Eavesdropping on teenagers is my latest obsession. Whether they’re on the subway, hanging out in front of the Mojo, sitting on the playground wall at PS 321, or crammed into a booth at Pino’s, observing and listening to them has become a hobby with me.

And there are so many of them. There must have been a demographic bulge back in the early 1990’s. It seems that they outnumber babies in Park Slope. No, I take that back: there are still plenty of moms pushing strollers or wearing newbies on their chests. But the teens are more noticible — and they take up so much room.

Maybe it’s because I have a teen of my own that I notice them at all. Before I had a baby, I never noticed babies. After my son was born it was all I could see:  everyone seemed to have a baby. I guess it’s that ‘takes one to notice ’em’ thing.

Still, these funky citizens of Park Slope are a sight to see in their retro-grunge, retro-punk outfits. It’s such an interesting age: the age of identity. They like nothing better than to hang out in large groups. Touching, hitting, hugging — physical contact is important as is smoking and other forbidden activities.

Truth is, I am a teen voyeur for my own selfish reasons. Certainly, it gives me insight into what might lie ahead for my son. But even more, it gives me a chance to remember my high school years hanging out on Columbus Avenue, getting pizza with my friends, and feeling like the city was my oyster.

Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB