Jackie McGregor: Teens in identity crisis and the woman who married her briefcase
“Harry has just informed everyone that he’s a panromantic demisexual,” commented my son, looking at his mobile.
“That’s nice dear,” I said, wondering what he was talking about or what to do with my face.
I feel confusion in many conversations with my offspring and his friends.
I frequently fear unwittingly uttering something offensive or using the wrong pronoun. They live in such a different world from the one I inhabited as a teenager.
Being a teenager isn’t easy, nor is being a parent to a teen, what they deem you can and can’t say is a minefield. I find myself scanning my words in teenage company.
Today’s youth seem to feel the need to make constant statements and announcements, regarding their sexuality and gender status. These labels are under constant review.
Studies show teens experience sexual fluidity during adolescence, one in five report change in sexual orientation or sexual attraction during that period of life.
Several teenagers I know have also changed their given names, not by deed poll, just by announcing on their ‘socials’ what they want to be known by.
“Why did Harry feel he had to announce that?” I asked
“Probably because Zane just announced he was biromantic,” he replied
“He’s attracted to pens?” I gasped.
“Not biro, biromantic!” he laughed.
“I’ve no idea what biromantic or panromantic demisexual means, but there is such a thing as an attraction to inanimate objects. So, it’s not inconceivable that your pal might be attracted to the odd Bic,” I replied.
“Seriously?” asked Junior.
“It’s called Objectophilia. I read about a woman who married her briefcase and another who wed the Berlin Wall. When they brought the wall down, she was devastated, she then fell for The Great Wall of China, but eventually found happiness with a garden fence.” I nodded.
“So, do you go by any labels?” I asked tentatively.
“No labels for me, and I’ve no desire to date my pencil case or the garden gate. As some guy on the net said, be yourself, everyone else is already taken,” he replied.
“That was Oscar Wilde, a great writer,” I said.
“Dude made sense to me,” he agreed. Standing up to leave for school he added, “Just a heads up, the person whose artwork you liked (we recently attended an exhibition of their work) is now using the pronoun ‘they’ and wants to be known as Blaze. They’re coming round with the guys later. So, don’t forget to call them Blaze and not their former name,” he chided.
“Oh, like Prince!” I exclaimed, “he said his spirit directed him to change his name to a symbol, but no one could pronounce it.”
“Who?” he asked.
“Nobody ever gets my references,” I sighed,” I won’t forget “they” and “Blaze.”
Though inside I was panic-stricken. I would be walking on eggshells when they arrived for fear of slipping up and uttering the wrong name to the artist formerly known as Brian.
(Names have been changed to protect the innocent)*