THIS KID IS AMISH AND ON A BINGE
By LINDA STASI
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May 28, 2002 -- "Devil's Playground"
Thursday at 8:30 p.m. on Cinemax
POP-QUIZ time.
How do you think Amish teens celebrate their 16th birthdays?
A) They go off to pray and meditate for 366 days. B) They make a big coming-of-age quilt that gets sold for huge cash to dopey tourists. C) They do a gigantic amount of drugs, sex and rock 'n' roll.
If you picked "A," you are a big loser.
If you picked "B," you are guilty of cheesy stereotyping.
But if you picked "C," you are not only right, but are a better psychic than Miss Cleo. (But then again, even I'm a better psychic than Miss Cleo.)
Yes, upon turning 16, Amish teens often leave home, immediately head for a mall where they buy giant jeans, get bad haircuts, talk like homeboys, get their pictures taken, sleep around like mad and do as much pot, crank and acid as they can without dropping dead.
Then, when they've either had enough of the "English" life or are on the lam from the cops, those same Amish teens more often than not go back and get baptized into the Amish church.
If you think I'm lying, see for yourself in "Devil's Playground," a Cinemax documentary on the Amish rite of passage (or, more accurately, rite of passion) called Rumspringa, which translates into "running around." I swear. And it's with their parents' blessing - even the premarital-sex part. Who knew?
Turns out that Amish are Anabaptists, which means that, among other things, they do not baptize babies at birth, but allow them to come of age, experience life in the outside - or, as they call it, the "English" world - before deciding whether or not they care to join the religion for themselves.
This very interesting documentary follows a bunch of Indiana Amish teens on Rumspringa, recording everything from their first tastes of freedom to their final decisions about whether or not they will return to the church and live their lives under hats, bonnets, long clothes and with no electricity.
Apparently, most of them do return - somewhere over 90 percent, in fact.
But man! Before going back to the world of quilting bees (they are allowed to attend school only until the eighth grade so that they don't become too prideful or some darned thing), many of them live life to such excess that most American kids would be in teen heaven.
We're talking drug dealing and $100-a-day drug habits, living with other kids in trailers, and throwing raves on Amish land with thousands of Amish kids who show up from all around the country.
It's insane. And the documentary is riveting. It follows five kids who are experiencing life on the outside and end up in all sorts of situations - from turning snitch to avoid jail, to getting accepted into college with just an eighth-grade education - knowing that it means never returning to the religion - to following a gorgeous Amish teen who looks like a supermodel and ends up in an Amish settlement in Florida.
You won't believe your eyes. You also will have a different view of life next time you drive to Lancaster, Pa., to gawk at the Amish with their horses and buggies.
I was suprised to know this.
By LINDA STASI
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
May 28, 2002 -- "Devil's Playground"
Thursday at 8:30 p.m. on Cinemax
POP-QUIZ time.
How do you think Amish teens celebrate their 16th birthdays?
A) They go off to pray and meditate for 366 days. B) They make a big coming-of-age quilt that gets sold for huge cash to dopey tourists. C) They do a gigantic amount of drugs, sex and rock 'n' roll.
If you picked "A," you are a big loser.
If you picked "B," you are guilty of cheesy stereotyping.
But if you picked "C," you are not only right, but are a better psychic than Miss Cleo. (But then again, even I'm a better psychic than Miss Cleo.)
Yes, upon turning 16, Amish teens often leave home, immediately head for a mall where they buy giant jeans, get bad haircuts, talk like homeboys, get their pictures taken, sleep around like mad and do as much pot, crank and acid as they can without dropping dead.
Then, when they've either had enough of the "English" life or are on the lam from the cops, those same Amish teens more often than not go back and get baptized into the Amish church.
If you think I'm lying, see for yourself in "Devil's Playground," a Cinemax documentary on the Amish rite of passage (or, more accurately, rite of passion) called Rumspringa, which translates into "running around." I swear. And it's with their parents' blessing - even the premarital-sex part. Who knew?
Turns out that Amish are Anabaptists, which means that, among other things, they do not baptize babies at birth, but allow them to come of age, experience life in the outside - or, as they call it, the "English" world - before deciding whether or not they care to join the religion for themselves.
This very interesting documentary follows a bunch of Indiana Amish teens on Rumspringa, recording everything from their first tastes of freedom to their final decisions about whether or not they will return to the church and live their lives under hats, bonnets, long clothes and with no electricity.
Apparently, most of them do return - somewhere over 90 percent, in fact.
But man! Before going back to the world of quilting bees (they are allowed to attend school only until the eighth grade so that they don't become too prideful or some darned thing), many of them live life to such excess that most American kids would be in teen heaven.
We're talking drug dealing and $100-a-day drug habits, living with other kids in trailers, and throwing raves on Amish land with thousands of Amish kids who show up from all around the country.
It's insane. And the documentary is riveting. It follows five kids who are experiencing life on the outside and end up in all sorts of situations - from turning snitch to avoid jail, to getting accepted into college with just an eighth-grade education - knowing that it means never returning to the religion - to following a gorgeous Amish teen who looks like a supermodel and ends up in an Amish settlement in Florida.
You won't believe your eyes. You also will have a different view of life next time you drive to Lancaster, Pa., to gawk at the Amish with their horses and buggies.
I was suprised to know this.
