teens

I STARTED "DATING" in the 7th grade. A few people had started earlier, but the onset of middle school brought with it an increased interest of the opposite gender. But it wasn't really dating. For the most part, "going out with" someone (as was the slang for the time) consisted of holding hands at school, awkwardly trying to make conversation on the phone occasionally, and most importantly, changing your Myspace to "in a relationship".  I'm sickened when somebody says "It's not official until it's Facebook Official," but the almighty Facebook status is taken as law within my generation, whether I like it or not.

In high school, things started to change. With more freedom, couples could go out to lunch (if one of their friends had a car), or even go to movies if their parents let them. The parents are the ultimate arbiter in their kids' dating experience. With my parents, they barely let me do anything until high school. I thought this was the cruelest thing ever, since some of my friends practically had chauffeurs as parents. But in the end it didn't really matter because I realized it wasn't all that great to have free reign.  

The tipping point where dating goes from immature to mature is when kids start getting cars, and more importantly the ability to drive other people in those cars. Then, high school dating becomes changes to like real dating-dating - you know, lunch/dinner and a movie, or mini-golf or even skydiving.

Moving forward into college, I can't see it changing that much. Of course I won't have a car to drive my princess around in, but maybe I could pay off a strapping young man to give us rickshaw rides for the night. Now I'm glad my parents limited me when I was younger, because there's more important things to do when you're 14 than spend 5 days a week at Skateland "dating".

I CAN REMEMBER every teacher I've had since kindergarten, with a bit of brain-prodding. A few of them really stick out to me. My second grade teacher Mrs. Carpenter, my fifth grade teacher Mr. Hedrick and my Physics teacher Mr. Lechtenberger. I remember each of them differently, because they all gave me unique things to take with me, and I am still impacted by what they did. Before a few years ago, I didn't know why my parents cared what teachers I got. I only cared that I would be with my friends, the person at the head of the class could be a giant squid for all I cared. Now I realize why my parents cared so much, my education is a really major thing to rely on a total stranger to provide.

When I was told that I would be in Mrs. Carpenter's class, I didn't know what to expect since it was to be with both first and second graders. Although I don't remember much, I take that as a good thing because I don't remember anytime when there was a conflict of attention between the two grades. I think that is a testament to Mrs. Carpenter's devotion - she taught two classes in the time of one. Although I bet she was really glad when her double-duty year was over, I'm happy I had her, even if I had to share.

In fifth Grade, I was taught by who I think of as the cool uncle of the teaching world. Mr. Hedrick was a young, athletic guy who tried everything to make his class enthusiastic about learning. He played guitar, and made up songs (some of which were irrelevant to the lesson, but they sure were catchy). He always seemed to have a smile on his face, unless you were in trouble, but then instead of yelling or punishment, he loved playing the "disappointment and responsibility" card (you know the one, "I'm not mad at you, I'm just disappointed. I thought you were more responsible than that.") Much to my displeasure, it worked. Mr. Hedrick made me find the better person inside the rebellious young one that seems to turn up in most fourth-ninth graders. Also, just a few weeks ago I was surprised by a letter from him, along with a time capsule letter I had written when I was in his class. My parents thought some of the things I had envisioned for my future were hilarious ("I am a goalie for the Squirt C Ice Pirates. It's a dream come true!"). It was a really nice touch because he had since moved to Scottsdale, and he still tracked me down (and I can imagine the same with the rest of my classmates).

My freshman year, I walked into Mr. Lechtenberger's Algebra II class and I felt like I had walked right through a wormhole onto a 90's sitcom. It was the stereotypical classroom. Goths and Jocks in the back, Bimbos in the front, and quiet kids in the middle, practically just taking up space. Being the only freshman, I tried to just blend in, so I took a seat right in the middle. Mr. Lechtenberger started pushing me to do my best. I was an unenlightened freshman though, I thought girls, not grades should be my priority. He impacted me, but not enough to get an A. I finished with a flat B both semesters. Then, my junior year, I came back to his class to take physics. I was a different student this time, confident, and more importantly, motivated. I worked my hardest to get an A, and that was what it took. I learned the most from that class, even though there wasn't that much material to cover. I learned how to study, and how to work. That's much more important than any of Newton's Laws.

LAST TUESDAY I graduated from high school. I think it's sunk in by now...  

I've had to come into the school in the last few days for AP tests and AP classes, but I feel different about walking those halls now. My friend summed it up the day after our last when he turned to me while frolfing and said, with a humorous indifference while gesturing towards the school, "I used to go there." It was a joke, but it was funnier because it was true. We both knew that we were done with high school, whether we liked it or not.

The ceremony itself felt like a dream. I sat on the front corner, due to luck and my nerd status (summa cum laude). Because of this, I led half of the graduates out. 

Even though we were now adults in the eyes of society, we were still kids. During a stunning farewell performance of "We are the World," one of my friends stood up, looked at the camera, and said "Hi Mom!" Four months ago, I probably wouldn't have found that funny. But now I laughed – no need to act more mature than I feel. I know that I have a limited time left to be a kid, so I'm going to embrace that.

In my opinion, the best part of graduations is the aftermath - all the graduates on the floor celebrating together. I gave hugs to practically everyone I knew, because that might have been the last time I'd ever see them. That's the saddest part of graduation - to get to where you're going next, you have to leave everything else behind. But I'm not sad enough to try to stay in high school, along with the rest of my class.  

If these last four years were fun, I can't wait to see what I do with the next four.

MY HIGH SCHOOL graduation gifts consisted of a Eurail Pass and padded bicycle shorts. One week after receiving my diploma, I began a two-month, two-wheeled journey across Europe, courtesy of my parents. Accompanied by two German teachers and 18 peers, I saw Holland, France, East and West Germany and Czechoslovakia from the vantage points of dusty country lanes, designated bike paths, and busy city streets. 

