Every Advantage

I spent a couple hours this morning teaching etiquette to a group of middle-schoolers, primarily about reputations. The class response started off slow, but after ten minutes, more hands were raised. 

These are a group of kids who are in a program that guides them through their middle school, high school and even college careers. Their demographic is very different from mine presently, very different from Frank and Beck's. 

Most come from single family homes, many are impoverished. Their response to my questions this morning surprised me. What I've come to expect as a relatively unchanged set of answers, was entirely different with today's class. They were more defensive, and even sometimes more offensive. Their problem solving skills were based on self-protection. They tended to look inward rather than outward.

Watch the news, or a tv drama, and you'll see kids who get in trouble from all walks of life. There are kids who have every financial advantage who get into trouble. There are kids who have two supportive parents who get into trouble. There are kids who have no financial advantage and parents who are unsupportive or neglectful who get into trouble. There are also kids who excel regardless of their circumstances. 

I don't know enough about the organization I spoke for this morning to talk about them in an intelligent manner, but I do know I believe in what they do. 

I had a very schizophrenic upbringing. On the one hand my mother was abusive, disconnected and neglectful. On the other hand, the years I spent with my grandparents were idyllic. I was talking with a counselor years ago, answering the standard introductory questions about my family, upbringing, etc. I talked about my mom first. He took a lot of notes, his brow furrowed. 

Then I talked about my grandparents. "Ah," he said. "This makes more sense. You are not your mother's daughter, you're your grandparents daughter." I spent more years with them than I did with her, but I'm her daughter too. When I look at my insecurities, they're more about my mother than my grandparents. I might even have a little PTSD when it comes to loud noises and certain other behaviors. Maybe not diagnosable PTSD, but my reaction is visceral, and superficial. I don't have panic attacks, but I can feel my muscles tightening, my heart beating faster, and depending on the specific circumstance I'm reacting to, I can lose my ability to think clearly enough to speak. Listening to some of the answers this morning, took me back to when I was their age.

When I was eight, my mom and I lived alone for the first time in my life. Prior to that we lived with my grandparents, or roommates after we moved to California. The roommates were often other nurses with children. Typically one parent was home in the morning to help get us off to school. 

Once we lived alone, I was responsible for getting myself off to school. My mom was out of the house and at work most days by six in the morning. Sometimes there was food in the house, most times there wasn't. Sometimes she gave me money to buy lunch, most times she didn't. I look at Beckett, who is eleven, and wonder how he would function under those circumstances. I suppose he'd have to learn how to. I was his age when my mother finally agreed to let me live with my grandparents full-time. In some ways it was too late. I was already too grown up for my years. Beck is still a little boy in so many ways, and I'm glad he gets to be.

The last job my mother held was as a nurse in the Riverside County Jail. Never one to hold back her opinion about anything, she would soap-box regularly about how tired she was of hearing inmates complain about their upbringing. She'd say, "What becomes of you isn't your parent's fault." Every time she said it, I'd wonder why she was saying it. Was it for her benefit or mine?

I am not the most successful person who ever lived, but there is one thing I'm sure of, my goals are achievable if I set my mind to them and want them bad enough. I will never be an artist, but I can learn how to draw. There are a lot of things I'll never be, but knowing so doesn't inhibit me from striving to learn about it, or sometimes . . . try it. If there is one thing I learned from my mother it was that I was solely responsible for what I did and didn't do with my life.

I look at these kids the only way I can . . . through the eyes of my personal experience. On some levels I can feel their pain. Their answers can be so telling in terms of what they're dealing with at home. Some of which I have immense empathy for. Sometimes when answering, they'd get sidetracked. What started out as an answer to a very specific question turned the corner into completely unrelated. However, the last thing I would do was interrupt one of them. 

One question was about having a friend over, and that friend accidentally breaks something . . . how would they handle it. EVERYONE who answered that question began with, "when my mom got home from work . . ."  Most of them said that no matter who broke whatever it was, they'd be the one to get into trouble for it. One girl raised her hand and said, "As long as you were honest about what happened, your mom would understand." Two girls sitting near her both said, "not my mom."

I relayed a story about something sentimental being broken in our house. It wasn't a true story. In reality a friend of mine broke it. In my story, one of my kids did. My reaction in my story was authentic. I was upset. It was something irreplaceable. I was mad more at myself for leaving it out in a place where it was vulnerable. Part of me was irritated with my friend's lack of awareness, and wished she'd been more careful. As I told the story, I inserted one of my boys in place of the friend. I spoke honestly about my feelings, but at the end of the day, I would've felt so much worse if I found it broken and had no idea what had happened. 

One girl, who had an answer to almost every question I asked, or a verbal opinion about everything I said . . . mumbled, "it wouldn't be worth it." She reminded me of myself on so many levels. So eager to answer, so eager to speak, so eager to be heard. She probably annoyed her fellow classmates. She was in the second row of the auditorium and I saw many eyerolls from those sitting behind her. I'm sure at her age I elicited an immeasurable amount of eyerolls . . . I'm sure I still do.

I wonder what this one particular girl's life will become. Will she be someone who works hard and sacrifices to better herself? Will she eat ramen noodles for every meal while working at least one job and attending college . . . or will she get lost? As I write this, I can't get her face out of my mind.

What this organization does is give these kids attention, time, and mentoring. They bring people like me in who talk about things that can affect their future. Extra things. Not just grades, not just schoolwork—bigger picture things. 

My boys have every advantage. They have every opportunity. If they express interest in something, Doug pays attention and then figures out how they can learn more, do more, experience more of whatever it is. He is a great father. My boys have two parents who are home more often than not. They get a "yes" to most things they ask for, or most things they want to do. More than me, Doug will plan what he wants to do around something they want to do. We went to Denver on Saturday, but planned our day to be back in time to take Beck to Tween Night at the Y. Could he have missed it? Sure. It wasn't a big deal, they have them every month. 

I expect a lot from both our boys. I can't define what a lot means. I don't have any particular career aspirations for them. I hope they find something they love to do, that they can make a living doing. I hope they make good decisions, don't lose their way and sidetrack their own lives by not keeping their eyes on their goals. I hope they do good things for other people, and are generous with things like love and caring.

Every advantage or not, we're responsible for what our life becomes. I suppose we all learn that lesson, one way or another.