Middle School, Part II

I thought each day Andrew showed up at the gym that the "outsider" feeling would diminish and that by the end of the week, he'd know at least one new person.

But that didn't happen.

This basketball workout is a tight ship---no small talk allowed. You go to play ball. You go because you love the game. You go for the sole purpose of improving your jump shot or your left lay-up--not to make friends and not to take the edge off being the NEW kid in just 60 days.

The coaches take notes and occassionally shout out, but mostly it's a hustling, sweating, fouling, street ball kind of experience, all the way down to the boys PICKING teams.

Andrew was one of the last ones to get picked each day because in middle school loyalty to your friends trumps everything in the entire world. 6th graders get picked last just because... but then if you are a NEW 6th grader... well, it's painful to watch.

I know this because I hung around for about 20 minutes each day. I hated watching what I know to be true about the culture of boys, and worse, I hated watching my own son, my awesome, sensitive, intelligent, son get the wind knocked out of his sails but take it on the chin.

But as much as I hated watching my son suck it up each day, I didn't pull him from it and I won't pull him from it until it's over. Here's why:

Being the NEW KID in 6th grade is one of those life lessons that has to be fully experienced in order to get what you need out of it. You can't tell the story about that time in 1978 when it happened to you. It's not the same.

When I was 25 and interviewed for a job in which I had limited experience, but a ton of enthusiasm and motivation to learn. I was terrified when I walked into the GROUP interview. And although there were aspects of that experience that were new to me, walking in cold (not knowing anyone and not really knowing what to expect) was not one of them. Had I not had those countless times when I felt awkward or when I was the NEW kid, it would have been a lot worse. And maybe I'd have been so nervous I wouldn't have gotten the job. But I did-- and I loved my years at the National Kidney Foundation.

When I told Andrew this story tonight, he looked bored. My whole point about having experience in my pocket--something I could draw upon when it really mattered--fell flat. And that's why this NEW KID thing is the kind of thing you have to feel down in your gut. It's transformative only when it happens that way.

So, this basketball camp (that btw goes on for three more weeks--to the end of July), just happens to be the first time that Andrew will have to walk into something new, something uncomfortable, somthing like fighting his way out of a wet paper bag. But it's not something that I can help him with--beyond pumping him up with a rap song chock full of inappropriate language set to a sick, thumping beat.

Tonight, when Andrew tried one last time to manipulate and beg his way out of returning to the gym next week, I told him that I feel for him, but that I wouldn't be doing my job as a parent if I didn't lock him out of his comfort zone a few times a year. I told him he'd thank me for it later because each time he has to do this thing where he's NEW or he's not sure of himself, he's got one more survival tale to remind himself that even if it(whatever "IT" is) makes him feel like a loser, he'll get through it in one piece.

It didn't make him feel better. As a matter of fact, with more sarcasm than I knew he had in him, he said, "Maybe when I'm 25."

I laughed a good belly laugh at that one. I told him he was funny, and since he's not yet 25, he needs to be on the down lo about the music I let him listen to in the car. I told him if I EVER hear him talking to his friends, before he's 25, in the language of Snoop Dog or Dr. Dre, I'd wash his mouth out with soap.