10. Middle School Boys
9. A not so "Quick Lunch" out on a busy day
8. Falling behind on program prep
7. Unseasonably cold weather for a pool party
6. Middle School Boys
5. Phone calls during program
4. 14 Senior Highs whilst flying solo
3. Dogs eating cat shit
2. The displaying of a blank face when asked to help clean up
1. Cleaning up after the blank faces when they "Have to Go"
Nights like these, a good beer at the pub is medicating.
The Cards are on the TV, and beating the Cubs... there is a silver lining to PITA* Wednesday's.
*PITA - Pain in the Ass
Showing posts with label Youth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Youth. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Friday, February 29, 2008
The "Season" of Lent
It’s a Christian thing. Actually, I think it is more a Catholic thing. I grew up Catholic. I remember the season of lent and the importance my family put on the “prep time” for Easter. I remember the abstinence from meat on Friday’s. I remember going to the Knights of Columbus hall for the weekly fish fry (why was fish not considered meat anyway?). I remember my birthday ALWAYS happened during lent, so Friday birthday parties were cheese pizza and mozzarella sticks. I remember HATING lent.
Today, I love visiting my parents during this season going with them to the “Knight’s” hall for fried fish and beer. Today, I love the idea of self check and sacrifice. Today, I realize that Lent is actually the reason for my becoming vegetarian. And today, no longer a practicing Catholic, I have discovered in my peers a new focus regarding the season of Lent. And it kind of depresses me.
There are some things the Catholics do with success: instill feelings of guilt, worship with sensory appeal (you see the crucifix, touch the holy water, smell the incense, hear the word, taste the Eucharist), and faithfully practice their holy days (such as Easter, Christmas, Good Friday, the Annunciation, Christ’s Ascension). The Catholics have their "Holy Days of Obligation." People fast. People get ashes placed upon their foreheads. People abstain from guilty pleasures. People light candles. People confess sins to a priest. People pray the rosary. It’s a Catholic thing!
Outside the Catholic faith, this lent “thing” is a completely different beast. As I facilitate communications with my teens, I discover their view of lent models more a second go round at New Year’s resolutions. Their initial resolve to lose weight is lost with the coming of February or March. But hey, it’s lent, here’s an idea: I’ll give up chocolate. Why?
For the mentality of a teenager: "If I don’t eat chocolate for 40 days, I will loose 40 pounds."
Selfish bastards.
Kidding. So, since when did Lent become such selfish practice? Since when did these 40 days become a short term resolution testing ground? Now, I won’t stand upon my soap box and say: “Lent is a time to make sacrifices so you can become more in tuned to the ways of the true Christ.” Sometimes I think Christ would laugh at our over bearing piousness.
Here is my soapbox sticker for the Season of Lent:
Why do we need a sacrifice to make ourselves miserable “for Christ” during such a time when winter blahs are already at their height. I’ve mentioned before that the Chinese get it right by celebrating the New Year with light, bright colors, family and FOOD!
In my opinion, this is not a season to be miserable. This is a season for self improvement, but not defined by ideas of selfish gain. A personal belief in God is not my issue. My issue deals with the motivation behind “giving up chocolate” for forty days. To fast from something is great, but such personal sacrifice for self improvement should be done to: (A) become more spiritual (ask Buddhist monks about this) or (B) open eyes to the suffering of others.
Really, lent should not a time to renew New Year's resolutions. It works much better as a time to open our eyes to new ideas, lifestyles...a time to look outside ourselves and focus attention on those not as lucky to have the abundance of "chocolate" to "give up." It is a time to retune our soul, psyche, or essence if you will, to the world around and outside our immediate physical sphere.
That is all. I descend my soapbox.
Today, I love visiting my parents during this season going with them to the “Knight’s” hall for fried fish and beer. Today, I love the idea of self check and sacrifice. Today, I realize that Lent is actually the reason for my becoming vegetarian. And today, no longer a practicing Catholic, I have discovered in my peers a new focus regarding the season of Lent. And it kind of depresses me.
