During the 1950s, when Kitty Delson was a teenager, she lived with her parents and five brothers and sisters in Newark, N.J. They were poor, but they weren't trashy. So when her sister got pregnant at 16, the family hid her away in the back room. Seventeen-year-old Kitty brought her meals to her.
"The rest of us weren't supposed to talk to her. She had the baby there. She wrote to the guy, and he sent for her and she went to England after the baby was born."I kept thinking of my sister in the back room and of bringing her plates of food and whispering to her like she was a prisoner. The shame of it was terrible. I can hardly describe it. That was what happened when you got pregnant and it gave me a terror and a determination that it would never, never happen to me."
That was the 1950s. Life for teenage girls wasn't a lot different in the 1960s when I was a teenager. When I was in junior high, there was one girl who got pregnant. She was a sweet girl, a girl I had been quite close to until seventh grade, when our lives were hopelessly divided by the fact that she got pretty and started having boys walk her home from school.
The day she told the principal she was pregnant, she disappeared. She was told to clean out her locker and be gone before the next bell rang. The rest of us could have been corrupted just by seeing her in the halls, it was believed.
But we knew about her. And we did not want to emulate her. We knew she was married, living in her parent's rec room. That was all the rest of us needed to know to feel intensely sorry for her. She was as good as grounded for the next 10 years.
The fact that her 15-year-old husband was still allowed to attend school while she was put on home study did not strike us as in any way discriminatory. The fact that she was destined for divorce and single-motherhood did not even occur.
We didn't use the term single mother in the 1960s. We used the term divorcee. Divorcee didn't mean the same thing. It meant "party-time woman" not "living below the poverty level."
There were, actually, quite a few perils awaiting teenage girls of the 1960s, perils for which we had no definitions and absolutely no defenses. By the time I was in college I would know girls who threw up after dinner and girls who were raped on dates. I never thought to try to help them, to call a school counselor or the police. None of the grown-ups who were in charge knew, any more than I did, anything about "eating disorders" or "date rape."
For teenage girls in the 1990s, the world is a different place. There are many, many more opportunities, and maybe more dangers, too. At least now we have words to talk about the dangers.
So now we are the grown-ups in charge, those of us who were growing up in the 1950s, '60s and '70s. And how does our being in charge profit our daughters? Is there any way we can help them benefit from our painfully earned knowledge? Surely another generation of young women doesn't have to learn the hard way about bulimia or date rape or single motherhood.
That's the question. How to pass on the knowledge. It's something I think about every time a book about raising daughters comes across my desk. And it seems like there have been a lot of those books this year, a lot of authors trying to help parents pass on the knowledge.
Of all the books I've seen in the past year, two stand out as being the most thought-provoking. The first is Brett Harvey's book of interviews with women who are now approaching 60. "The Fifties, A Women's Oral History," shows us what is universal about growing up female (girls can get pregnant, girls care more than boys do about the way they look) while at the same time illuminating the ways in which growing up female in America have changed.
The second is a book that came out a few years ago, but it's a book I keep going back to. "Don't Stop Loving Me," by Ann Caron, will probably be on my bedside table until my own daughter reaches the age when I feel she is safely raised, however many years that may be.
No matter what happens along the way, to my daughter or any of the junior high girls I know, they won't be spending nine months hiding in a back room. Of this I am sure. Kitty Delson's story of bringing meals to her sister comes from the book, "The Fifties." It is a story that would never be repeated today.
But some of the other stories from "The Fifties" would be nice to repeat. Gwen Barnes talked of "coming from a truly functional family, the kind you see in the movies. We did the dishes together then we'd go into the living room and my mother would play the piano and we'd all stand around and sing."
Other women of the '50s talked of their passion for learning, of going off to college at Vassar and winning post-graduate fellowships, but of knowing all the time that they had only two choices after college: to marry the brightest and most interesting man they could find, or to become a professor at their alma mater. A spinster professor. There just weren't any role models for them. They didn't know any woman who was happily combining family and career.
What these women told Harvey was that during the 1950s, and into the '60s, they truly believed that "achievement and autonomy were simply incompatible with love and family."
So now, one small generation later, the world has changed and parents are supposed to raise daughters to be both autonomous and loving. We don't want them to have to hold back their talents. We want them to be able to support themselves. And we want them to have happy families of their own.
We know the choice is theirs, but we desperately want them not to choose drugs, bulimia, teen pregnancy or AIDS.
