Challenger

Ask any adult what teenagers are like and you’ll probably hear something like, “They’re rowdy, they don’t listen, they drive like demon-spawn and drink illegally, etc...” And if you’re like me, none of that stuff applies to you, but you have to be lumped in with the teenagers to whom it does apply merely because of your age.

I’m seventeen now. That must be the worst age for an American teen. At sixteen, you got your driver’s license, and all was well. At eighteen, you’ll be a legal adult, and all will be well once again. But seventeen? Nope, nothing happens at seventeen.

All this has led me to a realization. What is actually so special about age? After a certain point, it’s just a number that shows how many years you’ve been around. But since people attach importance to that number, it basically rules over our entire lives.

omehow, a number decides for us whether we are mature and self-sufficient. What happened? Didn’t we used to decide that sort of thing for ourselves? It’s obvious that the current system is at least a little bit flawed. Look at how many people, regardless of age, actually do drive like demons; how many people have drunk themselves out of house and home. It’s not just a question of age, and I’m tired of being judged just by how old I am.

It’s even more aggrivating when you’re seventeen. Suddenly, you will begin to notice that people born only a few months before yourself are now independent human beings and you’re not. That doesn’t make much sense, does it? I would hope not.
There is no love for teenagers these days. Sorry to say it, but it seems to me like a lot of us don’t really deserve any love either. I just wish I wouldn’t have to be generalized like every other teenager. But then, that’s life, isn’t it? Either way, the moral of the story for this whole rambling is: Let’s not forget about real maturity.