There are some things the Catholics do with success: instill feelings of guilt, worship with sensory appeal (you see the crucifix, touch the holy water, smell the incense, hear the word, taste the Eucharist), and faithfully practice their holy days (such as Easter, Christmas, Good Friday, the Annunciation, Christ’s Ascension). The Catholics have their "Holy Days of Obligation." People fast. People get ashes placed upon their foreheads. People abstain from guilty pleasures. People light candles. People confess sins to a priest. People pray the rosary. It’s a Catholic thing!
Outside the Catholic faith, this lent “thing” is a completely different beast. As I facilitate communications with my teens, I discover their view of lent models more a second go round at New Year’s resolutions. Their initial resolve to lose weight is lost with the coming of February or March. But hey, it’s lent, here’s an idea: I’ll give up chocolate. Why?
For the mentality of a teenager: "If I don’t eat chocolate for 40 days, I will loose 40 pounds."
Selfish bastards.
Kidding. So, since when did Lent become such selfish practice? Since when did these 40 days become a short term resolution testing ground? Now, I won’t stand upon my soap box and say: “Lent is a time to make sacrifices so you can become more in tuned to the ways of the true Christ.” Sometimes I think Christ would laugh at our over bearing piousness.
Here is my soapbox sticker for the Season of Lent:
Why do we need a sacrifice to make ourselves miserable “for Christ” during such a time when winter blahs are already at their height. I’ve mentioned before that the Chinese get it right by celebrating the New Year with light, bright colors, family and FOOD!
In my opinion, this is not a season to be miserable. This is a season for self improvement, but not defined by ideas of selfish gain. A personal belief in God is not my issue. My issue deals with the motivation behind “giving up chocolate” for forty days. To fast from something is great, but such personal sacrifice for self improvement should be done to: (A) become more spiritual (ask Buddhist monks about this) or (B) open eyes to the suffering of others.
Really, lent should not a time to renew New Year's resolutions. It works much better as a time to open our eyes to new ideas, lifestyles...a time to look outside ourselves and focus attention on those not as lucky to have the abundance of "chocolate" to "give up." It is a time to retune our soul, psyche, or essence if you will, to the world around and outside our immediate physical sphere.
That is all. I descend my soapbox.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Monday, Bloody Monday
I hate Mondays
And Wednesdays.
Sorry. I don’t really hate those days. That would mean I hate the programs I both run and help run. Years ago, when I ran a Wednesday “program” for a different job, I would go out for an adult beverage with a friend and co-worker simply to defrag. But now, I am alone. I am not complaining because I A) have no friends, nor B) have no man to call my own. A) I have friends, and B) I could care less whether I have a man or not. Let me clarify that I am not concerned with the drama involved in dating.
No, I complain because I have no one who is able and willing to have a beer with me following such programs. And I understand. I have one friend whom I called this evening for a beverage, but his wife was preparing dinner and was expecting him home. I was invited as well. This is all fine and I understand her position; yet, I was not in the mood for home civilization and drink, nor was I in the mood for said wife to be pessimistic over my life.
Warning: a Digression::
Said wife IS my best friend, however, I am internally pessimistic enough and do not always need her telling me everything else which is “wrong” in my life. Further more, she constantly insists on pointing out how my decisions will eventually hurt me or put me in grave debt. Now, her husband is also a good friend, is allowed to go to the bar with me (pending permission), and can be decent conversation. All in all, it is a good arrangement: we can have a beer while joking and harrassing life. I love them both. Yet, neither one can freely go out for a beverage with me at the local bar, because she hates going out, and he is not allowed without wife’s permission.
So, back to my rant. I like the idea of going out with a friend for a beverage on either a Monday or Wednesday night. Not both, per say, but either. And on such a givin night, when I feel the desire for a drink, I have no one I can call. Now, I do go out by myself quite a bit. The reason is not antisocal, it is more because my friends:
Do not like going out
Do not have permission to go out,
Are pregnant, and drinking is just not healthy
Have children at home
Thus the dilemma with my age range…either married with children or married with children on the way. Go them…and thank the goodness I am not in their shoes - but that is another story.
So when a Monday or Wednesday kill me, you will find me alone at the bar.
