A Letter To Justin Bieber
Dear J.B.,
Is it ok if I call you J.B.? I’ve watched you go through puberty in front of my very eyes. That must be why I feel comfortable referring to you by your initials, J.B., even though your real name is Justin Drew Bieber.
As the voyeuristic world watches your tragic downward spiral that led to your recent DUI arrest, I’m sticking by your side, as any good mom would do with her own child. Some reporters speculate your bizarre behavior and verbal rampage with the cops might be a marketing scheme to change your pop star image to be the quintessential bad boy. Everyone has their opinion. But I think you’re crying out for help. Then again, I’m a mom. You’re following the same footsteps of so many other troubled young celebs—Miley Cyrus, Lindsay Lohan, Amanda Bynes to name a few in your generation.
I wonder what your mom is going through right now as her son’s smiling mug shot dominates the national news and gains more media coverage than the terrorist threats in the Sochi winter Olympics.
Is she hiding your embarrassing escapades from your younger brother? Unfortunately, she has no control over your booze and drug binges, nor does she have a say in who you choose to hang out with. You’re considered an adult, sort of, even though you’re acting like a spoiled baby and legally you’re not old enough to drink alcohol. Then again, you can afford to buy your own mansion. It must be a confusing time. And where’s your manager Scooter Braun, the Jewish guy who discovered you on YouTube and taught you how to say the Shema before you go on stage? If he’s a father figure to you, is he encouraging you to get help? I hope so. And speaking of your father, I think you have unresolved abandonment issues, but I’m no psychiatrist. And your ex-girlfriend Selena Gomez, you made such a cute couple, I bet she’s wondering what the hell happened to you.
At age 19, you obviously live in the fast lane. A lot of people depend on you for their livelihood. That’s a lot of pressure. The more rich and famous you get, the more everyone wants a piece of you, even your estranged father. It’s hard to know who you can trust. And that’s a challenge for us all, but especially you.
No one denies you have enormous talent, and you work hard to be the best singer/songwriter and entertainer you can be. Over the years, you’ve been an idol to so many young fans, and, as a result, you’re a role model even though you never signed up for that responsibility. During your rise to fame, your squeaky clean image and signature bangs won the hearts of so many girls and even parents like me. I admit it. I had Bieber Fever. In 2011, I even wrote about you in my book Mishegas of Motherhood, which you can read right here.  In the same chapter, I also wrote about how scientific studies prove that the underdeveloped adolescent brain is susceptible to high-risk behavior and has no sense of consequences.
In my book, I documented how much fun I had when I took my daughter, who was 12 at the time, and her friend to see the 3D biopic-concert film Justin Bieber: Never Say Never. We ate popcorn and wore those silly glasses. I understood why these middle schoolers had a crush on you.  A year later, at your sold-out concert at Scottrade Center in St Louis, I took pictures of her and her friends standing next to your cardboard statue.
We sat close to the stage, it was amazing, and they joined thousands of screaming fans make heart shape hands in the air.
In the car ride home, we belted out “Baby, Baby, Baby, Oooh.†We knew all the lyrics. Now my daughter is 15, but she still wears your black concert t-shirt to bed. She paid 35 bucks for that souvenir with her own birthday money. On the front of the t-shirt is your face with your spiked hairdo, and the back has the names of the cities on the 2012 Believe tour. The other day she learned on the Internet that you dropped $75,000 at a strip club. She laughed, and thinks you’re a loser now, but she still wears the oversized comfy nightshirt. She won’t admit it, but deep down inside, she must feel let down in a way, maybe disillusioned is the better word. And I feel sad. There’s not many people in the limelight to admire anymore. Actors, singers, athletes, teachers, politicians, leaders…they’ve all fallen off their pedestals. These kind of people don’t belong on pedestals in the first place. But the real tragedy is that the morals and values of the world have sunk to an all-time low. Even worse, kids today have become numb to the headlines about school massacres, mall shootings, kidnappings, bombings, etc. The least newsworthy is fallen celebrities, like you, who are being used to boost ratings and pollute the consciences of our young people.
I used to tell my teenager not to believe everything she reads on the Internet, especially the celebrity gossip. I guess I’m trying to protect your image for some stupid reason. But I can’t make excuses anymore. You could have killed yourself or an innocent person on your wild ride in the rented yellow Lamborghini. A lot of teenagers (and adults) do stupid things, but you’re in the spotlight, and everybody knows your business. Welcome to stardom.
As a mom, I still have hope for you. Even though its not gong to be easy, I hope you get the help you need.  Go to rehab, get some therapy, and break away from the bad influences in your life. When you hit rock bottom, and maybe you haven’t reached there yet, I hope you take a deep breath and pull yourself back up. You have your whole life ahead, and you can teach millions of fans a really valuable lesson here. Again, that’s a huge responsibility that you didn’t sign up for. But you might as well save yourself and learn from your mistakes.
Even though it might seem like the world has turned against you, I want you to know I’m still a Belieber. And I believe in you. I don’t want to remember you by your grape cocktail, Sizzurp. I want to remember you by your music. Now get your shit together.
Love,
MOM
XXX
