Jennifer Horgan: Give teenagers developing their social fluency a little bit of leeway

We must be careful not to create this societal idea that young boys are a problem. They are not our problem; they are our responsibility

Young people are often misinterpreted, expected to possess a social fluency they’re only in the process of learning; they are growing, not fully grown.

It’s on principle alone that I try not to write about the same topic twice in a row. I’m not egotistical enough to think anyone would notice.

But I was brought back to last week’s column, about our negative portrayal of young people, on Monday afternoon.

The incident happened just after I’d boarded the 2pm Cork train at Heuston. 

Travelling with my three children, we were busily stuffing away bags, a giant box of Lego and multiple teddy bears. 

I had failed to notice how generously we’d packed when we got a lift by car two days before. My youngest was saying how much she likes trains. 

“This could only get better if is it was a steam train like in Harry Potter,” my second daughter added. 

Poor souls — they’ve already inherited my oftentimes frustrated love of all things bygone.

I had settled into reading Neil Tullly’s debut The Visit (referencing JFK’s trip to Wexford in 1963) about a quasi father-son relationship between a local police officer, Jim Field and an orphaned social outcast, Patrick Hatten. 

Little did I know that the theme of paternalistic responsibility was about to play out beside me.

It started when a boy, around my son’s age (15-16) arrived into the carriage.

“Sorry, you’re in my seat,” he said to the woman across from us.

Teenagers still learning about social interactions

She got up to move but not before adding, “You could have asked nicely.” I understood her point to some extent. 

You’re in my seat is slightly accusatory. It lacks tact. But I also know from teaching teenagers that they’re still learning about such social interactions.

As people become more socially adept, they learn to include hedges in their speech.

In linguistics a hedge is a word or phrase to express ambiguity and nuance; it is a sort of dressing up of language to soften the message.

An adult might have said: “I’m sorry, I think you might be in the wrong seat. This is carriage D, right?” We learn to be diplomatic over time, but some teenagers aren’t there yet.

The boy’s approach was literal. I knew he meant no harm or offence.

“I did ask nicely,” he replied. “I’m sorry but I need to charge my phone.”

At this point, the male partner got involved. “You did not, you little prick.” This is where (as you can imagine) I intervened.

I think there was a misunderstanding. He wasn’t trying to be rude. 

To this, the adult male snorted: “I think you’re better off minding your own business.” 

By now the boy had moved into the window seat, across from the man and hemmed in by the woman. The adult male, satisfied that he had shut me up, crouched down towards the table, leaning in.

“I’ve met countless little pricks like you before.” Speaking low and hunched forward, I struggled to hear what else he was spitting across the table but I could see terror in the boy’s face.

“Do you want to come and sit with my children,” I said, with emphasis on the final word to remind the adult male that he was speaking to an unaccompanied minor.

The boy said he was fine. I could see him trying to speak back to the man and I gestured at him not to bother.

At this point (and to my great relief) another woman approached and offered the boy an empty seat next to her. Steeled by the support, he stood up.

I could see him tremble as he said to his aggressor. “Look around you; the whole train is against you.”

I was proud of him for saying it, despite knowing it would have little impact.

Young people are often misinterpreted

Why am I sharing this story? Well, for one thing it is sadly representative of how young people are often misinterpreted, expected to possess a social fluency they’re only in the process of learning.

They are growing, not fully grown. 

There are natural differences between generations, particularly when it comes to communication. 

Certainly, young people can behave poorly and they can feel threatening, being so lithe and strong, travelling in groups. 

But to lose faith in them generally, as a collective, is to lose faith in the future.

The incident also reminded me that male role models impact young boys more than anyone. Male role models so often decide the paths our young boys take. 

People who expect the best from them, sports coaches, male teachers, and father figures are key to their development. We need more of them.

Yes, two women came to the teenager’s defence but we couldn’t erase the damage done, the social humiliation. 

Boy bullied by a large adult male

I heard the boy telling the other woman he had been ‘terrified’ having been bullied by a large adult male — a man quick to anger, masquerading as a protector, fighting nobody but the jeering shadows of his own ego.

It is wonderful to improve our resourcing in schools and to roll out every plan and measure to tackle male violence. 

But we must be careful not to create this societal idea that young boys are the problem. They are not our problem; they are our responsibility.

It is everyone’s job to teach them, everyone’s job to be patient, to not jump to the conclusion that they are beyond help, that they are rude and insolent little ‘pricks’ for someone else to manage.

The woman who gave the boy a seat was also a teacher. The whole exchange felt reflective of our time — women, the people who spend the most time with young people, trying to battle the ignorance of a certain kind of man.

I heard the bully mutter something about it “always being the mothers” who jump to the defence of boys. I’m sure he’d say the same about teachers.

There is still a feeling out there that young people should bow their heads in deference to adults, but the world has changed. 

Society is less authoritarian, less formal, less fear-based.

Young people approach adults more casually.

Adults have changed too. We no longer wear shirts and ties to work. Some days we don’t even leave our homes to work. We no longer polish our shoes and press our trousers. We write texts and emails, not letters.

God, I wish we’d still write letters and travel around in steam engines … I’d be the first to bring horses and carts back into our cities, but it’s not going to happen.

 And we have no right to demand young boys behave like Victorian servants while we enjoy the spoils of modernisation.

Perhaps the boy on the train could have worded his request for the seat better, but that was an opportunity for the adult male to teach him. 

Instead, he decided to call him a ‘little prick’ — lumping him in with other ‘little pricks’ he’d met.

Unsurprisingly, he scuttled off the train the second we arrived at Kent station, as did the woman. The rest of the carriage checked in on the boy. There is hope in that.