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I remember the thrill of my first crush, heavily influenced by the likes of Molly Ringwald. Growing up with older siblings, I was introduced to the iconic Brat Pack at an early age, rewatching Pretty in Pink and Sixteen Candles more times than I can count. I envisioned myself as Samantha Baker, perched on that enchanting table, receiving a kiss from Jake Ryan, the warm candlelight highlighting his flawless features. I was well-versed in teenage angst long before I hit my own teenage years, analyzing every moment of those films.
For me, these teen romance movies served as my textbooks on love. I studied the fashion, the flirtatious quips, and those perfect pauses before the first kiss. Each viewing was an exercise in empathy; I immersed myself in the characters’ experiences. When the lead character felt alone at the dance, my heart sank; when she finally won over the boy, I felt elated.
But my admiration didn’t stop with Molly. I could recite nearly every line and mimic Patrick Dempsey’s cringe-worthy dance moves in Can’t Buy Me Love, a film that inspired my own lawn-mowing fantasy romance. Fast forward to today, and while my fashion sense (and hair) may suggest otherwise, I’m no longer that teen with dreams of locker encounters. Though I didn’t marry one of those teen heartthrobs plastered on my walls, I did find a charming partner, and now I watch these films with my own teenagers.
I’ve shared some of my cherished classics with my 16-year-old son, carefully selecting those that aren’t too cringy by modern standards. Occasionally, we venture into more recent films he’s spotted on social media. Recently, he recommended Spontaneous, a movie described by Wikipedia as an “American science fiction romantic black comedy film.”
I won’t spoil it, but every one of those descriptors is accurate. However, I will say that we all loathed the ending. The film contained a romantic plotline that would have thrilled my younger self—complete with stolen kisses, a barn dance, and a killer soundtrack. But something unexpected happened.
Rather than experiencing the story through the teenage protagonist’s eyes, I found myself viewing it from a parental perspective. Instead of swooning over the couple’s sweet dance, I pondered whether her parents were worried about her being out late. When tragedy struck for the parents in the film, I felt their pain deeply. It was a peculiar feeling, exercising the same empathy, but directed toward the adults rather than the teens. Although I’m over 40, I had previously engaged with these movies from the viewpoint of the adolescent girl, not the practical, protective mother.
Perhaps my perspective changed because I was watching with my son, feeling an urge to seize every teaching moment. “I hope they’re being safe,” I whispered during a more intimate scene, catching the eye-roll he gave me from across the couch.
It might also be that today’s teen films tackle more serious issues. They delve into themes like mental health and the darker realities of adolescence. While my favorite films like The Breakfast Club hinted at these topics, they didn’t dominate the narrative as they do now. Now, through the lens of motherhood, I view these darker themes with concern for my post-pandemic teens, who are learning to navigate a challenging world during an already tumultuous time.
But it’s not just the films that have evolved; I’ve changed, too. Motherhood has made me more protective and emotional. I worry more about the real-life consequences of mistakes, health issues, and heartbreaks. I can’t watch these films without thinking about the young men sitting beside me, eager to explore relationships and the world beyond our home. When I first watched those beloved Molly Ringwald movies, I was ready to take on the world; now, I want to ensure that world is safe for my adventurous teens.
Since this shift in perspective, I haven’t revisited the magical films of my youth. I’m not prepared to view Sixteen Candles through the eyes of Brenda Baker, the frazzled mother who forgot her daughter’s birthday. And if I were to watch Can’t Buy Me Love from a parental viewpoint, would I find myself sympathizing with Cindy Mancini’s mom when her luxurious jacket gets ruined? I hope not. I still want to escape to the back of that mower, where happy endings are guaranteed and worries are few.
For now, I will continue to watch films with my son, even if my new perspective has dimmed some of the carefree joy for me. I will also try to hold back my unsolicited parental advice so that he can fully enjoy the experience. While I feel for the struggling parents on-screen, I’ll root for their kids, hoping they find their own happy endings—filled with memorable moments and perfect soundtracks.
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Summary
This article discusses the shift in perspective that comes with parenthood when watching teen movies. The author reflects on how her view has changed from identifying with the adolescent characters to relating more with the adult figures, experiencing their concerns and challenges. As she shares films with her own teenage son, she grapples with the realities of parenting and the themes of modern teen films, while also recognizing the importance of allowing her son to enjoy these moments without overstepping her role as a parent.
Keyphrase: Teen movies from a parent’s perspective
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