"But did they ask you to respect them?"
"Well, yeah...I think I knew I was supposed to."
"Then that should have been enough," was Husband's gentle but frank conclusion. He is right. He's cutting right through the garbage just like our Lord does.
Time to come clean. Time to recall and (so far as godly discretion will allow) examine the truth of my public school education from grades 7 to 12. I left off on a post many weeks ago with 6th grade, during which my attention to boys and interest in seeing that attention reciprocated began its bloom. This was my last year of true innocence; my last year of fun friends, imaginative play and spending Saturdays on roller skates with nowhere special to be.
It's strange the things I do remember and sad the things I don't. In 7th and 8th grade, I can remember working late into the night making a school project out of Lincoln Logs with a caulking gun in the garage. My dad started me out, but left me to finish, and instead of thanking him for his help, I resented his leaving me to finish alone. Grateful, right?
I remember a science teacher who was double-jointed and could wind his arms up and over his head like a jump rope with his hands clenched the whole time. He doubled as a swim coach, and while he was highly entertaining and very nice, I don't remember anything he taught me.
One of those years was the year I was inducted into the National Junior Honor Society. Ha!
These were also the years that I rode my bicycle 2 miles each way to junior high, and relished the sense of independence that brought. It was then that I started roaming the city on weekends: to the movie theaters, the bowling alley and especially the mall! The mall was like pre-school for the nightclub circuit -- a training ground in vanity and greed. The motivation behind hanging out at the mall was to see and be seen.
Frankly, I could confess that most everything I did in these years and the ones immediately after, was with the aforementioned motivation. I tried everything I could think to do to be where the "in crowd" was: the girls' softball team, the girls' basketball team, girls' track -- I was miserable at them all. I was miserable to be me. Never good enough. Never popular enough. Never comfortable. Never grateful.
I have since formed a strong opinion about raising the average child, and it is this: whatever community we choose for them, we must expect they will endeavor to succeed to the standard that is valued by that community. I came to the public high school scene from a typical 80's family unit, no church, and was therefore very vulnerable to the pressure to conform to the culture. That kind of conformity isn't profitable for anyone, though it's difficult to help a pre-teen see that in the moment. They, like we all, need Hope -- they need the Lord. I needed the Lord.
On to grades 9 - 12: high school. I remember working very hard right through my sophomore year, and then burning out. I raced to complete my requirements for the express purpose of "kicking back" during my junior and senior years, and that's exactly what I did. By 12th grade, all I was doing was my choir, student council and 1 semester of history, and I wasn't applying all 5 senses to any of those very regularly.
There is much about these years that I simply won't give airtime to. The reckless deeds of my youth didn't deserve my time then, and they don't deserve my time in recalling them now. What does deserve my thought and energy is the praise I have for the God who knew me before I knew Him. I'm on my face in humble gratitude when I consider the times He sent forth ministering spirits to me because it was His plan that I should inherit salvation. I should have been dead -- more than once.
These were years in which a deep, wide chasm grew and separated me from my parents, and we -- all three, I assume -- were ignorant to the danger. I brissle to hear parents, (especially Christian parents) joke about the "dreaded teen years." While my own children aren't quite there yet, I remember being a very difficult teen for my parents. What I realize now is that this is the season in which we graduate from our parents' "basic training," and become soldiers ready for the battle. It's a fierce battle for everyone involved, but what any new recruit needs is to be able to trust their unit commander to make decisions for their good -- not to mock or otherwise disrespect their efforts in the fight.
One of the most devistating consequences of the chasm between my parents and I was the way I sought validation from my peers -- specifically my male peers. I've heard many theories about why girls do that -- why girls seek the approval, the "love," the inappropriate affection of boys, and they all sound pretty good, but even the best theory is not an excuse before the Lord. Even in my ignorance, my conscience bore witness against me; I don't remember once sharing candidly the things I thought about, or did with boys.
I teach my children now that if they feel they need to hide a thing, then it probably means they are willfully sinning. The same was true for me then, whether I understood the principal or not. I was guilty before God, and am so grateful that Jesus the Christ took the punishment for that sin upon Himself at Calvary.
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