The Vanessa Huxtable Stage

Embarrassed by nearly everything and everyone, but most especially her parents, the character of Vanessa Huxtable (played by Tempestt Bledsoe) on the classic television show The Cosby Show was not only embarrassed, but bossy to boot. I don't think an episode of that show went by without Vanessa grimacing, exaggerated rolling of the eyes, and sighing that sigh of exasperation that only teenagers can muster. Of course it had to be accompanied by a frantic lecture of "How could you?!" too.

What made the character so funny was that it depicted a very real stage of teenage girl existence. A state of utter embarrassment at all things which is most often directed at parents because parents are the key to family -- without them, there would be no siblings, no rules, and none of the shame and humiliation which being born apparently produces in teens. At its most fundamental level this stage is a complete and horrific magnification of all that is awkward and uncomfortable in a teenage girl's life.

If anything can be noticed about ourselves, it will be noticed because it is negative. The fact that someone noticed us is proof that we stand out in a negative way and are therefore a second away from ridicule. The only way a teenage girl believes she can exist is to have a nondetected existence. (Which we must then lament in lame poetry -- but that is for another day.)

And heaven help a teenage girl who has a parent or two who has a personality and/or sense of humor of any sort. Parents with personality and humor tend to talk in public. They talk to the friends they meet, to the people they just met who may become friends, to the paper boy, to grocery store clerks, and well, anyone they should chance to meet. Talking is bad because all of this brings attention to the teen in attendance; something she was rather hoping to avoid. If the parent is strange for talking with others, and you know that all parents must be, then the girl will be labeled odd as well. Proximity, be it inches or DNA, will taint her by association.

If most teen girls go through this stage, my sister lived in it.

For as long as I can remember, my sister hated to go into public with the family. Once old enough to do so, she'd beg to stay home alone or even sit in the car in the parking lot, just to avoid being seen with us. (You have to remember that this was 'once upon a time' time, so it was safe for her to sit there alone, but also a time with no portable toys or entertainment -- not even a walkman! That's how strong her commitment was.)

Her resolve was based on a very simple premise: We were too odd to be seen with, and eyes were everywhere.

For example, even a trip to the grocery store was rife with reputation problems for my 8 year old sister.

Upon reaching the parking lot, she'd announce she wasn't going in there with us. Her explanation? * "Debbie's cousin Sarah is friends with Scott, who has a brother, Bert, who works there as a bag boy on weekends."

"Well, it's a Monday" my mother would respond.

"It doesn't matter because who knows who he knows there? I don't want word to get back to anyone."

My dad would reply "What, you don't want anyone to know you eat food?"

My sister said nothing, just rolled her eyes and sighed that sigh. But I'm pretty sure that was her reason because you know if a person eats food, they are going to poop, and my sister didn't need anyone thinking she did that. (Even if Bert's bagboy buddies didn't tell him and he didn't tell Scott who didn't tell Sarah, who then couldn't tell Debbie, that bag boy would still know.)

Not only did public appearances cause great stress, but homelife did as well.

My sister spent a decade eating behind a cereal box because she felt our dad was staring at her. This because her chair was directly across from his chair at the kitchen table; what was a normal glance up from his paper was likely going to contain my sister in its field of vision. And apparently, this was not a pleasing thing.

First she'd say "Why are you looking at me?" in a confrontational voice.

Dad, stunned, would explain how our eyes work and that she's right there so he might see her. Not deterred from her mission, she'd turn to our mother and accuse him of starring at her -- and if mom wasn't going to do anything about it, she would! And so she'd place the box of cereal in front of her, scrunch herself down low in the chair, and stuff spoonfuls of cereal into her mouth at a fast pace. This only brought mom and dad to laughter. And it meant I couldn't have any cereal, for like a dog with a bone, your hand went there at its own risk.

I can only surmise that early in the morning my sister was imagining a whole school day in which she would tread the fine line of both trying to be non-existant and rising in popularity, and dad looking at her meant that she had failed half-way already. That, or she had a zit forming on her nose. Or she feared that even seated, her butt appeared too large. Perhaps all three. I really can't say as I was more concerned at not being able to eat cereal... I ate a lot of pizza for breakfast in my school years. Maybe th But I digress.

My sister was a nutty mess.

Ahh, the joys of The Vanessa Huxtable Stage.

Well, now my daughter is going through it.

It began with cereal boxes, and has progressed to grocery stores and other public appearances. Apparently, I am terribly embarrassing to be around. And that was before I had a buzz cut. Today, at the grocery store, she knew the bag boys -- neither of which could not have been any pinker themselves. I said nothing, did nothing, but on our way to the van, I got the eye rolls, sighs and lecture anyway.

"First of all," I said "I didn't do anything. And secondly, they were blushing so hard it just goes to show that like snakes and wolves and bees, they are just as afraid of you as you are of them, so get over it."

"But mom, I know you were gonna say something. What were you gonna say?"

"What does it matter, I bit my tongue and said nothing," I replied.

"But you were gonna say something, what was it!" she demands.

"I don't know, I was concentrating so hard on not saying anything that I don't know."

"Ah-ha! You said you were biting your tongue, so you were ready to say something!" she gloats.

"But I didn't! I didn't do or say anything, and I'm still getting a lecture!"

"But you would have!" she insists.

"But I didn't -- how can I be punished for not doing something wrong?!"

She continued to argue, but I pulled rank -- sort of. I said "I'm the parent, so this ends now." And it would have been fine if I had stopped there. But I didn't.

"I didn't do or say anything, and yet I got a lecture anyway. Next time, I get to do and say whatever I want, and you can't say anything. I paid my dues, so I get a free pass next time."

OK, so I sunk to her level. But she was acting so nutty!

I must have gone through The Vanessa Huxtable Stage myself, but I don't remember it. Maybe I'll ask my dad. I'm sure he'll be happy to tell me how nutty I was.