Struggling School-Age Boys
Struggling School-Age Boys
A new study says parents are right to worry about their sons.
Why Are School-Age Boys Struggling? | Newsweek Education | Newsweek.com
I read this article on my Blackberry this morning and it struck a chord. This is why I write this blog – to address issues like this. Not that I have it all figured out, but I definitely have some observations. Anecdotal observations, but I do think I bring something to the conversation.
As a child, as a son, and as a dad to a son, I have some stake in this discussion. Not only for the sake of my son, but for my daughter. And deeper, for the sake of society in general. The health of our culture can be determined through the symptoms. We ignore these issues at our own peril – much as if we ignored crushing, substernal chest pain. 
For all the benefits of our society and culture, there are certainly drawbacks. Depression and obesity are rampant. Addiction and abuse are lurking all to near the surface. Broken homes, broken people, and broken dreams are all too identifiable to most of us.
I was a troubled school-age boy. I was bullied, picked on, ostracized, and invisible. It’s OK, I’m stronger now. But, because of that awful experience that some like to call elementary school, junior high, and high school, I think I have some insights into troubled kids. It’s great that I didn’t kill myself (or others) – but the thoughts crossed my mind. I think it’s awesome that I didn’t act out on my fantasy to become a homeless youth (though in my mind it was a much more romantic pirate adventure).
I’ve worked through the stuff and I’ve cast off the victim’s garb, however, from the lessons learned, I hope to avoid some of the mistakes I experienced as a kid. But, more likely than not, I’ll make fresh mistakes.
My parents told me that they were less strict because they were trying to avoid the strictness of their parents. They went on to explain that I’ll probably be more strict with my kids. In a word, they were explaining one of my favorite quotes:
I know there’s a balance, ‘cuz I see it when I swing past!”
John Mellencamp, Scarecrow, 1984
In a nutshell, because I don’t feel like staying up much later tonight, here are some reasons I think boys are struggling:
- Most men today don’t have a close male confidant, or best-friend. This viscious circle robs men of intimacy and affirmation, which causes neediness, loneliness, and further drives men into situations that prevent true intimacy. Men with intimacy issues can’t teach their sons how to have effective relationships.
- The sexualization of our society leads boys to think that they will be happy if they have sex. However, this isn’t easy to come by except through porn and other stimulants. This further challenges the boy’s ability to find serenity and emotional health.
- Video Games. I know, it’s been researched and written about over and over again. But there is no clear evidence that gaming is good for kids. Like TV, gaming further causes isolation and builds walls to childhood recreation and play.
- Working parents and the latch-key syndrome. My one salvation in my day as a kid was the presence of my Mom waiting for us at home when we got out of school. This is the one constant that I could count on. There are too many kids today who don’t have this and it is emotionally damaging. Not to mention the miriad of vices that are open to kids left home alone.
- Lack of play, lack of work, lack of focus. Take your pick. When I was a kid my parents told me I had to get a summer job. So, for the first few years leading into my pre-teen years, I picked strawberries. I hated it and I wasn’t very good at it, but it was good for me. It kept me out of trouble and taught me a lot of good character lessons. Today, it is illegal for kids to pick berries.
- Broken homes. If you’ve been through a divorce as a kid, you know what I’m talking about.
- Absent fathers. It isn’t just that dads are emotionally distant, but too often they are physically absent. Sure, a dad can be present, but zoned out on the TV – but at least he’s there. A dad who is a workaholic, travels a lot, or has left the home for greener pastures is taking a narrow view of what it means to be a dad.
Hanging On, and Letting Go
[I’ll add more photos tomorrow – they’re in my other camera]
Sunday was my son’s first birthday. It was nothing like my daughter’s first birthday. What is it about kids that makes you attach to them in different, yet very special ways? I have a bond with my three and a half year-old Darling Daughter like none other I’ve ever experienced. Yet, I feel this growing attachment with my Smiling Son. I’ve never snuggled with another male like I snuggle with him. Just as I’ve never cuddled with another female, like I do with my daughter.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll most likely say it again: If I’d known having kids was this cool, I’d have started a lot sooner! I had no idea being a parent was going to be this much fun and rewarding. This is awesome!
Now I know why all my previous coworkers used to look at me like I was an alien. I was driven to keep working and finish the task(s) at hand, but everyone else just wanted to go home to their families. No wonder the fire chief sent me that nice letter telling me not to work so hard and to seek balance. I wonder if I would have gotten married any sooner if I’d followed his advice?
