...to Remember Boom Boxes (Part II)

Since they were toddlers capable of making lots of noise and inserting themselves into the lives of all people within an 100 yard radius, my kids learned from the Italian Mama that behaving properly in public means disturbing as few people as possible, as little as possible. On my seemingly interminable New York City commutes to my first job out of college, disturbing as many people as possible, preferably to an intolerable degree, was a goal achieved by many young men who appeared to be otherwise disenfranchised. Surrounded by people dressed for the office or lugging backpacks for school, the Boom Box Brigade sported baggy jeans, unlaced hiking boots, and bomber jackets over t-shirts. They were not riding the 4 train to Wall Street. I couldn't help but feel that the loud music, the lumbering gait (under the weight of that damned boom box!), and the disheveled clothing was a demonstration of power from the powerless, a literal shout out "I matter if only because I am assaulting your eardrums and eyeballs right now!"

Contrast these loud, imposing, and hard-to-ignore young people with today's young music lovers. Their iPods or iPhones tucked discreetly in their pockets, they silently enjoy their music and glide through society disturbing only those they might bump into as they silently text their friends. The Italian Mama believes that today's plugged in youth may feel more empowered in more constructive ways than their counterparts from 30 years ago. They don't need to aurally and visually assault everyone in their vicinity in order to feel validated. Their ability to shape public discourse and even overthrow governments on social media and other Internet forums enables them to say, "Hey, I matter!" in much more effective ways than boom boxes once did for their generation. The Twitter Revolutions in Iran, Egypt, and Ukraine demonstrate the immense power young people and others hold in their hands when they log on to tweet, post, like and unlike.

The Italian Mama is old enough to remember the fruitless sounds emanating from boom boxes and thanks the Internet for giving young people a way to be heard that matters.

...to Remember Boom Boxes (Part I)

In the 1980s, I spent a lot of time on commuter trains in the greater New York metropolitan area. My journey to work began on the first of two PATH trains in New Jersey, the second of which dropped me off in the basement of the now-destroyed World Trade Center. From there I caught the subway to mid-town Manhattan to begin my workday 90 minutes after leaving my home in Harrison, NJ. All of this time on public transportation gave me ample opportunity to observe and ponder many social phenomena and survival mechanisms in tightly crammed public spaces.

Most people on these long, uncomfortable commutes tried to make themselves as invisible and small as possible in order to afford at least the illusion that they might enjoy some personal space, if only an inch or two. Then there were the those who would not be ignored.

In those days, long before Steven Jobs and his creative geniuses could dream of the iPod, there was the boom box. Although it served the same function as the iPod, the boom box was the total antithesis of the iPod in every aspect except in its ability to provide musical entertainment away from the home stereo. It was heavy; it had no easy means of transportation, maybe a handle; it's musical selections could be customized only by adjusting a radio station or changing a cassette tape (remember those?!). And yet, they were popular. Especially popular among subway-riding, sidewalk-walking urban youth, boom boxes proclaimed to the world not only the owner's musical taste but something much more existential. Seeing so many of these nomadic DJs, I couldn't help but notice the guys with the swaggiest swagger, the struttiest strut were the ones hoisting the bulkiest boom boxes. On any given day, I might encounter half a dozen young men hauling around boom boxes that looked like control panels from Cape Canaveral. Hey guys, are we guiding the Space Shuttle into orbit or listening to music?

The Italian Mama thinks neither.

...to Feel All Eyes on Me

Before there were surveillance cameras on every light post; before there were cell phones in every hand; before there were TV crews pretending to document the real lives of people who are famous for having TV film crews document their real lives, there was me in my sixth grade classroom imagining all of these things. So enamored of celebrity and fame was I, that by the time I was twelve I was the star of my own imaginary reality TV program. In my little fantasy, there were camera crews that traveled with me, fixed cameras in all the places I regularly frequented, and secret cameras I didn't even know about. It sounds so silly now, but it was one of the few episodes I can remember where my imagination took a flight of fancy to places I couldn't go in real life. Hey, I was on TV!

Another fringe benefit of this adolescent preoccupation was that I was always very aware of how my actions and conversations were perceived by others...well, mostly just the TV audience. A klutzy move on the playground? Oooo, how would that play on TV? A heated argument with a friend? Ugh, that might not make such a good impression of the star. A well-chosen contribution to class? Yeah! That's what people want to see from a star. These were the thoughts that occupied my fertile mind while I was supposed to be learning about the Fertile Crescent.

Crazy as this childish fantasy sounds, now that cameras actually are ubiquitous and every public action can be recorded and posted to the Internet, many people might do well to share in my concerns with appearances.  Sitting poolside last summer, enjoying the shenanigans of a gaggle of teenagers, I overheard some of their conversation. The boys were doing their best to impress the girls, who were doing their best to seem unimpressed but still interested enough to keep the boys trying. It was all very amusing, and I felt a little like my old film crew secretly watching the real lives of its subjects. Suddenly, the group turned their attention to three new pool guests as they entered.  Among all the other people streaming into the park, these guests drew attention because they were dressed in long dark pants with suspenders, plain long-sleeved shirts, and straw hats.  Yep, these Amish boys had come to swim with the English.  As I wondered what Amish people wear to swim, I noticed how conspicuous their Amish clothing seemed in this setting where most people were half naked.  No doubt they felt the same way.

As if following a script, my teenage reality TV stars began to giggle and "whisper" about the odd-looking threesome entering the pool area. The boys laughed, chattered, and stared at the Amish kids, secure in their own ability to attract the girls' attention when the competition sported such funny clothes. The girls tried not to look at all. As the newly-arrived pool guests ducked into the changing room, the chatter died down, and I clucked my tongue a bit thinking how predictable this show's script was. New writers, please!

The boys settled back into dunking each other and their female companions, and the faux mating rites continued, until the swimsuit-clad Amish kids emerged from the changing room. Cue the slo-mo and "I'm Too Sexy"! The three Amish boys, ages ten to sixteen, strolled down the pool deck almost as conspicuously as when they were dressed, but instead of modelling the latest fashions from the 17th century, these boys sported the most well-defined and chiseled muscles this side of the Mr. America contest. Ripped biceps, carved pectorals, and rippling abs glistened in the bright sunshine. My teenage friends fell silent.

The girls, again, tried not to look, but their efforts were in vain.  They were riveted.  The boys really tried not to look and worked desperately to shift the attention back to themselves. I smiled broadly and thought how all of this embarrassment could have been avoided if only the young men had been aware that they were being watched. (That and if they had been a little more secure and open-minded.) Would they really want an audience to see how foolish they looked when the subjects of their derision so easily captivated the attention of their girlfriends?


There are all kinds of social, moral, and ethical reasons to avoid doing foolish, unkind, unethical, and criminal things. A quick look around, even in the mirror, shows that these reasons are not always compelling enough. So I'd like to add another:  these days the Italian Mama advises her students and her own children not to do anything stupid when cameras are around. And since there are always cameras around, just don't do anything stupid. Someone is always watching you and the view might just be permanent. (Just ask Dzhokhar Tsarnaev.)