I did some dumb shit when I was a teenager. Dumb. Like if I caught Jonah doing some of the things that I did, he would never leave the house again.

Two things saved me from disaster. My parents and the fact that nobody (especially myself) kept a permanent record of my actions. Because I was a moron, I am quite certain that I would have taken Vine videos and Instagram shots of myself drinking on the steep cliffs that overlook the Hudson River.

Still, my dumb shit seems tame to more recent stories about teenage behavior.

Must read: Sexting, Shame, and Suicide by Nina Burleigh in Rolling Stone Magazine.

Naomi Schoefer Riley in the  New York Post asks,

How in God’s name do I make sure that my children are never exposed to that kind of cruelty? That they never inflict it on anyone else? And how do I make them into the kind of kids who stand up for the Audries of the world?