I've got a couple of nieces with Beiber Fever. (One, with something more akin to the Beib-onic Plague!) Each of you probably has a fellow loved one who will squeal at deafening units of loudness when that song comes on the radio.
As much as I may roll my eyes to fit in with the older ranks, it wouldn't be honest to pretend I can't empathize with these teeny-boppers. Probably because I grew up with a little band called:
Yep, those same guys limping around on tour this summer with the Backstreet Boys. (I just assume they're limping around because I am at this age. I can't imagine them still swinging their legs around to the "Oh-oh-oh-oh oh!" of the Right Stuff, but more power to them if they can!) I loved those boys and probably still wouldn't turn one away from my doorstep.
When I hear my niece squealing, getting mad at Selena Gomez or as I watch her add another poster to the wall, I'm sitting back and feeling fine. While other grown-ups are catching the hives from their daughter's/niece's/granddaughter's fever, I'm remembering the saving grace of teeny-bopper crushes: Saving yourself for _______. (In my case, Joey McIntyre.)
Your little girl will, most likely, not have her innocence stolen by The Biebs. She's just hoping she will. And, as an indirect result every pimply-faced boy at school will suffer in comparison and not have a chance in Hades of stealing her attention away. No need to buy her an expensive chastity ring. A simple Beiber button from the 7-11 will suffice.
Never mind her spending all her allowance on posters, magazines, concert tickets and dolls. I did the same thing. See:
She may spend hours doing this:
But, remember those are hours she could have spent learning to roll joints behind the neighborhood dumpster. She's just honing her creative skills. (And, that's my younger brother's arm you see in these. Bonus: Teen crushes may also breed sibling comraderie!)
Yes, you may find altered magazine clippings around the house:
That's okay, she's also practicing her editing skills.
So, you may as well look up that blonde-banged too-hip-to-be-hop pipsqueak's fan club address and put it somewhere for safe keeping. Trust me on this. Because, in a few years when your daughter turns 16 and not pregnant, you're going to owe that Beiber a thank you card.