MTV's "My Super Sweet 16" makes me want to cry.
I'm not talking about crying because of a desire to relive those "golden years," fraught with bad hair, odd glasses and grunge music in the background.
I'm talking about the kind of crying where you throw yourself on the ground, arms flailing, fists in the air, tearing your hair out.
That kind of crying.
Since when did turning 16 give any kid the right to be a spoiled brat? When I turned 16, I was grateful to be taken to a Chinese restaurant, sitting at a round table with my mom and several friends, before winding up at Ala Moana Shopping Center to roam aimlessly, cash not in hand.
I felt like the luckiest kid in the world.
Conversely, on "My Super Sweet 16," these kids' birthday parties cost more than my wedding. Heck, some of their parties are more than my law school loan.
And yet most of them still whine and stamp their feet. The favors aren't perfect. The centerpieces are wrong. The dress isn't tight enough.
Meanwhile their parents quietly take the abuse. Even Veruca Salt never had it so good.
But then I thought, "Why fight it?" If you can't talk some sense into these kids, why not join ‘em?
Why not whine and stamp my feet?
I confided to my friend, Donna, of my plan to throw a Super Sweet 16 birthday party. I added that I was contemplating making pink the color for the night.
"We'd all wear pink," I explained.
"I don't know what we would do," Donna said. "I don't think my husband owns anything pink."
"Well, you could buy him something for it. And maybe I would register at Tiffany's," I told her.
Donna stared at me. "I don't think I've even been in there for myself," she said. At this point, I whined and stamped my feet. Donna did what she used to do when we roomed together in college: She waited until the moment passed. "Are you OK now?"
"Yeah," I said. "That wasn't so successful, was it?"
She shook her head. "No, not so much."
When I informed Derek that he would be throwing one of those Super Sweet 16 birthday parties for me, he sighed for about a minute. "Have you been smoking? Are you on crack? Crack fantasies are not fun," he said as he cleaned our fish Grouchy's water.
Still, I persisted with the idea.
"Wait, wait, wait," he interrupted. "What is this about a 16th birthday party, which should have been almost two decades ago?!"
"I'm thinking it should have a theme. Maybe a Pink Lady theme, like from Grease," I said.
"So you're actually thinking about inviting people to this," he said.
"Don't you think they'd come?"
"Um, yeah, just to see the show," Derek said.
"Oh good, so there'll be entertainment."
In the show, toward the end of the party, the parents usually gift their beloved teenager with something big, such as a Mercedes Benz or a sporty BMW.
After I informed Derek that he would have to buy me something big, he laughed. "When you say big, you mean size, right? ‘Cause you ain't getting anything that costs money."
So the Lexus is out of the question. Visions of Derek presenting me with our 2000 Toyota Corolla wrapped in a bow ran through my mind.
Later, I complained to Donna about Derek's resistance, and told her about what I thought Derek was going to do with the Corolla.
"Maybe he'd wash it," Donna offered kindly. "At least you'd have a clean car."
Yeah, there are always bright sides.
The brightest side to my Sweet 16 party is that it isn't going to happen. Instead, we're electing to celebrate the fact that we'll never have to relive our hellish teenage years.
After all, all the money in the world can't cure puberty. At 16, everyone gets zits, everyone struggles with the social hierarchy in high school, and everyone wants what they can't have.
Suddenly 30 never looked so sweet.
Illustration by Jon J Murakami
