not such a virtual world

They're not readers, my students, sometimes too literally, but that day the room was as silent as the story was long, and they did it-- they read. Page after page, a sigh and a struggle, but also determination to reach the end. Apparently all it takes to draw them in is the suicide of a thirteen year-old girl in a neighboring town, a cold-hearted mother, an online disaster.

What a world, the one Megan Meier's story reveals. It's one these kids both live in and don't. An address on Waterford Crystal Drive, or some other division of brick-fronted homes with ridiculous price tags and ridiculous names, might someday be an aspiration, but fulfillment is generations away. The income gap isn't the main separation between the teen in the story and the teens in my room, however, and envy isn't anywhere among their emotions.

They wonder why rich people seem to have so many problems, they wonder why 'white' kids are the ones who are hyper, and really, there's something to that, both in the culture and in the fact that the public health clinic isn't going to prescribe Ritalin or be on the look out for ADHD. They point out that their mothers aren't so wrapped up in their lives as the ones in the paper, and by that they mean their mothers are the opposite of neglectful. The expectations are so different; there is no helicoptering. Some of them want the mother who concocted a fake boyfriend to torture Megan locked up and put away; some want more responsibility put on Megan and her family. They discuss and evaluate and their insights become fodder for some pretty good academic writing. While I wish for a world that offers less compelling reading, at least it feels as if we've done something useful with it, and that, perhaps, they may have thought about their own behavior. Because these kids all have MySpace, too.

And within a week, I'm in the guidance office having a counselor call in the student who was most indignant about the virtual wrongs committed against Megan Meier. Turns out she'd posted maliciously captioned photos about her classmate, the teen mother. Ah, high school. And while I'm tempted to take matters into my own what-are-you-thinking I-know-you-know-better don't-you-see-a-connection-here hands, I seal my lips and write passes to the office and assign another reading. This time it's about the year since the suicide and the consequences of actions.

I expect no epiphany; I'd settle for an insincere truce between these girls, if it would last long enough for them to mature a little and leave this nonsense behind. Because that I do expect, and I think that they do, too. They were most apalled with the fact that it was an adult who messed with Megan Meier, not with the fact that it happened. They believe youth gives them license, a problem in itself, one that needs resolving. But, I believe the odds are exactly zero that they'd do what Lori Drew did, act like a teenager once they've grown. I suppose it could be wishful thinking, but I trust how they've been raised, trust what they've been taught. And I trust that if the instigator doesn't straighten up, like, right now, she's going to be really, really sorry.