As we celebrated Smiling Son’s birthday yesterday, some thoughts crossed my brain. In an age where infant mortality isn’t really a concern, we tend to forget that a first birthday used to be a really big deal. In fact, we have some very close friends who have lost babies in the last couple of years. I don’t know if I could survive the loss of one of my kids. Yes, I am that attached to them.
I never knew I had the capacity to love anyone or anything this much. It is something supra-natural inside of me. It is this wholistic, meta-love thing. So totally outside of my own capacity. I’m not sure where it comes from.
But then today, everything came crashing down.
My Dad, who now lives in Colorado, has been out here visiting for the past month. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed him, until after he arrived. It was a great visit. Mostly, because I’m learning to “accept the Dad I can’t control.” This is huge.
Usually I get quite frustrated with my Dad. Probably no more frustrated than he gets (or has gotten) with me, but it is hard when two strong personalities come together. However, I’m learning to let him be who he is. This proved to be a good thing.
For instance, my Dad has never been a good money manager. So, when he buys things he can’t afford, or spends money on things he shouldn’t, I’ve tended to try to correct him. Or, if he associates with people I don’t think he should, I judge him. Though I’ve really never made much progress in changing him, I’ve done a great job of alienating him – and creating walls in our relationship.
But in the last month, I didn’t say a word when we came home from a weekend away and discovered he’d had a sattelite dish installed. I never said anything about all the “dates” he had while he was out here. And yesterday, I didn’t say a word when he told me DishTV charges him $180/month just so he can get Mariner baseball games in Colorado. Wow – maybe I’m learning (and growing).
Today was hard. I genuinely was sad depressed about my Dad leaving. First of all, his health is failing and it seems like he is “taking care of business” – as if preparing to die. I hope I’m wrong, but he is selling things and making amends with people. Second, I have really missed my Dad. I haven’t seen him in over six months – and that wasn’t a quality visit. He is my hero and I’m not used to going so long between visits. And finally, related to the first, I have this premunition that I might not get to see him alive again. I hope I’m wrong, but the thought just made me sad.
My Dad had open-heart surgery about 18 years ago. Then a followup complication that nearly killed him. Then 10 years ago he had a stroke that left him quite debilitated. He can’t walk well, even with a cane. He can’t stand very long. He’s lost quite a bit of weight, and he seems very weak. I might be wrong, and I so hope I am, but he quite frail and not very healthy. I hope he lives a long time, but, one never knows.
All my life my Dad has talked about how tough he is – and he is. Though his body has betrayed him, he is still tough. However, on this visit, he never once talked about how tough he is. Instead, he kept referring to himself as “a decrepit old man.” He has also talked about how he is going to live as long as his uncle – who was 103 when he died. But on this visit, he never once said that.
As we said our goodbyes, I just hugged and hugged him. I almost cried – but unfortunately, tears don’t come easily for me. As he backed out of the driveway, he glanced up and our eyes briefly connected. It wasn’t long, but volumes of love were spoken. I have been thinking back to a conversation we had when he first arrived – a month ago.
My Dad said: “It was hard to lose your Mom, and I’ve been struggling, but if anything ever happened to one of you boys, I don’t know what I’d do.”
I know he loves me – and that’s enough.
After he left, I got very melancholy and sad. I went back to bed and the family left to go visit my The Wife’s aunt who is in town. As I lay there, tired, but sleepless, a thought came into my soul:
Do I have any control over whether my Dad lives or not?
No.
Then I need to let it go.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
With that, I let it go and got up and fixed the bathtub faucet.
Let Yourself Float in ‘the Derive mon Amie’
The last two days have been reflective and inspirational for me. In many ways, the last 10 months, since moving back into the Portland Metro Area, have been this way. Much of my writing and much of my introspection has been cathartic. You see, the last 13 years have been a whirlwind.
In the Summer of 1995 I was inspired to leave my career – a very rewarding and satisfying career, I might add. I sold my house, moved to Southern California, and completed my Bachelors degree. LIttle did I know at the time what direction(s) my life would take back then. I didn’t know that I was going to make a lot of good friends. I had no idea that I was going to end up living in five different states. And I certainly didn’t know I was going to meet and marry the most wonderful woman. Kids? Fuggitaboutit! Never even occurred to me.
