I feel more hate mail coming on ...

*** After several messages referencing my ill-knowledge on the subject of "Emo," I would like to clarify that, after listening to you and doing a bit of research, I've come to understand that the term "Emo" isn't what I was going for here. So, if you will, kindly replace in your mind every "emo" in this entry with the word "scene." Gracias.

I've tried so hard to refrain from writing this post. In fact, I've debated it in my head: "Gosh, I don't want to hurt their feelings. They seem so fragile, after all..." But today I saw yet another forlorn-looking boy, and I thought maybe if someone brought him a glimmer of hope, he just might make it out okay. So, here goes...

Dear Emo kid,

Hey, what's up? (Do you even say that anymore? Or is it more something along the lines of "What's down, dude? How's your sunken soul?"). I'm writing in regards to your lifestyle choice, which, contrary to what you may think is your lot in life -- is most definitely a choice. And a strange, sad one. I wouldn't write, except I think that just about everyone who isn't in your generation is wondering the same thing I am: Why?

When I first heard the term "Emo," I was curious. What is this - some Elmo off-shoot? Are the kids dressing up as Sesame Street characters nowadays? No, certainly not, no. But what you are dressing up as is that tired, worn black sock shoved to the back of the drawer -- the one that never has the pleasure of being placed on happy, dancing feet because its partner fell behind the dryer, forever lost in a dark, linty place where old socks go to die.

Emo kid, let me just tell you what you've probably heard from your parents a million times. You will look back on photos from this period of your life 10 years from now and say, "GOD, what was I thinking?!" You will, really. I do that today, in fact. I'm still perplexed as to what I thought was so cool about my wide-leg (I'm talking truckload-wide) low-hanging jeans and my collection of baby tees sporting incredible phrases like "as if!" and "whatever." Not to mention the giant yellow smiley faces... {cringe}.

Anyways, what I want to say here is that I'm not too worried about you ... yet. We all go through ridiculous phases of not just fashion, but of taking on new personas. Are you really that drab? So sad and drained inside? Or did you, like I did, run around on playgrounds and get excited over things like lollipops and gumdrops? (Okay, who cares about gumdrops.) But really, think about it. Let yourself smile, okay? Mayhaps you're so upset at the world because you can only see out of one eye. Simple solution! Brush away that wad of flat hair that hangs in your face. Or if you're feeling suffocated by this depressing world, reconsider the source. It might be as easy as buying some jeans that aren't made for Barbie dolls from 1980. You'll find this makes the breathing process much more effective.

And really, the whining thing, the "no one understands me so I'm going to talk in this tonally void way" -- that has got to go.

BFF,

Debbie