Often, I sit at work after program with parallel thoughts in my head, thinking I’d be just as happy going home, should I make it home, but a beer would be wonderful just the now. My thoughts revolve around the idea that I have just run programs involving either children or teenagers. I would not call it glorified babysitting in respect to my high schoolers, but then again…I do have three or four whom I would gladly charge their parents a fee. The post program outings do not involve drinking away the woes and stress of the evening. Rather, they involve reemerging myself into the world which I should call my own: the world of a “pushing 30” year old. I want to go out to the bar for a drink or two with friends my own age. People I can relate with. People who think the same way, live the same way, drink the same way as me.
Now do not get me wrong, I love my kids. I really do. But they are teenagers. They do not understand what it means to be an independant gal with three dogs and a house payment. They do not get the realities facing a single woman whose parents no longer foot the bills. (And bless mom and dad for that...) It becomes a twilight zone of teenage ideology when they believe it their mission to “hook” me up with a parental’s single friend. But they are lost in the whole high school drama defined by the latest movie or song geared at their generation. I am above that. Sure, I befriend their parents, but not as buddies I can call late at night with a blue mood looming and ice cream and wine taunting from the sidelines. Their parents are adult alies faced with the same goal of raising their kids to be the best they can be in a world set on pushing them the opposite direction.
Being a youth director can be a pain! It limits the friends circle. People my age are either scared off by my work or are so super immersed in the in the life of the "church" that they would never find themselves in the places I like to call “Cheers.”
Sometimes I think that to survive my age, I may need to find a new life.
And Wednesdays.
Sorry. I don’t really hate those days. That would mean I hate the programs I both run and help run. Years ago, when I ran a Wednesday “program” for a different job, I would go out for an adult beverage with a friend and co-worker simply to defrag. But now, I am alone. I am not complaining because I A) have no friends, nor B) have no man to call my own. A) I have friends, and B) I could care less whether I have a man or not. Let me clarify that I am not concerned with the drama involved in dating.
No, I complain because I have no one who is able and willing to have a beer with me following such programs. And I understand. I have one friend whom I called this evening for a beverage, but his wife was preparing dinner and was expecting him home. I was invited as well. This is all fine and I understand her position; yet, I was not in the mood for home civilization and drink, nor was I in the mood for said wife to be pessimistic over my life.
Warning: a Digression::
Said wife IS my best friend, however, I am internally pessimistic enough and do not always need her telling me everything else which is “wrong” in my life. Further more, she constantly insists on pointing out how my decisions will eventually hurt me or put me in grave debt. Now, her husband is also a good friend, is allowed to go to the bar with me (pending permission), and can be decent conversation. All in all, it is a good arrangement: we can have a beer while joking and harrassing life. I love them both. Yet, neither one can freely go out for a beverage with me at the local bar, because she hates going out, and he is not allowed without wife’s permission.
So, back to my rant. I like the idea of going out with a friend for a beverage on either a Monday or Wednesday night. Not both, per say, but either. And on such a givin night, when I feel the desire for a drink, I have no one I can call. Now, I do go out by myself quite a bit. The reason is not antisocal, it is more because my friends:
Do not like going out
Do not have permission to go out,
Are pregnant, and drinking is just not healthy
Have children at home
Thus the dilemma with my age range…either married with children or married with children on the way. Go them…and thank the goodness I am not in their shoes - but that is another story.
So when a Monday or Wednesday kill me, you will find me alone at the bar.
Often, I sit at work after program with parallel thoughts in my head, thinking I’d be just as happy going home, should I make it home, but a beer would be wonderful just the now. My thoughts revolve around the idea that I have just run programs involving either children or teenagers. I would not call it glorified babysitting in respect to my high schoolers, but then again…I do have three or four whom I would gladly charge their parents a fee. The post program outings do not involve drinking away the woes and stress of the evening. Rather, they involve reemerging myself into the world which I should call my own: the world of a “pushing 30” year old. I want to go out to the bar for a drink or two with friends my own age. People I can relate with. People who think the same way, live the same way, drink the same way as me.
