Riding home on the Red Line toward Alewife yesterday, I was bone tired. After scoring a seat at the end of a row near the door, I was pretty much in my own world. Everything around me was pleasantly muffled, thanks to a comfy pair of earmuffs I borrowed from Mack.
I was enjoying the lull of the train’s motion, trying not fall asleep.
Bing. “CHAAHLES MGH” said the loudspeaker.
“Children are incapable of making independent decisions,” screamed a young man as he and his two friends entered the train over my left shoulder.
My after work exhaustion buzz was pierced by the sound. The three loud overzealous teenagers stood by the door, screaming out a discussion of politics over the roar of the engine. The contestants were: Gangly, a dark-hair pubescent who leaned forward to emphasize his points; Pixie, a tiny girl with fly-away brown curls and a big mouth full of braces; and Trousers, a young kid with unfortunately grandpa-styled cords, a striped polo and a faded baseball cap.
“Your parents are the dominating factor in determining your political beliefs,” Gangly said.
I rolled my eyes and thank God for my earmuffs. I could tell from the desperate, shrill tone of Gangly’s voice, there would be NO WAY to ignore this conversation. I looked forward, taking in the sight of the frozen Charles.
“I don’t think that’s true,” said Pixie, extending her lips forward to form the words around her braces. “If, for example, your parents try to raise you with the belief that…George Bush is hot. And let’s say you disagree. So you’re like ‘No, that’s stupid.’ And your parents say, ‘Go up to room and don’t come down until you agree with us that George Bush is hot.’ The kid isn’t going to…”
This is the point where listening got painful. I didn’t want to listen to someone rationalize the effect of environment on political beliefs by referencing the example “George Bush is hot” while my body was weeping from fatigue. Heck, even if I had been hyper with too much energy, I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it.
I remember that age so vividly. These kids were fired up – I mean, who has ever seen such enthusiasm? – and yet so clearly lacking in the self awareness that comes with college and, yes, age, that it made listening to their argument just…awkward.
“I think what Pixie is trying to say here,” Trousers cut in with lots of superfluous hand movements, “is that…”
Gangly didn’t give him a chance to finish.
“There isn’t much wiggle room in political beliefs,” he plowed on, “except generationally. Once you’ve decided, you’re not going to change your mind. But each generation has the chance to make their own decision. But since parents are the dominant factor, nothing ever changes.”
Bing. “KENDALL.”
I couldn’t help but make guesses at the lives these three lead. They appeared to be friends, or at least classmates. Pixie was the object of affection – or at least attention – of both males. Gangly attempted to woo her by battering her argument to oblivion. Trousers, by taking her side, and translating every comment she made.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Pixie tried again, gulping slightly to suck down her saliva, “I think kids start out that way, but become more progressive with time. Like when they go to college for example.”
“I think what Pixie is trying to say here, is that outside factors can affect your political beliefs.” Trousers said.
“Children are in capable of making independent decisions,” Gangly said again (way to beat a dead horse, guy), “Parents are the dominating factor.”
Bing. “CENTRAL.”
A woman (looking highly offended) snatched up her two girls and dragged them off the train. I half expected her to cover their ears.
A seat opened up, and Pixie sat down next to me. Gangly leaned over from the pole to be closer, and Trousers took up a post on her other side.
Leaving me directly in the middle. Oh, goodie.
“Ok,” Trousers said, “we’ve already discussed that and agreed with you. You keep bringing up irrelevant tangents and distracting from the flow of our discussion.”
My eyebrows shot up at that one. Listen to Trousers go! He’s like a professor in miniature.
“I’m enriching our discussion by bringing up DIRECT EFFECTS of the main topic,” Gangly said.
Oh boy, I thought, rolling my eyes. I totally had class what that guy during high school. And college. You know that guy – the one who refuses to believe that his tangents aren't the most important topics in the world.
“You can’t ignore,” he pressed on, “that a parent’s beliefs are the dominant factor in determining the child’s.”
Bing. “HAAHVAHD.”
“Excuse me,” I said, and pushed passed Gangly’s overextended neck, hustling off the train with unusual speed. I could still hear the three of them arguing after the doors were closed.
My belly was trembling and my throat felt itchy from the giggle I was holding bback. I swallowed, trying to resist laughing at what would have seemed a completely random time.
I made it all the way down to the turnstiles when I saw a boy dressed in a homemade thin-mints costume and a slightly shamed expression calling out,
“GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I started cracking up. Oh, the indignity of being young.
Gotta love it.
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