“You won’t believe what James told me today,” my husband chuckled as he casually dropped a lone ice cube into his glass. James is a colleague of his, a radiologist, and has a daughter around the same age as our seventh grader, Mia.
“What’s up?” I replied, slicing cucumbers for a fresh salad.
“So, James walks into the reading room, and he looked completely worn out. After a big sigh, he goes, ‘Has the entire atmosphere of your home been completely shaken by One Direction’s breakup?’”
I burst out laughing. “Really? What did you say?”
“I told him, ‘Mia couldn’t care less about One Direction, James. That’s not her scene. Now, if Benedict Cumberbatch announced he was quitting Sherlock or if they were canceling Doctor Who or Supernatural, that would send her into a tailspin. But One Direction? Not a chance.’”
“I’m grateful to the Nerd Gods that our daughter got our Nerd Genes.” I munched on a crouton and reached for the salad tongs. “Mia did mention that some girls at school were totally losing it over it, though. Like, crying, for goodness sake.”
“That’s exactly what James was saying,” my husband said, shaking his head. “It’s pure emotional chaos. Crying, whining, despairing, and non-stop phone activity. Total drama overload.”
“Zayn.” I scrunched my nose. “Seriously, who names their kid that?”
Later that evening, I received a message on Facebook from my friend Carla. Her daughter is also 13.
“Maya is dealing with some serious bullying from her group of friends,” she wrote. “These girls are huge One Direction fans, and Maya isn’t really into them anymore. She’s kind of over it. But when the girls were distraught about Zayn leaving, Maya mentioned, ‘It doesn’t really matter,’ and they instantly turned on her. Just like that. Now she’s being bombarded with mean texts and nasty comments on Facebook.”
“That’s unbelievable,” I replied. “How is Maya handling it?”
“She’s upset but okay enough to talk to me. I told her it’s ridiculous and that she should ignore them. I’m proud of her for staying true to herself. But you won’t believe what they did next—these girls went on Instagram and blurred Maya’s face out of every group photo they had.”
Reading that sent chills down my spine. Even as times change, some things remain hauntingly familiar.
The summer before I started eighth grade, my own group of friends decided it was my turn to be shunned. It wasn’t a shock; they had been turning on each other all year. But when it came to me, the speed and cruelty of it left me breathless.
One afternoon, a boy from my class called. I was confused since I barely knew him. He had been in gym class with me, but we had never really spoken.
“Hey,” I answered cautiously.
“Hey! How’s your summer?”
“It’s okay, I guess.”
“Well, guess what your ‘best friends’ did today?” he said, his tone silky.
I fumbled for words, but they caught in my throat, and I managed a weak “What?”
“They took all the pictures of your group that had you in them, and they burned them in Shannon’s backyard.”
I gently placed the phone back down. The message was crystal clear.
- We can erase you.
- We can make you vanish.
- Without us, you don’t exist.
- Without us, you are nobody.
And tragically, part of me believed them. At 13, I hadn’t yet discovered who I was; I was still figuring it out. Who truly knows themselves at that tender age? I knew I was shy, loved to read, and had a vague interest in boys, but that was about it.
This past weekend, my husband and I took Mia and her sister to the mall. At one point, I slipped away to find Easter treats and chocolate. On the drive home, my husband turned to Mia, his eyes sparkling in the rearview mirror.
“Hey, Mia, want to tell Mom what you said at the mall?”
Mia rolled her eyes but smiled slightly. “Oh, Dad. Seriously?”
I laughed. “What? Spill!”
“Well,” he smirked, “I needed shaving gel, so I took the girls into Sephora. Mia walked in and physically recoiled, saying, ‘What are we doing here? This store sells makeup and stuff!’”
I turned to Mia, who was now avoiding my gaze. “Hey, Mia!” She reluctantly pulled off her headphones. “What’s wrong with makeup?”
“Ugh! Mom.” She shook her head and put her headphones back on. “Gross popular girls wear makeup. All they care about is getting boyfriends. They’re the worst. You won’t catch me dead wearing makeup.”
The day was unusually warm, and once we got home, Mia marched to the backyard, headphones still firmly on her ears, heading straight for the swings. I watched her from the kitchen window as she pumped her legs, soaring higher and higher. My husband noticed and joined me.
“She’s really going for it out there,” he remarked.
“She always does. She loves to swing.”
He laughed. “She’s such a character.”
“She is. A wonderful kid, but I worry about her sometimes.”
“Why?” he questioned, puzzled. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“It’s just this age, you know? Kids can be so cruel—downright vicious. I worry she doesn’t have the skills to deal with that yet. She’s a bit immature for her age. Look at her. Five foot seven and still playing on the swings.”
“Aren’t you happy about that?” he countered. “She’s not boy-crazy or dressing inappropriately or sneaking drinks.”
“Yeah, I’m thankful for that. I am. I’m glad she’s not rushing to grow up. It’s the other kids I worry about.”
“Kids can be little terrors. But she’s smart.”
“She thinks of herself as a nerd. That’s genuinely how she views herself.”
He chuckled. “So what? We were both nerds. Heck, we still are! We say that all the time.”
“I know, but do you think she truly believes that? Deep down?”
He placed his hand on my back reassuringly. “I think she’s doing just fine. You worry too much. Just enjoy her for who she is, okay?”
Enjoy her. Just as she is. My quirky, intelligent girl, with curls that dance like wild horses.
It took me a few more moments to tear my gaze from the window, watching her soar as high as she could go.
In summary, it’s a relief to have a daughter like Mia who embraces her nerdy side instead of succumbing to the pressures of popular culture. While I worry about the challenges she may face during her teenage years, I also take comfort in her unique identity and resilience.