TDOC, Chapter 1: The Lost Generation

I do realize that I have just entitled this little number “An Essay,” but allow me to commence by asking your permission to be a little flexible with the genre and share a narrative story of sorts. The story goes as follows. There was once a girl who always did well in school, mostly for the reason that she had basically no life, and who also had big dreams of having some sort of vaguely-defined adventurous experience, probably due to the fact that she had read far too many books over the years whose titles began with the phrase “The Adventures Of.” Time, after all, being rather otherwise than static, this girl eventually graduated from high school and attended her home school high school graduation. As her various (non)classmates share their journeys, hopes and aspirations for the future, she cringes as most of them recite a long list of grades, competitions and clubs, and she looks nervously down at her statement, which according to the recommendations of her mother consists mostly of “Violet is so grateful to her family.” However, as the ceremony drags on and on in a very boring way, she begins to notice another trend in the statements of the feminine segment of the graduating class: girl after girl describes their future plans as simply wanting to get married and have children. Imagine that! The girl tosses her head and congratulates herself on the fact that she is not like those frivolous and shallow-minded other girls. She has not wasted one moment of her teenage years on boys, dating, and the subsequent emotional damage. Rather, she has spent this time on more important things, such as preventing Awana children from killing themselves in the church parking lot, watching a set collection of about 20 VHS’s, and cleaning out the family garage an insane number of times. Right now, she is going to attend a local college, write the great American novel, and participate in as many short-term mission trips as possible. As she mounts the platform to receive her hard-earned diploma, a surge of emotional elation, or maybe adrenaline, courses through her, and she realizes the immense potential that such an decidedly single individual as she is going to bring to the world.
Fast-forward to almost exactly three years later. The very same girl, once so ecstatic and confident, is now basically an insecure, confused, 21-year-old emotional basket-case who is beginning this essay, which she will most probably never share with anyone, at 1:45 in the morning on a Friday night. What happened? No one knows for sure, but it is evident that this girl has realized that a life consisting solely of college, mission trips, and yes, even writing gets really old after a while. This girl has almost no male friends of any sort, and has at least 4 unanswered friend requests on Facebook because they are from acquaintances of the male persuasion, and last time she befriended a very, very casual male acquaintance on Facebook her mother interrogated her about it. After college graduation, which will occur in approximately one year, this girl plans to get a job in town and try to earn some money. This girl looks back at diary entries she wrote around the time of high school graduation, and feels that she is reaping what she has sown. This girl, by the way, is me. And, although she asked her dad a few days ago exactly where her family lay on the spectrum of dating vs. courtship and her dad told her he hadn’t really thought about it yet, her dad stated that definitely, if the question is made into a dichotomy, this girl’s family is a courting family.
This otherwise rather pointless little narrative makes a very nice cognitive connection to the real topic of this essay, which I have entitled “The Dangers of Courtship.” Ah, I’ve tricked you there, haven’t I. You thought I was going to say “The Dangers of Dating.” Alas, dear reader, alliteration is only the first of many things you shall be forced to dispense with when reading this essay. But I feel that you are fully capable of dealing with said deprivation. After all, I now feel that I’ve been living rather some time without any indication that my life would ever consist of anything more romantic than walking the family dog.