with. The kind who know the whole ugly truth but love you anyway, because they just do.
Someone Who Cares