I kinda made fun of her, too. Since she grew up 75 miles away from me in Louisiana, my students hovered when she shopped at the mall (“she has really bad acne”). Some claimed they knew someone who knew her in high school who said she was trashy.
My dental hygienist knew her mom. The pizza guy hated her dad.
And so, maybe 15 years ago, I wrote a paper for the Popular Culture Association’s national meeting on “The Gossip about Britney Spears.” I reported the plastic surgery rumors; I quoted my jazz professor about her stellar arrangements. A student who lost to Britney in eighth-grade gymnastics still held a grudge.
But Britney herself seemed like a sad cookie. She had no childhood, never had any privacy. Had no chance to learn, grow, read. When she rebelled, her family took away her legal rights.
I didn’t insist that my students empathize – but I should have. We should have celebrated her work ethic, condemned the adults who were mocking and using her, and honored her survival.
I would do better now.
