Member-only story
Never Drop Them
My 17-year-old daughter just climbed into a tiny yellow summer car filled with big scruffy summer boys, wearing a wee brown bikini that used to be mine. More than a quarter century ago, I wore that handful of fabric on a handful of hot days and worried about everything.
She seems worried about nothing. She’s bright and perky, small and curvy, long legs chasing summer, auburn hair tumbling wild — she’s so brain rattlingly gorgeous that I’m in a muddle.
And she’s almost naked. How did this happen?! I didn’t feel almost naked when I pranced around in triangles all those years ago, but — let me tell you — she is almost naked!
Can I let a gorgeous, nearly naked teenager run around in cars with boys? Do I have any power at all?
Is this going to be okay?!
They seem like nice boys, but — I’m sorry. I’m the mother of three boys, all past their teens, and I know with white hot conviction that a cluster of 17-year-old boys is a clusterfuck of mess in so many ways that language is failing me.
My husband shrugged and said, “They seem like smart, nice boys who are into sex, drugs, and rock and roll — but they don’t seem like criminals.”
Then he giggled.
Deep breath.
