One of the pleasures of the National Review (and yes, like many good progressives in this country, I do read the right) is the regular column by Meghan Cox Curdon. Today, Mrs. Gurdon has a delightful piece about the coming of a “super mom” to her daughter’s school,:
She is the Capable Mother, an impressive figure at our children’s school who arrived last year and immediately set about massing an army of followers. In addition to trouncing other women in the giving of coffee mornings (ahem), the Capable Mother started an afterschool song-and-dance group that has the subversive feel of a cult. She distributes junk-food snacks and plays music that other parents abominate. She puts elementary-school girls in sexy stockings, and urges her charges to gasp with Bob-Fosse-esque satisfaction when they’ve completed a move. I am told that thong underwear plays a small role in an upcoming production.
Naturally, the children adore it: To be on stage, with a microphone, prancing around to thumping music? Bliss. As for their parents, some are positive enthusiasts. Many families, such as ours, do not participate. But I have had my lapels grabbed by a remarkable number of women who are deeply uneasy about the Capable Mother’s influence, yet feel powerless to get their children out of there. Their hearts warn them it’s a bad scene, but their with-it sensibilities say, aw, what’s the harm?
Gurdon herself is delightfully firm:
Having bottled the genie of erotic jazz dance in our previous school, I am utterly unafraid of seeming ungroovy when it comes to putting children in fishnets. The Capable Mother is what happens when good people do nothing. She is the human equivalent of Nintendo.
This reminds me of the time when I was first working as a volunteer youth leader at the Episcopal Church in 2000. At the farewell party following a week-long service trip to a small village in southern Sinaloa, several of our ninth and tenth-grade girls, under the direction of another adult leader, put together a very sexy dance routine to Britney Spears’ “Oops, I Did It Again”. They performed it (complete with rubbing up against one another in something that I believe is called “freaking”) in front of our stunned Mexican host families and the local priest. Of course, the girls were terribly pleased with themselves. It wasn’t their fault, as they were only doing what so many teenagers want to do, which is to participate in and reflect back the hyper-sexualized culture in which they are immersed. The dance routine was the fault of our adult leadership team, myself included. We allowed it to happen because, unlike Gurdon, we were very afraid of seeming “ungroovy”!
The older I get, the more willing I am to be a “party-poopin’ puritan” when it comes to the eroticization of American adolescents.