Now do not get me wrong, I love my kids. I really do. But they are teenagers. They do not understand what it means to be an independant gal with three dogs and a house payment. They do not get the realities facing a single woman whose parents no longer foot the bills. (And bless mom and dad for that...) It becomes a twilight zone of teenage ideology when they believe it their mission to “hook” me up with a parental’s single friend. But they are lost in the whole high school drama defined by the latest movie or song geared at their generation. I am above that. Sure, I befriend their parents, but not as buddies I can call late at night with a blue mood looming and ice cream and wine taunting from the sidelines. Their parents are adult alies faced with the same goal of raising their kids to be the best they can be in a world set on pushing them the opposite direction.
Being a youth director can be a pain! It limits the friends circle. People my age are either scared off by my work or are so super immersed in the in the life of the "church" that they would never find themselves in the places I like to call “Cheers.”
Sometimes I think that to survive my age, I may need to find a new life.
Monday, January 28, 2008
On Being a Youth Director
Page One
Nothing is better than watching a seventeen year old male youth, and popular high school senior, completely drop his guard and act the jester in a crowd of younger teens. Picture said youth, Mr. High and Mighty, Good Looking and Confident, squirming around on his stomach like a snake in front of his peers. It all went something like this:
The night starts as I drive four kids two hours down the highway for a conference. They are assigned to lead the opening services, so in our rush we miss dinner. When the youth portion of the conference begins, I allow those four teens grace time to gulp down some McDonalds. As a result, all walk in to games a wee bit late. Now, “Dude” walks in to the room seeing the other teenagers preparing for a game of Ducks, Butterflies, Snakes, and Pterodactyls (in this game, basically each person is assigned one of the four animals. When said animal is called, person must switch spots with another of the same animal...all while acting like assigned animal).
RW: Dude, join the game...yer a snake.
Dude: What's it do?
RW: It hisses and crawls across the floor on it’s stomach.
Dude: On it’s stomach!?
RW: Yea, *snicker* on its stomach.
Dude sees the smile on my face. Dude knows my sarcastic humor. Dude is not fazed by any of this. I call out "Snakes" just because I know he will do what I have instructed...not because he fears my reigning superiority, but because he knows the joke. So while everyone else is walking to their new space, hissing and using their arms for the snakey motion, Dude drops to the floor and squirms to his new spot. I love that kid. Sure enough, laughter erupts, and he wins gold stars for being such a ham.
Page Two
The mascot for youth ministry these days is the pterodactyl. Now, in your image, the pterodactyl is a flying sort of dinosaur with a long pointed head and massive bat like wings. But as the keeper of teens, and the player of “Pterodactyl,” this dino of yore would just as easily be associated with those little velociraptors from the movie “Jurassic Park.” (By the way, in this game you vocally pass around the word “Pterodactyl” or reverse the word by screeching like the dino, all while keeping your lips secure over your teeth. No teeth are allowed to be seen or you are a dead “Pterodactyl”…who COMES UP with these games!!!!)
When we play this game, the shield of inhibitions is removed and soon all kids are forming their own velociraptor-pterodactyl personalities. Again, examples:
“Dude” from page one and “Pooh-Bah” are in a screeching contest, serious and absurd, each wanting to succumb the other in fits of laughter. Arms are raised, eyes are bulging, mouths are open. Their lips are secure over their teeth making these two teenage boys resemble some form of toothless alien intent on making conversation but only peals of “GRRAAWWKKK” are emitting. Finally, after the battle cry is passed a few hundred times, each time growing in intensification, Dude succumbs, falls off his chair in a wide toothed grin, gripping his stomach in mock death…all while we adults wipe tears from our eyes.
“Tarv” is a tall lanky kid with a dry humor…I love dry humor. He is sitting back in his chair, legs outstretched, arms crossed, hat pulled low, hair sticking out in all directions. Pterodactyls come at him from all directions, the words, the screams, the outstretched arms…the boy is under attack from younger raptors. Yet, he passes the word with no emotion, and succeeds in causing peals of laughter from his unsuspecting neighbors, when he returns their “Pterodactyl” with a simple look and a nonchalant, “gaw.” Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Monotone-a-saurus.
