! Teenager Seen From Above

The teenager around the house, confronted with the suggestion that God smiles on him, would be rabbit-stunned beyond reaction; but, inspect him thoroughly from toe to top (leaving aside his as yet creditable carbon footprint; cash-strapped is carbon-friendly) : the trainers, sweat-made in the Third World, now look as if they’re back there; they’ve been known to walk out of the room from under the bed in sheer self-disgust; the forever jeans, customised with a designer rip just above the knee, are of that subtle shade where worn meets dirty; the ‘top’ – at least there’s some hint there of choice; sending out coded messages which groan-ups cannot read; could be footie with the boys; or could even be let’s sleep together, no big deal.. we’ll just have to wait and see, or guess; the face, now: that gets little attention first thing in the morning; but in the evening it’s a different ball-game; Mum’s facial things have even been known to be employed when rumblings of an imminent socio-visual eruption threaten; but, the hair… thirty, twenty years ago if someone his age took this long at the mirror, we’d either be considering counselling, or buying him Judy Garland records… eventually, he’s out from there; the immaculately tousled gleaming wildness is a sennight’s tribute to the week’s Top Ten… angels, passing over, smile to themselves at the view from above; murmur at what a well-groomed lot the humans are these days. Maybe it’s time to haul out Great-Granma’s hand-stitched sampler from the loft, and put it back in the downstairs loo, where we used to think it such a joke in our first-house years – ‘God Sees All'...