i can't handle middle schoolers

When i tell people that i volunteer with middle schoolers - on purpose, for fun - surprisingly, they do not seem to envision it as the amazing, unexpected blessing that it is.  In fact, they usually react less with jealousy, and more with fear and repulsion.  Frequently, i hear, "i couldn't handle that." 

I don't think it is because people actually detest middle schoolers themselves; i think it is because most of us do not look back on that time in our lives with joy and peace.  Instead, the term "preteen" conjures up memories of The Mean Girls, being rejected at least once by the first (and second? third?) person we thought we wanted to marry, and that teacher who would give US detention when it was really someone ELSE who passed the note.  For most of us, middle school was not fun. 

Then.  But, it is fun for me now.  Coming up on 12 years as a volunteer, it has been unbelievable fun, along with every other emotion i have ever felt in my life.  It is so encompassing, in fact, i had to make a list.  And, since Middle School has the word "school" in it, i'm making it alphabetical.

How i would describe 678, aka WXW, aka middle school madness ministry: 

Awesome (you thought i was going to say Awkward, didn't you? that's sort of assumed in all of these....)

Boy craziness

Candy/Caffeine-induced maniacs.

Drama  We're talking D R A M A.  OH - and Dance parties. 

Emotional roller coasters that sometimes stop suddenly for squirrels.

FRIENDS. i mean Foes.  Wait - i meant,  friends...wait, now...

Girltalk for the girls.  Gas for the boys (not that the girls don't have some contenders)

Heartbreak. Sometimes it's the rejection thing.  Sometimes it is losing a friend.  Sometimes, it is just life - - because life can be hard, even as a kid.  And, sometimes, it all happens at once, and they are put in the situation of handling adult-type problems with barely a decade of life's experience under their belt - remember how sucky THAT was?

Imagination:  Take 20 students, add a pile of anything, make it a competition - and, their freaky little brains will amaze you. 

Joy.  Theirs, which is contagious - - it is close to impossible to be cranky in a room full of pre-teens laughing or singing worship songs...

Kids. Or, young adults? It depends who you ask.  In one day, they can be asked to babysit, given a new toy, told they need to step it up in school, eat a sandwich that someone cut into fourths for them, wash a car, and, on the rare and dreaded occasion, be subjected to some adult wiping their face off with a spit-dampened kleenex.  No wonder they're so confused.

Lip gloss. Love. Licorice. Loud. Lovable. Loving. Laughing. Loved. 

Mercy...not often associated with this age group, but they are often amazing at it. Examples: a shy 7th-grade boy letting a blind 4 year old spend 30 minutes touching his hair, just because the little one liked the feel of it; an 8th grade girl holding a paintbrush in the hand of a non-responsive child in a wheelchair, patiently helping her paint and encouragingly talking with her the entire time, receiving nothing in return.  It IS possible for the boy who can burp the loudest on the bus to get off that same bus and hold an old lady's hand to pray with her. They are like little angelic souls  wrapped in sticky, messy, sugar-filled bodies.

NO! -  the answer most boys will give when you ask them, "You like her, huh?"

Odoriferous. While that may SOUND pleasant, it is not always so much so...sometimes there is an incredible abundance of Axe; sometimes there is an incredible LACK of an abundance of Axe.

Puke and poofetti, the latter of which is what you get when you combine a toilet, a canister of confetti (Why? per the first culprit, "have you ever just done something because you've wondered What Would Happen?") and poop (again, WHY? per the second culprit, "because i just had to GO!")

Quiet  (HA!  just testing to see if anyone is still reading this)  Although, there ARE the quiet ones...and, they are watching EVERYTHING that is going on around them.  If you want to know who left a half-eaten, chewed-up Airhead on the ping pong table, just ask the quiet ones - - they'll know. 

Rascally Random.  Example; Teacher: "So, that is why we are to love our neighbors.  Any questions?" Student:  "One time, when we were getting tacos, there was a dog in the parking lot and he totally almost sat on my sister's taco."

Secrets and sleep-deprivation - - both of which can be found in abundance at any camp or overnight event.  "Savages" barely missed the list. 

Texting...during the lesson...and in small group....and at the game....and in the bathroom....and....

Untidy.  This one wins for the biggest understatement.  

Violent sneezing.  i don't know why.  (and, yes - VIDEOGAMES!!!)

Wait - What? (often said mid-laugh, when they realize they don't actually get the joke)

Xtreme (you have to spell it this way, or it's not really Xtreme)

Yelllllllllllllinnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggggg!  (hopefully, not AT them....)

Zoo animals (combine C, O and P, above)


The truth is that i can't handle middle schoolers, any more than i can handle Disneyland or the beach or anything else that contains that much awesomeness in one place.  i can't handle them, but i can be amazed by them and blessed by them, and i can love them as much as ice cream and baby animals and yoda and snoopy all put together...poofetti and all. 

midnight regrets

When i was in high school, i worked for a short time at a doctor's office - filing, dusting, etc.  When afternoons were slow, one of the nurses would work alongside me.  She was older - probably in her 60s or 70s - and i liked it when we worked together because she would tell me stories from her life.

