Oh boy (Michindoh Post 2)

[This post is the second in a series in which I reflect on spending a month at camp for Wyldlife (middle schoolers) and YoungLives (teen moms). You can follow the series by subscribing to this blog. All posts will be categorized as ‘Michindoh 2013’.]

Announcement: I love middle school boys.

(I considered opening with Confession instead of Announcement because it carries a certain amount of sophisticated narrative weight, especially in today’s memoir-crazed literary culture. But it also has certain pejorative implications that would be both unfair to and untrue of middle school boys. They already get enough bad press. Hence I will announce.)

I am living in the midst of 150-ish middle school boys this week. And while I do feel a certain genetic affinity for the 200-ish middle school girls in whose midst I am also currently living, I am most definitely drawn to the boys in greater measure for reasons quite beyond my comprehension.

It might be because at this age they are (for the most part) not yet entirely caught up in the swagger that looms just over the horizon.

It might be because at this age they are (at least some of them) seriously trying to engage in the whole confident-solid-handshake thing.

It might be because at this age they are (in some cases) still willing to try things that will be considered totally lame in another year or so.

Or it might be because underneath all of the nascent manhood that they are tentatively donning in various forms there still exists a boy who is not beyond needing – and often accepting – love, comfort, and protection.

One of the 7th-grade boys here is homesick. Seriously homesick. To such an extent that his body aches, his stomach churns, and his head throbs. This afternoon, while his cabin mates enjoyed the lake, he lay on the bank, knees drawn up, arm over his face, desperately missing his family.

I love that he wasn’t afraid to cry about it. That he didn’t feel the need to swagger and sway in falsely tough skin. That he didn’t worry what his friends and cabin mates would think of him. Not every middle school boy would be so transparently honest about his feelings. And not every group of friends would be wise enough to realize that the true issue was sadness rather than weakness.

But these friends were. They neither mocked him for being a baby (he isn’t) nor assumed that a barrage of encouraging words — or well-placed punches, which are sometimes the same thing in middle-school-boy-world — would eliminate the issue (they wouldn’t). Instead, they simply sat by him in turns, first one, then another, letting him know they noticed, they cared, and they weren’t leaving him to deal alone.

If only we would all be so vulnerable with the Lord as that 7th-grade boy was with his friends. If only we would let Him see our tears, would reject disingenuous swagger, and would cast aside the fear of being perceived as too weak. Or too broken. Or too hopeless. Or too lost.

If only we would all be so discerning with those who hurt as that group of boys was with their friend. If only we would offer first and foremost our presence, rejecting the desire to fix, casting aside the need of being perceived as very spiritual. Or very wise. Or very wonderful. Or very awesome.

I thought about these things today only because of what I saw happen in a group of middle school boys hanging out by the lake.

That might be one reason why I love them so much.

6 thoughts on “Oh boy (Michindoh Post 2)

  1. Kristin from Castaway work crew and Sturgis June 10, 2013 / 10:26 am

    I love middle school boys too. 😉

    • ckirgiss June 10, 2013 / 11:15 pm

      Kristin – Ah. I don’t doubt it. You strike me as someone who would. I hope you are well.

  2. Trey June 10, 2013 / 10:12 pm

    I love that age. I wish I understood (I mean really understood; it’s not enough to know—knowing’s easy and not very helpful) what happens to us that chokes those qualities out of us. At 45, I feel like I’m just now starting to really regain sight of that self-identity. I can just see it, but I’ve got a long way to go before I get back to it, if I ever do. Unfortunately, experience tells me that most of those boys will soon start working very hard to shed those qualities.

    • ckirgiss June 10, 2013 / 11:17 pm

      Trey – growing up is what happens to us. As opposed to maturing, which is something else entirely. I suspect that growing up chokes out our transparency. Maturing brings it back into focus. That’s what I hope, anyway.

  3. Don constable June 10, 2013 / 10:57 pm

    Crystal dear, you are wonderful. Just a thought from an old (old old) friend.

    • ckirgiss June 10, 2013 / 11:20 pm

      Dear My Friend (without any age qualifier since none is needed) –
      Your kind and encouraging words always come at just exactly the right time. Fact.

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