I just got back from Barnes and Nobles where I found a copy of the March issue of Bella Grace. It's a thick no-ad, colorful magazine of articles and photographs--a beautiful magazine to hold in your hands. Here is my daughter Day's article, "The Kindness of Teenagers." Her mama is so proud of her!
At a neighborhood party someone asks me what I do for a living. I say, "I teach high school English." The neighbor shifts her weight, looks at me sympathetically, and moans, "Woah! Teenagers, huh?' I respond, "What? They're wonderful! They're hilarious and unpredictable and earnest, and most often they are far kinder than you could possibly believe." Her face relaxes, hopeful to know we all may be in good hands after all, but she wants proof. So, I pull out one of my hundreds of stories and share.
Bradley (not his real name), 21 and with a receding hairline, is a student in our center for physically and intellectually disabled teenagers in our area. His disability is obvious. He walks with a cane to compensate for his incredibly poor vision; he limps and holds one arm in a permanently bent position. His super-ability is also obvious: He is perpetually happy and interested in other people.
Scott is an athletic college student. He is tall and poised, already confident and funny, a future leader of a company or head of a pediatric hospital.
One day last January, my colleague and I took our classes to the Swedish Embassy for an anti-drug rally that focused on teaching students to use performance poetry to express the truths they see on a daily basis. Neither Bradley nor Scott would likely be susceptible to drug use, and yet they both sat transfixed as a surviving parent of a victim of synthetic marijuana told her story of senseless loss. Afterward, the large group of students was broken into smaller groups to write poetry to reflect that pain, poetry that they might later share with their peers at the rally.
Nervously, I let Bradley leave my side and join his group, knowing that anyone from our school would be able to help him, or come get me if his needs were greater than their comfort level. I had no idea what would happen in that room, but I knew I could trust Scott and the other students from my school to love and serve their friend.
The door closed, and I hoped for good things.
As it turned out, some other kids in Bradley and Scott's group attended schools where they were not exposed to disabled students at every single school event. As a result, they were confused by Bradley's clear difference. They could see his crooked arm, his cane, and his limp, but a few moments in a small group didn't allow them to see his genuine excitement about life. Instead of understanding, one of the less mature kids started pointing and laughing at Bradley. As often happens, his peers joined in the joking.
Bradly, confused by the bullying, leaned over to Scott and said in a quiet voice, "Scott, why are they laughing at me?"
Scott glanced over to his inexperienced, fearful peers, looked back at Bradley, and lied, "Oh, They're not laughing at you, Buddy. They're laughing at me and the crazy shirt I have on."
Bradley smiled sympathetically, put his loving hand on his friend's arm, and said, "I'm sorry they're laughing at you, Scott."
"It's OK," Scott replied. "I can take it."
And he did.
That's the kind of fierce love and kindness teenagers can show. They can leverage their own gifts in the service of others. They can see what is right and do it. They can feel each other's pain.
My goal, each an every day I go to work, is to find a story of surprising kindness or hilarity or beauty, a story that helps me see all humans, not just the teenaged ones, as unique brushstrokes in the art that life is. And when I remember the stories, and share them, like so many generous writers have done in this very magazine, then I offer my neighbors the opportunity to see the beauty too.
*****
Day Leary calls herself a potential-olinator, pollinating potential wherever she sees is. She is a mother, wife, sister, teacher, quilter, writer, dancer, hinder, reader, and all-around seeker of moments of inspiration and flow.
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