Maybe They’re Just Being Themselves?
Shane is struggling to find things that spark his passion.
I realize that all teenagers go through this, in some form or another. But it doesn’t make it any easier to stand by and do nothing while Shane sits around – well, doing nothing, too.
I make lists. Unlike Dylan, Shane enjoys the lists I make – usually. So I make long, elaborate lists of “choices.” For example, one list included a teen volleyball clinic, camp for future leaders, and a volunteer opportunity for teens who wanted to help feed the homeless. Another list included international thespians, theater critics, key club and best buddies.
Shane didn’t want to do anything on either list – or any of the subsequent lists I provided. He finally tried something called “Weekend Zone” where teens get together once a week to hang out in a gym – but he was miserable, and never went back after his first visit.
Eventually – after our trip to California, when he was feeling more amenable – he said he would like to try a local teen improv group.
I was thrilled. And so … he went!
I walked in with him on his first day, at his okay. I hung around – but stood way back, so no one would see me with a teenager. Teenagers are not supposed to be anywhere near their parents. And when Shane went in, he did so without looking at me.
But while I was waiting, I saw a few other teenagers milling about. I could tell that they were … awkward, I guess. They were the kinds of kids that looked like they were wildly entertaining, and also the kinds of kids who spent a lot of time alone during high school.
Judging just from appearance, I always thought these kinds of kids were intellectuals. Maybe because they looked so much like Shane’s friends from elementary and middle school.
I figured Shane would fit in just fine. And he did. He liked his first class but when I asked him about it he said, “Everybody there is weird.”
Hm.
He liked his second class. And his third class.
But after his third class, he asked me point-blank: “Are you sure you didn’t sign me up for a special ed class?”
“No!” I shrieked. “Are they really that weird?”
“Yes!” Shane said. He imitated one guy who walked around waving his arms wildly through the whole class, and said that most of them just seem a little “off.”
“I definitely didn’t sign you up for a special ed class,” I told him. “But there is a chance that some special ed kids are in the class. Do you want to keep going?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I like the class. I just didn’t want to be in a special ed class without you telling me about it.”
As if.
“I wouldn’t do that to you. Maybe they’re just being themselves? In high school, people aren’t really allowed to just be themselves. Maybe this is a place where they can just be who they are.”
I hoped this would ring true for him, too.
The good news: he likes the class. He wants to keep going.
The bad news: there’s only one teen improv class in the entire metropolitan area. So he’s stuck right where he is, with the weird kids.