A Glimpse at Middle School

This morning I took Andrew to basketball open gym at the middle school. Technically the program is for 7th graders, but incoming 6th graders , like Andrew, are welcome if they can take the heat of scrimmaging with the older boys.

Since Andrew will be new to the school (i.e. know very few people: like two or three girls, at the most), Eric and I both thought it would be a good idea for Andrew to take part. He’s a great athlete and a more than decent basketball player for his age, so why not?

As a parent, these things make sense—they feel logical. But when you are an 11 year old kid sitting in a car with your mom outside of a HUGE gym watching nameless boy after nameless boy confidently hop out of a nearby car and back slap a gaggle of other nameless boys… it can be a bit nerve-wracking. Intimidating. Scary.

How could I dare forget what it’s like to be the one that nobody knows…the one that doesn’t have a partner to smile at when you awkwardly miss a lay-up…the one that feels like the only outsider that EVER LIVED????

I’m sorry Andrew.

As his mom, I knew his personality, his smile, and his skills would earn him at least one friend by the end of the workout, but I admit that I blatantly overlooked what Andrew would have to go through to get that point—especially with a gym filled with mostly boys who recently put 6th grade behind them.

Since when did the litmus test for cool slide back down to middle school? It’s just too soon!! Between ages 11 and 14, we’re all awkward. By the standards of empirical science it’s been proven that our bodies AND our minds AND our souls are still evolving. In middle school we’re fragile pieces of tissue paper that can rip apart and blow away at the slightest wind.

“Let’s just hang back for a few.”

That’s what Andrew said as he watched the nameless boys.

My heart broke into a million pieces to see the angst in his face—to feel the uncertainty polluting the air I took into my body at each breathe.
There was nothing I could say to make the situation any better. He just needed to open the door, plunge into it.

He knew it too, but he waited it out a bit more.

I hit the button on the cd player, igniting the explicit version of The Next Episode by Dr Dre and Snoop Dog. Cuz what else can you do for a middle school boy getting ready to open the car door into his first test of cool vs. uncool, baller vs. wannabe, friend vs. nameless kid?

Middle school: it’s an urban war or sorts.

My nigga turn that shit up…
He tapped his foot.

And if yo ass get cracked, bitch shut your trap…
He laughed.

Whoopty whoop nigga what…
His head bobbed in time to the music.

Compton, Long Beach, Englewood…
The car door slammed. I watched his back as he entered the gym.