How to do it? How to raise a daughter in the '90s, when you yourself are a product of such a different world?
Ann Caron, in "Don't Stop Loving Me," says you just have to say that. You just have to tell your daughter about the girls you knew and the girl you were, when you were her age. You have to tell her about the worries you have for her now. And if she responds in kind, by telling you about her life and her friends' lives, you have to fight the urge to lock them all in a back room.
Though "Don't Stop Loving Me," is mostly for mothers, it includes an excellent chapter for dads.
Here are some other books, published within the past year, all of which have something worthwhile to say on the subject:
- "Mothers and Daughters," by Elena Bonner, Vintage, 349 pages; in paperback, $13.
This is the story of Elena Bonner's life, growing up in the Soviet Union. Bonner is better-known as Andrei Sakharov's wife; she chronicled their joint fight for human rights in her first book, "Alone Together." Now, she writes about the women in her family and the way they raised their daughters. She chronicles three generations of Russians; pre-revolutionary, communist and dissident, and describes each woman's ideals and way of showing love to her daughter.
- "Just for Me: The Self Esteem and Wellness Guide for Girls Ages 10-15," by Donna Ternes Wanner, Spiritseeker Publishing, 219 pages; In paperback, $16.95.
This is a workbook for girls along the lines of the Girl Scout Handbook, only without the badges. It gives recipes and weight charts and tips for communicating with teachers, parents and friends. Wanner teaches a modeling/self-esteem class for girls in Wyoming. She cares about teens.
The one thing I found lacking in her book was an acknowledgment of the limits of makeup. The only full-color illustration in the book is an illustration of eye-shadow colors. This sends a certain message to girls. I wanted Wanner to balance that message by saying, "Once you learn how to apply makeup neatly, your life is not over. You will not automatically marry Prince Charming and even if you do, you still might have challenges in your life. You might get breast cancer. Or have a baby with birth defects. When the really big stuff hits, you will need friends and a spiritual life. You will not find solace at the cosmetic counter."
- "From Mission to Metropolis, Cupeno Indian Women in Los Angeles," by Diana Meyers Bahr, University of Oklahoma Press, 184 pages.
With 150 members, the Cupenos are one of the smallest bands of the California Mission Indians. Diana Meyers Bahr traces three generations of women to illustrate how tribal values can persist and be passed on in even the craziest of cultures. There is a message here for those of us who would like to retain something of the 1950s in our family lies.
- "Mom, You Don't Understand, A Daughter and Mother Share Their Views," by Carol Koffinke and Julie Jordan, Deaconess Press, 224 pages; in paperback, $8.98.
To intrude or not to intrude on her privacy, how to talk about changes in the family brought on by divorce, what to say when your daughter's social life is suffering and she seems sad - these and other timely topics of the '90s are discussed by a teen and a mom.
- "The Mother Daughter Revolution, From Betrayal to Power," by Elizabeth Debold, Marie Wilson, and Idelisse Malave, Addison-Wesley, 290 pages, $22.95.
This book explains how the empowered mother can change the world with her daughter. It is scary because it makes you examine all the less-than-empowered messages you've been emitting to the world at large and to your daughter in particular.
- "Failing at Fairness, How America's Schools Cheat Girls," by Myra and David Sadker, Macmillan, 325 pages, $22.
"Failing at Fairness" relies heavily on research that shows girls' self-esteem suffers more than boys' during adolescence. That research, done by the American Association of University Women, is now being called into question. So that's one problem with Myra and David Sadker's book. Another problem is a feeling I get when I read the book that some of this is outdated. In fact the world is changing, and elementary and high school teachers are making great efforts to make sure girls get the same educational opportunities as boys.
But the part of "Failing at Fairness" that shouldn't be dismissed, and the reason this is a valuable book, is the part that talks about the complexity of young women's lives. You are left asking yourself this question: How much can schools do about incest, violence in the home and teen pregnancy?
- "In My Place," by Charlayne Hunter-Gault, Vintage, 255 pages; in paperback, $11.
I am always looking for biographies of exciting women to give to the teens I know. Charlayne Hunter-Gault's autobiography is great, not only because she tells her story simply and well, but because girls of today know who she is, they've had a chance to see her on PBS's "MacNeil/Lerher News-Hour."
In 1961 she became the first black woman to attend the University of Georgia. She is in a unique position to talk about racism to today's youngsters.