Listen to thisAn event happened which made me believe that my “adult" life had come to fruition. I was playing the role of chaperone for a senior boy’s high school basketball team which included my nephew. The lads had traveled many hours out of their small sleepy town, across the frozen divide known as Nova Scotia, and into yet another small sleepy town to attend a tournament.
At first the experience was quite surreal as many of these lads were barely walking when I was their age, and a few were even the sons of my own high school peers. In my early thirties I still find that my place on the “hip spectrum" falls somewhere between having an old school flavor but maintaining a constant grip on the new. In a nutshell, I still rock a backwards cap from time to time, have a collection of around 100+ pairs of shoes and know that “dope" doesn’t always have a drug connotation. On the other hand, however, I don’t feel the need anymore to burp the alphabet, administer atomic wedgies, nor will I chat up the teenage girl working at the local convenience store.
Being with these young gentlemen on a trip far from their homes allowed great insight. I recall hockey trips of my youth, when, at times, staying in a hotel was almost a license to be quite feral. This does not negate the manners and fine conduct instilled in us by our loved ones, but a game of hallway hockey in the Holiday Inn was common practice. Through the burps, and the smell of pizza and feet, there was still an aura of respect among these youth. At no point did I have to jump into action as Chaperone Man as not once did they get out of line.
This was, nonetheless, not the case for the entire weekend. As I sat in the stands it was impossible to ignore the chatter and discussion of those around. My nephew’s team walked into the gymnasium awaiting their shot in the championship game. A tingle of pride came over me as I watched their confident, though not cocky, demeanor as they entered. In the recesses of my right ear I heard a comment which quickly ended my tingle. An older gentleman was quick to point out that many of these lads from my hometown team wore their hats on backwards, a few had tattoos on their arms and furthermore some even wore earrings – which caused him to refer to them as 'hooligans'.
An ongoing joke through my youth was that if you were from my hometown, you must have done something very wrong – for our town was home to a youth correctional facility which easily dictated people’s opinions of the product coming out of this little community. As I listened to this man debase these fine young men on the basis of their appearance, it quickly snapped my thoughts to the youth I deal with day to day in the facility where I work. The stigma which quite often attaches to the title of 'youth in care' is something that they live with every minute of every day.
The testimonial of this one man conjured up experiences for me that I easily transfer to my job – ergo my life. Many times I have listened to youth in my facility disclose tales of neighborhood parents not allowing their children to associate with them due to their place of residence. How easy would it be to turn the hat around, or better yet, take it off and comb the hair nice and neat? One simple move might enhance their potential – at least aesthetically, which is what most of society would dictate. For the youth of most of our facilities this is not necessarily an option. Passing the ocular checklist may be quite easy, but most times this is only momentary. Pre-conceived prejudices take over which get offered up as human nature, and in turn counteract the chances that these youth may have had for a positive friendship.
For this reason it is imperative for us to empathize with the situation in which our youth sometimes find themselves in a public atmosphere. Take a few extra minutes to really find out how their day went while they were out. Allow yourself to be in their shoes for a day, which will only make your interactions with them a little more quality-filled. Being in their life space is a privilege and through relationships we allow them to expel the daily refuse that can at times be their lives. Past familiarity with youth offers amazing insight into their patterns and trends “however we owe it to them and ourselves to still listen anew every day.
* * *
As the music for the championship game warm-ups fills the gym, I am quickly transported in my thoughts back to the present. The older gentleman now has a few followers and thus his bravado begins to increase in volume. Being one who absolutely thrives on debate I stand up and approached this chap and his new-found disciples. Almost immediately his speech comes to a hush. In the back of my mind I try to think why this man has so quickly become silent about the “punk youth" from my hometown and about the styles the choose. And then it becomes quite apparent to me: here I stand, six foot two inches and well over three hundred pounds, but most importantly, in a backwards baseball cap.
Not wanting to use my size as intimidation I decide to use this as a teachable moment for this seasoned man. It is my pleasure to inform him about the lads that who are about to play from my hometown and what they do in their spare time. The tightness in his lips and eyes loosens as I describe young men who maintain jobs as well as top grades, who are volunteers in their community with the elderly and mentally delayed, and who have pride in not only their hometown, but in themselves. I explain that I don’t particularly care for his shoes but that this does not decrease his value as a human being for me. The shift of his gaze from my eyes to the floor speaks volumes.
* * *
There was no fairy tale ending to this story. The man stood silent searching for words but seemingly could not come up with any response to what I said. It was not my intent to embarrass him, so in turn I quietly withdrew, points made, and I enjoyed the remainder of the game. The end to our little interaction came after the game when I introduced this man to my nephew in his baggy jeans and, yes, backwards cap. As my nephew stretched out his hand and greeted him with “Very nice to meet you sir", a small but obvious smile came across his face followed by a quick nod and even quicker exit. I wondered if he perhaps had forgotten his soap box up on the stage where he was earlier, but in this case I believe that actions spoke much louder than words.
