Last night I found myself hanging with ‘the girls’ in Modiin. We picnic’d next to a man-made lake somewhere along the road near the mall. It’s like a (very) poor man’s Central Park. In a good way.
I watched groups of teenage boys go back and forth in their boats, fighting each other with oars, calling each other names, laughing, enjoying shtuyot on a summer evening.
Modiin is no Ra’anana, but I heard plenty of English thrown around with the Hebrew. A name here, an accent there. Cargo shorts/arse haircuts, skater sneakers/t-shirts with stupid writing. A tall, lanky boy with shaggy hair and an American mouth.
As if it’s not terrifying enough to know that one day I’ll be the mother of a teenage boy.