In the vernacular of the 1960’s, this blows my mind.
I have written in a previous post about, as a teacher, I worked with adolescent teens who did not fit in with other kids. I loved working with them, and passionately defended them.
But that was 15 years ago. Not a misfit since.
I work out at the YMCA every day. And many days, I cross paths with a young man, about 13 years old. Wherever I am, he is close by. At first, he would ‘fist bump’ me as he passed. Then, small snippets of conversation. Since I did not know his name, I called him Scooter.
As time progresses, Scooter starts spending more time close by. And he begins opening up about issues of adolescent anguish, things I had heard many times in the past. Before he would leave, I would always tousle his hair.
My first reaction? Why did he seek out me? There are usually fifty other people in the room. Did he have a sixth sense about my past?
My second reaction? Dust off my long dormant teacher brain, give a bit of advice, some compassion, some tender care.
And that’s what I do. Just about everyday.
And he keeps coming back.
Won’t see him today. The Y closed today due to a passing blizzard.
But he will be in my thoughts.
Hope he’s OK.