I have a seven-year-old daughter now, and though I consider myself one of the “cool” moms who won’t shelter her child from the Real World, my thinking has been challenged these days. Ah, the memories of our argument back in kindergarten over none of her shirts being short enough to merit the title of “belly.” Though we discussed the unlikelihood of hot pants being available in a size 6X, Gracie’s quite aware of the fake leather pants, glitter minis, and three-inch platforms taking over the children’s department. Somehow retailers gave up on “cute” and decided to sell clothes for little adults with a fabulous nightlife. Of course, with ten-year-olds having sex now, this all may seem appropriate to someone completely insane, but my reality has become damage control and attempting prevention. Perhaps we’ve become desensitized over the years and what used to shock us doesn’t faze us anymore, but these problems aren’t being wished away or dealt with. They need to be addressed. Children need grown-ups to believe in them more than ever—and we need to be grown-ups they can believe in. The heroes we had are long gone these days and, trust me, we still need Superman. Like I said, I used to be hip. It was important to me. But looking around at what the hip people have to offer my child, that’s the last thing I want to be. I’m into this new trend called hope.
Shawn Marie Christenson, Minneapolis
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