Loser

  I don’t look it, but I was once a fourteen year old. It’s true. Don’t let the bald head, white beard and thick-lensed bifocals fool you, I really was that young once. I even remember what it felt like to be that adolescent with his whole life ahead of him. I recall the emotions that coursed through me, vibrant and deep feelings that lit up my sponge-like brain and soul. In that time of my life when the world is opening up around you and you start to realize just how big the world is, and how small you are in it, the emotions that rise to the top will color your life for many years to come. My most vivid memories of those years were filled with fear. Yes, fear.

    I grew up in a normal (as if ANYON E is normal!) two-parent home, where my mom stayed at home to raise the kids and my dad went to work to provide for us. Myself, my two older sisters and my brother wanted for nothing. We had everything that children need: love, a roof over our heads and great food on a regular basis. We played sports, and our parents went to games and they played with us at home. We went to church on Sunday, had friends over, and had regular family vacations. There were no great traumas that might bring gloom and doom into our lives as children. Our parents insulated us from most of life’s great hardships at almost every turn. They taught us values and principles that we would need in life. Don’t lie, cheat or steal, love one another, and always help the little guy and those less fortunate than yourself. Never be the aggressor, but stand up to bullies. Our lives were more “normal” than most of our friend’s. So, what did I fear? Good question.

    I was a chubby, ugly, four eyed nerd. Technically, I was “three-eyed” since I’ve had a prosthetic eye since I was seven. I had only a few friends, and no girls liked me. I was okay in some classes at school, like English (reading and writing, but I couldn’t diagram a sentence to save my life!!), but I didn’t stand out. I wasn’t excellent in anything. I played football, but I wasn’t great at it. My brother, Joe, was an awesome, all-district quarterback, while I second-stringed at offensive tackle. I never had a steady girlfriend, and only a handful of dates, during my entire high school “career”. There was never anything “outstanding” about me. I was a loser. I was sure of it. I feared that everyone could see what a loser I was. I feared that I’d never succeed at anything, never be good at anything, and that no one would ever love me. My fear was real.

    I wasn’t a loser. I look back on those years and think of all the times that I hesitated to do something for fear of failure, all the times I hung back in the corner to keep from being seen, and all the times I did something stupid to camouflage how I thought I looked, or felt, and I know now that it was all a part of being that age. We all have those feelings during those early adolescent years. Our bodies and our minds aren’t fully formed. Our opinions, though strong and heart-felt, are seldom fully developed. Most importantly, our perception of who we are is almost never right, because we aren’t yet who we are going to be. For some kids, that fear can last for years. Others may learn early on how to “power through” and find their confidence. I was the former kind of kid. It wasn’t that my parents didn’t try to encourage me, they did. It wasn’t my teacher’s fault, they tried too. Some pre-teens and teens simply fall into a hole that they dig for themselves and don’t know how to extract themselves. Some children can find that confidence in themselves. They take years to realize it. There are so many paths to take as we grow up, that we can easily lose ourselves in the dark forest of life.

    I reflect on those years and remember them differently now. I see the pictures of a healthy, good-looking young man, having fun playing sports, doing good work in school, who had a few really good friends, and had dates with young ladies that didn’t think him too hideous. I even got kissed. The reality of a good childhood doesn’t match the feelings of fear that lived inside of me back then. My perception of my life at fourteen and my memory of actually being fourteen are two very separate things. I wish I could go back in time, if only to point out to my younger self just how wonderful my life was then, and would be in the future. I would encourage myself to be the hero in my own story, and stop sabotaging my own joy. As adults, we forget how real that fear can be. We see kids do things that we don’t understand, and we can’t fathom what must be going through their minds. We forget that those children aren’t any different than we were back then. Sure, the distractions are constantly changing. Technology, media, entertainment, and communication have all taken leaps and bounds ahead of when we were kids, but human beings are still exactly the same.

    We need to turn back to the simplest solutions that work the best. Spend time with them. Listen to them. Play with them. Be available. Be present. Be a good example for them. Encourage them to excel. Teach them how to succeed and how not to fail. Reward them when they put forth their best effort, and have repercussions that are meaningful to them when they screw up. In short, be the parents you know you should be. Even when you are, know this: that young person always has a choice to make. They can keep turning to fear. I did. I looked past how good my life was and chose to slink back into the shadows. Some kids do. Just don’t give up on those kids. My folks never did. My siblings never did, either. I was never the loser I thought I was, and I figured it out. Some of us just take longer to see the beauty in who we are. I just figured it out about myself while I was writing this article. Maybe I haven’t lived in fear for a very long time, but I still had the same perception of my old self tucked away in my mind.

    I pray that, if you have a pre-teen, or teen, that’s going through a dark patch, don’t give up. They have to grow up, and that’s hard for all of us. Be an anchor for them. Let them know that they are seen, and loved, just as they are, and that they’re beautiful. Love them through it.

Man, my hair looked good back then. Sigh.

God bless y’all!