Hazardous Material

Right now I believe that the most dangerous substance on the planet isn’t nuclear waste, or radon gas, or even polonium. Its hormones.

Anyone with a teenager in their house agrees with me. Anyone who has SURVIVED adolescence agrees with me. And I, having just turned 39, can look back over my life and blame lots of stupidity on hormones. I imagine that in my 40s I will look back at my 30s and exclaim over the ridiculous, self-destructive behavior of that decade, and blame it, yet again, on hormones.

But you don’t have to take my example as proof. Let’s look at, oh, say, Saudi Arabia. The only country on the planet named for a family. More than half its population is under the age of 18. Its residents are mostly highly educated (except for the women; they get beatings instead) and underemployed. Talk about your hormone cocktail. And the royal family has more trouble every day keeping a lid on things. It’s a big job: keeper of Islam’s most sacred places, keeper of the biggest oil reserves in the world, keeper of gender apartheid. It would be a big bite without the demon hormones. Add in the underemployed angry young men, the oppressed angry young women, and the just generally angry people, and you’ve got yourself a hormone hurricane. Criminy.

So what’s my answer? Increasingly, I see the wisdom in my Great-Aunt Nita’s philosophy. When a child is born, put them in a barrel and feed them through the bunghole in the barrel. When they turn 13, plug up the hole. If they’re still alive when they turn 40, you’ve got yourself a winner. (This last sentence is my contribution. I don’t think Aunt Nita actually favored releasing offspring from the barrel at all.)

Athena