I was instructing a class at LCC teambuilding initiatives) for a cabin of 5th grade boys. They were a squirrely bunch. Rambunctious, talkative, distracted. They had a hard time communicating and working as a team. Charlie was the most spastic of the group...and a straight up punk.
The thing that most struck me about Charlie? His fashion haircut and bright red Abercrombie t-shirt that had some slogan about being so good looking on the front. As I stood to the side watching the boys work on their initiative all I could think was “Really? Really? You’re in 5th grade. If I was your mom, I wouldn’t want you to grow up so fast. Whatever happened to being a kid?”
And then I looked down (trying to see if they had balanced the giant teeter-totter). As my eyes fell towards the ground, I saw his feet. There, on his feet, were a brown pair of tennis shoes. With Velcro straps. Velcro. Part of my 10-year-old, Abercrombie-wearing, punk was still a little boy...
Not an hour later I had two dozen 5th graders (boys and girls) out with me playing volleyball for afternoon activity. I switched between each of the four teams and eventually found myself on a team with Kyle. A tall, blonde 5th grader with a Hollywood smile.
Kyle wore a white Hollister tee and walked with the air of a kid who was well aware that he was well-known and well-liked. Two or three times I caught him making “that’s what she said” jokes...placed in such a way it was clear he knew exactly what he was saying. I called him out while spiking the ball one more time. I began to contemplate how old I was before those comments would have been more than just the “cool thing to say”. It came with the need to mourn the loss of innocence.
No sooner did I, with furrowed brow, contemplate this thought than the ball flew back over the net – smashing Kyle in the face. His bright red face (mostly from embarrassment) he held in his hands – trying hard not to let the rest of the gang realize a couple tears were making their way down his face. He turned around and shook it off and got back into the game before anyone else knew the difference. But I did. Part of my 10-year-old, Hollister-wearing, captain popularity was a still a little boy...
Today it was boys. Yesterday it was girls. With my 5th and 6th graders, I see it almost every day.
And I could blame a thousand things.
I could blame all of things we always blame. Things present in their life; things that leave an impression and have my 5th graders acting like high schoolers. I could definitely blame things revolving around the media: TV, Video Games, music, magazines, the internet...the messages they send. Or I could just blame their parents - a generation fed into believing that the label is everything and that the kid with the most toys (a cell phone at 9? Well, we we’re going to wait until her 10th birthday, but the family plan...) wins. Especially their kid. After all, its their parenting styles, their laissez-faire attitudes, their ability or inability to monitor what their kids are watching, listening, begging for. They are paying for those Hollister T’s after all. (Clearly this is rude generalization in angst of some parents and not all...)
Or I could just blame what’s not in their life. Sometimes it is structure, respect, discipline. Or the missing sense of being accepted for who they are – no labels attached. Or the ability to grasp hold of imagination and live in the simplicity of being a kid. Or maybe it is just real presence. The presence of someone(s) who is willing to protect the Velcro, protect the tears, protect the innocence.
Can it be me in the 2 or 3 or 5 days that I have them? Can it be you?
What are we going to do about it?
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