Leaning Into Life

A Friday morning I wrote this. Wednesday evening is past but the memories persist. Eight teenagers in a circle with one intern present and me as volunteer leader. They are 15 to 17 years of age. One girl, the rest boys. All in various stages of adulthood formation, maturing from kid to adult. But not yet.

All are addicts. Some are more – abusers of alcohol, sex, self, and others. Some have been to jail; some are convicted car thieves, drug dealers and gun/ammo runners. All at this early age. And some in deep denial of their reality. Perhaps the reason for the drugs?

Last night one kid – smooth skinned, pleasant, calm exterior – admitted to me in group that he was having a hard time, shaky. His eyes pierced mine with a plea for help. This is a lad who has twice attempted suicide. And he senses the dread of yet another episode? In a group setting like this how do I help him? How do I reach out and assure him of help coming his way right now? When he needs it, and as he needs it?

Another kid sat quietly, almost stoically. Not his usual stature; no, he is usually the life of the party and distracting group process with silly antics. He is usually not a thinker or moper, but tonight he was. I asked him why? And he mumbled an answer until he raised his volume and demonstrated a perfectly cadenced rap in monotone outlining his story and concerns. Of course this was incomprehensible to me. He is 16, I am 73. His language style and delivery are unfamiliar to me and I struggle to understand. But the kids in the group echoed my realization that his message was a perfect rap. The only missing element was music – but successful rap does not always require beating drums or screaming music and wailing voices. No; the words themselves hold the weight of the meaning.

He was not in a good place that night. He is frustrated and feels the pent up anger of not being allowed to live life his way. And I think he realizes that ‘his way’ will preclude him being the cop or fireman he yearns to be. And maybe keep him from also meeting and being with all the girls he desires. Yes his libido is larger than you or I can measure. And this is no joke.

Yet another kid, the youngest of them all – 15. He has been living opposite the law since 11 when he began drinking and drugging. And let us not forget running with bad dudes, guys he wants to be with for some reason. He hangs out on the west side of Chicago. He runs drugs between dealers and users. He runs guns and ammunition between dealers and buyers, even running them to points in Michigan, across state lines. Do you realize the trouble this guy is in? Do you?

He attends a special alternative high school. Twenty-seven students taught and led by 36 faculty, all big dudes with 250 to 300 pounds of muscle to enforce their leadership! This is the only way these 27 students get their lessons. Still, they do not want to be there. They want freedom. This young guy wants to bust out and stretch his arms and legs and run and beat on someone. His look was borderline wild and I knew he was near violence. I could sense it. The group could too. But we reeled him in. He didn’t bust us or out of the room, either.

I see their faces and their body language in my sleep. This morning at 3 am I awoke with the realization that maybe all of them needed a hug, you know, the kind when you were very young and mom or dad folded their arms around you, maybe curled up with you on the sofa? You felt safe then. You felt protected from the dark places in the world.

Safe and loved. Cared for. An island of safety just for me.

Remember those special moments? Remember when you doubted the safety of the world outside the home? Wondered how you would get along ‘out there’? I do. It is not a far stretch to remember such feelings even now 68 years later.

Some of the kids are clearly uncomfortable in the group. They do not mirror the experiences of some of the others. Some have dreams of professional lives following their formal educations in interesting institutions scattered about the nation. Theirs is a life dream of upper advancement and success, just like their parents’. These are the kids you and I expect from our youth. Instead they are in a group rehab program to recover from drug and substance abuse that the law of our land says they have broken. If the law says that the purpose, then, is to rehabilitate these young people so they have a good chance at making a success of their lives.

But I wonder. I wonder if a group experience is what they need or just a hug, a curled up ball of safety around them so they feel loved, and wanted, and valued, and purposeful.

Who will provide this to them? Teachers and counselors cannot touch. Volunteers, too, cannot touch. And mom and dad are too scared to know what to do; that’s why the program is an act of their faith in getting their kid some help. But the professionals in the program have rules, too, and they cannot touch.

Are we a nation of arms-length relationships? When do we allow contact to care?

Did I tell you that all of these kids are white, bright and come from financially secure homes? Does that surprise you at all? Does that tell us we are losing control of our most precious treasure? Our future generation is hurting and struggling. And no it is not all about being bad.

I think it is about needing to feel loved and safe. Maybe we should give that a chance.

November 24, 2016