Each morning, our chaperones would check our physical condition, feed us the local breakfast and establish an estimated arrival time at the next destination. Riding in groups of three or so, we were then released to the whims of the road in a not-so-subtle introduction to the speed of Life. Over the course of 60 days, my cohorts and I learned how to convert miles to kilometres, fix flat tires, and dance the polka. I fell in love, and then out again, discovered beer, and began a mental wrestling match about my subsequent success or failure of an upcoming college soccer career as I pedaled along the lonely backroads. 

The more I travel, the more I recall this trip in 1986 and my parents’ decision to allow their sheltered 17-year old daughter to traipse in and out of Communist Europe, often in the company of other, equally sheltered, teenagers. How wise they were, as I look back and wonder at these defining moments of my transition to young adulthood, as fresh in my memory now as they were 26 years ago. 

If I was speaking to the Class of 2012, I’d tell them to travel somewhere this summer. Exactly where doesn’t matter as much as how. Ride the Alaska Marine Highway, taking note of who shares the ride, and why. Sketch, write, or record a journal of the adventure, including the misadventures, for these are the snapshots worth viewing much later as pinnacles of growth. Get in the car and drive north to Denali National Park and camp, taking advantage of an opportunity to witness this landscape, gazed an entire lifetime, perhaps, but never taken as an intimate partner in this deft dance toward adulthood.

The Alaska ferry: hosting recent grads for decades...

From this moment on, the journey is what offers the most joy, with a wide open world ready to accept this youthful, boundless acceptance for new experiences and new people. For at the moment when a tassel is moved from right to left, children sprout wings of independence and sink roots of values, and this is where parents hope and pray the two shall forever be intertwined. 

I remember my father’s face as I looked back before entering the jetway back in June of 1986. We had spent an hour discussing international phone calls, money exchanges, and navigation, sitting there in the gate area. I was anxious, he was apprehensive. But as I turned my head and caught one last look at the people who had gently pushed me out of my secure nest, there was nothing but pride, there. 

Just look where it took me. 

Follow Erin’s Alaska adventures at AKontheGO.com

IT'S MY LAST week of high school. That's my crazy reality. I don't think it's quite hit me yet, but it's started to slink closer and closer. I can't begin to fathom my feelings the morning after graduation. Of course I'll be excited for what's next and relieved that I'm moving on to bigger and better things, but I think that the one emotion prevalent under all these others will be fear. My fear of what's next. Sure, I'm excited to see what I can do in life, but my parents' house is so safe and cozy! Am I positive that what's waiting for me after the jump will be better?

I don't know. I have one summer of safety left before I get thrown out into the real world. But I'll really worry about that in August.

I came to Service High School as a Freshman in 2008 and I thought I was hot stuff. I played varsity teenis, was smart, and most of all, I thought I was extremely good looking. My ego was so big I'm surprised one of my teachers didn't take pity on me and deflate it a bit. I even had the cocky walk to match the attitude. I can't help but realize now that if 9th grade me and 12th grade me had shared a class, 12th grade me would've "enlightened" this young one. 

Pictured: Hot stuff

Four years later, I KNOW I'm hot stuff, but the difference is, I don't try to project that persona. In 9th grade I had to project cockiness because I was actually petrified of the massive seniors, who probably tripled my weight. Now, I know that their barks are worse than their bites, and actually most of them are pretty chill. Oh what 4 years can do to someone.

For the next 4 years, I expect somewhat of the same changes. I'll go from being Top Dog at Service to being a feeder fish at college. It's going to be humbling for sure, but I know it'll be good for me.  After all, I don't wish to be the 9th grade version of me again.

Patrick blogged us through his entire senior year of high school - the ups and downs, challenges and victories, fun times and tough times - giving us all a glimpse into the mind of a modern Alaskan teen. He graduates from Service High School in Anchorage and will attend Lehigh University in the fall. Con-grad-ulations, Patrick!

TWO SUMMERS AGO I worked as a cashier/candy salesman for Alaska Wildberry Products. It was my first real job, as in one where I had to apply and was subject to regulations. I applied to work there because my best friend worked there, not because I’m especially into jam. 

My first interview was bizarre to say the least. I had the good fortune of catching the hiring manager while she was in office, so I was taken into an interview right away. It went as I had imagined for the first few minutes, but then the owner stopped by and, weirdly, asked me a question along the lines of: "Was Jimmy Carter a good president?" Not having been alive during his presidency, I said all that came to mind - a snippet about the Iranian Hostage Crisis and espoused my voting philosophy that I shouldn't vote until I'm independent - both mentally and economically. I guess they were impressed with what they heard, because I was trained that day. Later, my friend told me that the owner had talked about "the kid who lectured me on politics" in the days following.

Helping teens get summer jobs since 1977

The job itself wasn't too interesting and I soon found myself wishing that it could be more like the interview - and I could still get paid to have conversations with people. My job entailed cashier duty, restocking the floor and serving candy. Soon after I began working, the novelty wore off and I started to feel like an Epsilon from Brave New World. Those 8-hour shifts felt like they lasted 16-hours and it seemed like I was getting paid half-time. I welcomed the onset of school because it meant I didn't have to walk into a building that smelled of chocolate every morning.

Even so, I learned a lot during those three months. I learned that I never wanted to work a job like that again, because my mind goes stir crazy.  But more importantly, I learned that nobody will care as much about your business as you do. The owner dealt with this every day. People stole from the store, while some employees even stole from the register. They thought they were stealing from a faceless, multi-million dollar enterprise, but in reality they were stealing from one man. That summer I learned that you can only put faith in yourself when it comes to business, and that Jimmy Carter still has the ability to impact the unemployment rate.