Leaving Portland was hard for me
Leaving Portland was hard for me. I love Portland. I’m a fifth generation Oregonian, on my Dad’s side, and my maternal ancestry goes back at least five generations in Portland, specifically. I know trivia, history, and stuff most people could care less about. I know this city, and it was hard for me to leave. But I had to go and it was good for me.
Coming back last Fall was a dream come true. I had to be very careful that I didn’t drag my family back here. I had to curb my enthusiasm and make sure this was a joint decision. In fact, one afternoon as we were talking about the various opportunities (Minnesota, Nebraska, Maryland, Colorado, and Oregon), The Wife looked at me with a grin and said: “You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”
She was right, but I was really trying to not get my hopes up, nor be too influential in the decisionmaking process.
Arriving here, especially coming from the dry, Eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, it was great to experience the moisture, the green, lush ecosystem, the mighty rivers, the stunning mountain views, and the openness of the Portland Community. I knew I was home and I reveled in it!
The last two days were spent running some errands in town. But my days weren’t so full that I couldn’t stop to smell the Rose City, as it were. I spent some time atop Mt. Tabor, walking the streets of downtown, and drinking in the richness of various Portland neighborhoods. In fact, last weekend, on the way to the Pie-Off, we took the scenic route into town and drove in on Skyline Blvd.
we took a slight detour through the Sunset Hills Cemetery
This scenic Skyline route allowed me to show my family where I lived one summer; on the grounds of the old Sylvan Water District Offices, in a 5th-Wheel trailer. I’ll never be able to own a house up there, but I had a great summer living on one of the highest points in the West Hills. What a view!
On the way to Washington Park, we took a slight detour through the Sunset Hills Cemetery. It had been at least two decades since I’ve visited my maternal grandparents grave sites. This lazy afternoon, before the Pie-Off, afforded me the perfect opportunity to show my Darling Daughter the graves of her great-grandparents. It also allowed me to explain death – a subject we usually don’t discuss much.
Wednesday, after my breakfast meeting, I drove to the top of Mt. Tabor and spent some contemplative time exploring the landscape with my eyes. So much has changed in the last 13 years, yet so much remains the same. From the vantage point of Portland’s viewpoints, not much has changed. But an hour later, while sitting in the Albina Press, I realized how much has changed – especially in places like the Hawthorne district.
Yesterday, as I strolled around the Pioneer Courthouse Square area, I saw some interesting sights. First, there was the street preacher who thought the steps, where people were quietly eating their lunches, were his personal auditorium. I stopped to listen to his words, though I had already found the tone to be condescending and arrogant. It really wasn’t much of a presentation, and as a sermon it lacked much. Basically it was a string of religious cliche’s strung together in no particular order. It wasn’t long before a young woman approached and engaged him in coversation. I was glad the harranging had stopped.
Shortly afterward I saw a blind man, complete with white cane and closed eyes, stumbling down the street near the Hilton Hotel. The thing that baffled me was the iPod ear buds in his ears. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always heard that impaired vision people learn to rely heavily on their sense of hearing. I was wondering what sense this stumbling blind man was now relying upon.
No sooner had the blind man disappeared down the street, when two Otis Elevator repairmen walked by. I noticed the shoulder patches, “Safety 1st Otis.” Then I noticed the carton of eggs in his hands. Do they test the elevators with eggs? Is that the OSHA approved test mechanism? How eggsactly do they use these unborn chicks? I checkled to myself and Twittered.
As I leaned on my truck, plotting a route to Lowe’s and then to the Ladybug Cafe in St. Johns, I turned and looked down Broadway. It was so Portland. I snapped a photo and got in my truck.
Driving North on I-5, I saw a minivan packed up for a journey reminiscent of the Grapes of Wrath or The Beverly Hillbilles – take your pick.
One of my Twitter friends, @xolotl, sent me this message: “let yourself float in the derive mon amie.” He later interpreted this for me: “la derive = ‘the drift’ idea of French Situationists: floating through your day experiencing like you did with eggs etc.”
He perfectly captured the mood of my day. I love to explore. I love to let my mind wander. This is where I find the meanings. This is where I give myself space to uncover the intentions, the possibilities, and the bigger implications of life’s actions. Plus it allowed me to connect to some of my French ancestry.
The Bible tells us that in the “last days,” people will be “running to and fro, increasing in knowledge.” I certainly see a lot of running to and fro, and we are definitely living in the information age. But are we taking the time to derive wisdom from the knowledge we’ve acquired.
Is the information valuable for us, or are we just collecting it in a trillion websites?
Confessing my Dad Attitude 