One of the memories she shared was about when her mom died. My colleague had been a young adult at the time; decades later, she still remembered every detail of the day. She described being in the hospital room with her bedridden mother, standing by the window and looking outside as they chatted.  She recalled that, as she looked out the window, her mother said something, but she didn't quite hear what it was...and when she turned around, her mom had died.  I remember the look on her face as she stared off into the memory, sorrow in her eyes that she hadn't caught those last few words.  Even at my young age, i'd understood how difficult and unsettling that must have been to have had the open question still lingering in her mind.

Not many years after that conversation, i experienced the deaths of several people i loved, three within the span of four years. As a college student, i was learning about the stages of grief - Kubler-Ross' denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, among others - and then watching them play out in my own life as my friends passed away. I saw how those stages could be delayed, when one of my best friends died while i was abroad for the year; it wasn't until i returned to the reality of home that i fully processed her loss. Years later, my daddy died, which knocked the world out from under me. And then, another of my closest friends.  Again and again, the stages ran through in their slow, unyielding insistence.  Grief owned me for a time with each loss, sometimes to the point where i could do nothing but grieve for hours or days at a time. 

But, there was something beyond the grief that was consistent with each loss: it was the regret, often which was amplified to guilt.  Some of the regrets were for what my friends would be missing in their lives, for the lost opportunities or their missing futures.  But, the closer i was to the person i lost, there was also the regret - the guilt - about something i had done or had not done.  I regretted never saying good-bye.  I regretted not asking how they were doing.  I regretted the way i treated my dad when i was in junior high...and when i now share this with the middle schoolers, i can't do so without tears in my eyes, because there is no going back.  There is no undoing the mean words i said to him or the hurt that they caused him. There is no way i can go with him on the trip to Hoover Dam he asked me to take when i was visiting after college.  Instead of spending the day with him, i let him take my boyfriend while i stayed home and packed, watching some tv show i cannot even recall.  After he died, i asked my now-ex if he could remember what they talked about.  He wrote a perfect letter, describing where they went, what they ate, what they discussed; i loved the memories, but they weren't mine.  I did remember that when they got back from the dam, my friend asked me if i ever really spent time with my dad, just listening to his stories. I’d had to admit i had not done so for many years.  I will be forever grateful for that question, because it led me to be intentional about spending time with my dad on future visits, just listening and making sure he knew how much i loved him.  I had several more years to hear him; i have no regrets from those years. But, i still missed that trip to Hoover Dam.

Regret is almost an extreme version of disappointment.  They both bring a sinking to our core, a gaping sadness that cannot be filled, because the only thing that can fill the gap is the very thing that is missed.  Disappointment, though, can often be rectified; if we are disappointed about how we have done on a test or a job interview, we might be able to make it up the next time around. If we are disappointed with a Christmas present, we can go to the mall to swap it out for something else.  But, regret is relentless. And, when it comes to death, regret can wrap the entire grieving process into something even more ugly and painful than it already is. If we let it, the regret can become larger than any other aspect of the loss.

This year, the grief and regret have yet again come crashing in, surprisingly this time because of my cats. It still sickens me that i'm using the plural, as i had not expected to lose them both so close to each other.  The boy cat, Buddy, had cancer.  We knew that last year and spent months trying to fix him. Once it became clear that we couldn't, my goal was simply to make each day his best, like a little birthday party every day that he had left.  When we saw that his pain was taking over early this year, we chose to put him to sleep. And, when it was over, i felt like i had led my co-dependent-bottle-fed-kitten cat to his executioner.  I regretted taking him.  I regretted that he'd been scared, even for a moment, and that i had let someone poke him with a needle.  I regretted not letting him just die in peace at home.

Five months later, the girl cat, Jorge, slowly stopped eating.  She was close to 18 years old, so i knew she was not in the best of health.  But, she was feisty and a fighter, and i expected to have her another few years.  When i went to a weekend camp for the middle schoolers, i hated leaving her, but i knew Daryl would be there to keep an eye on her.  What i didn't know was that she was dying.  I left this little cat who had been my company and my friend half my life, and instead of making sure her last days were her best, i just wasn't there for her. When i got home, she was lethargic, slow....i still did not know she was dying so made her eat and drink a little. I later regretted that i ever tried to feed her after i got home; i could have just let her sleep. She never even got a chance to get better. An hour or so later, i picked her up and we both cried as she died in my arms. 

Buddy died at the vet, on a good day. I regretted that choice.  Jorge died at home, on a bad day. I still can't get past all of the regrets around that situation.  Each time i have mourned, i have regretted.  And, long after the other stages have passed, the regret has remained.

Living life without regrets to me is not just about making the most of every moment, but it is also about acknowledging the fact that loss will happen - - and that, when it does, our opportunity to make things right is over. I can't be a better friend to the ones I’ve lost. I can't hug my cats more.  I can't go to Hoover Dam with my dad.  When those last few words are missed, there is no getting them back.

I want to avoid those moments when I stare into a memory and regret the missed opportunity.

But, when i can't, then let there be an abundance of alternative memories to step in and remind me of all that was not missed.  Regret does not get to trump gratitude; focusing on it will only rob me of seeing the blessings that were, and are, in my life.  If i am going to wake up in the middle of the night remembering my people (or my kitties), then i should do so with gratefulness, not guilt.  I loved them. I missed things with all of them, but i also knew them and watched them and laughed with them and learned from them.  And, i am so thankful for those memories i didn't miss.