The Wisdom of Youth

Remember when we were young?  Remember the first time you realised adults are not always right?  More depressingly, do you remember the moment when you realised that sometimes adults ARE right? 

I read my youngest daughter’s GCSE English controlled assessment last week.  She informed me she had deliberately picked a subject that would make her teacher squirm – revenge for all the nagging and the withdrawal of support when he felt she could do it all on her own, not to mention his reluctance to return my phone calls.  The result was a stark reminder to all that teenagers have a voice that deserves to be heard.  There is wisdom in youth but with the added ability to cut the crap and tell it like it really is… 

 

Mr Furkin’s Torture

by Bethany Rhodes

Picture this: you’re in your bed, on your new white sheets, sleeping peacefully. You’re having the best dream you’ve had for a long time. Until suddenly you get woken up by a call from Satan. Someone, or more likely some THING, seems to be blending your insides with a nail infested mallet. Immediately you find the strength to turn the light on and investigate this horrific torture. And there it is. You lift up your covers to find the blending was legit and the tears of your pained uterus seem to have stained your sheets with the perfect combination of suffering and disappointment. Today you will hear about the pains of a girl’s everyday life.

It’s not just the beginning that’s the problem; it’s the whole way through. And can we get through it comfortably? Nope. All we can do is wear a nappy in our pants to catch the tinted rain as it falls out of our nether regions. Do you know what that means? We have to walk around all day with the constant feel of the life draining out of our body along with the paranoia that maybe, just maybe it has spilled over and everyone can see our embarrassment. Of course there are other options. Such as inserting a phallus like object up your “bikini biscuit” and leaving it there every day to absorb the juices of Mother Nature before they even come out of your body, and leaving it until given a chance to take it out.

Oh but it doesn’t end there. Did I mention the pressures of showing any emotion through this eternity of restrictions? We are incapable of doing anything enjoyable, because as soon as we do, we anger the red sea. Even simple emotion is too much to handle through this period of terror. Laughing, crying, fuming, yelling or just breathing! Good luck with that. Oh and speaking of emotion, it doesn’t only control you physically. It literally controls your feelings. You can’t go anywhere without getting a punch in the hormones over nothing. Oh look you dropped a fork, better go break down in tears. What’s that? Someone accidentally brushed past you? Time to hide in your bedroom for the rest of the day and think about what a failure you are.

On top of that, God forbid you get ill. I’d like to see you try coughing or sneezing at all without having an explosion in your pants. Bet you didn’t know 52% of pants owned by women have had to be disposed of due to the immense amount of stains left on them. It doesn’t surprise me really. I mean think about school. I wonder how many opportunities we get to aid this annoyance. Considering we aren’t allowed out of lesson without a toilet pass I’d say at most once every 2 hours. Imagine walking around for 2 hours with that discomfort. Oh not to mention that we’re sitting down most of the time. So that means after every lesson, standing up is like a Niagara Falls of doom.

So now you hear the world saying that taking a blow to the male genitals is a lot more painful than periods. First of all, let me mention that 8 times out of 10 people hurt boys there for them behaving in an inappropriate manner. Second of all, if the amount of pain we go through for a whole week is compressed into the time period of half a second, I’m sure we would die from shock. Last of all, Let me tell you the story of the girl who didn’t realise a huge cyst on the inside of her uterus had been there and burst, pouring blood everywhere, because she thought it was just a cramp from her red flower.

Among all of this, women in society are still expected to stand up straight, be polite, act normally (or in a “lady-like” manner if you prefer), and show no sign that world war 3 is happening right there in her underwear because it would be rude and inappropriate to. Don’t underestimate this time for us, period.

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