Then there is “Dot,” the leader of this game. She bats her eyes, cozies up to her neighbor and coos: “Pterodactyl.” Watching this show, you envision in your mind a cartoon dinosaur complete with a giant bow and absurdly painted lips. But what really fits the bill is when Dot goes true to her feminine, dinosaur nature. She cozies up to her neighbor, bats those eyes, cunning as a siren. Then, as you expect her to pass the word, she lifts her arms and scares the pants off the poor kid with a screech fit for a banshee.
I love absurd games.
Page Three
Back at home, on a Sunday morning, we are standing around refreshments. During this time, I usually go around trying to convince youth to stay for Sunday School. This is always fun because their parents are all hovering around the food, antsy to slip out the front door once the start of classes is announced. I do not understand this habit…but what can I do.
So I am talking to “Smiles” (a kid no matter how much I fuss at him, he still comes out with a smile). I am trying to entice him to come upstairs for Sunday school. He is standing there with his dad watching me plead like I’m an organ monkey asking for change. I know I will not win them over. His excuse is priceless: “I have to go home to clean my room for the cleaning lady…”
Now excuse my soap box, but seriously…these thoughts cross my mind:
“The CLEANING LADY IS KEEPING YOU FROM SUNDAY SCHOOL!! What a biatch… Does she work on Sunday? It is presently 9:30 in the AM. Are you telling me an additional 45 minutes will make or break the clean room?? You will probably go home and play video games anyway until dinner time, not really cleaning your room until 9:30 tonight, right before you hit the hay for sleep!! Are you kidding me!!?? Your room is seriously so messy that you have got to jettison out by 10 am just to have enough time to clean!?!?”
Ok, enough. Like I said, I know I am not going win this one. So I small talk the dynamic father and son duo. The comment comes from my mouth, “Haha, you have to clean the room for the maid? I remember that from growing up…”
And snap. My mind has officially flown off to never, never land where I am a teenager and my mother is telling me to clean my room because: “the maid is coming.” My eyes glaze over as I remember arguing with her the absurdity of that comment. My mouth continues the oration of this story. My mind is so lost in translation, that editing my words has ceased…and I hear myself repeat to Smiles and his dad my mother’s response: “the maid can’t clean with all your crap lying around.”
Are you allowed to say “crap” at church?
Nothing is better than watching a seventeen year old male youth, and popular high school senior, completely drop his guard and act the jester in a crowd of younger teens. Picture said youth, Mr. High and Mighty, Good Looking and Confident, squirming around on his stomach like a snake in front of his peers. It all went something like this:
The night starts as I drive four kids two hours down the highway for a conference. They are assigned to lead the opening services, so in our rush we miss dinner. When the youth portion of the conference begins, I allow those four teens grace time to gulp down some McDonalds. As a result, all walk in to games a wee bit late. Now, “Dude” walks in to the room seeing the other teenagers preparing for a game of Ducks, Butterflies, Snakes, and Pterodactyls (in this game, basically each person is assigned one of the four animals. When said animal is called, person must switch spots with another of the same animal...all while acting like assigned animal).
RW: Dude, join the game...yer a snake.
Dude: What's it do?
RW: It hisses and crawls across the floor on it’s stomach.
Dude: On it’s stomach!?
RW: Yea, *snicker* on its stomach.
Dude sees the smile on my face. Dude knows my sarcastic humor. Dude is not fazed by any of this. I call out "Snakes" just because I know he will do what I have instructed...not because he fears my reigning superiority, but because he knows the joke. So while everyone else is walking to their new space, hissing and using their arms for the snakey motion, Dude drops to the floor and squirms to his new spot. I love that kid. Sure enough, laughter erupts, and he wins gold stars for being such a ham.
Page Two
The mascot for youth ministry these days is the pterodactyl. Now, in your image, the pterodactyl is a flying sort of dinosaur with a long pointed head and massive bat like wings. But as the keeper of teens, and the player of “Pterodactyl,” this dino of yore would just as easily be associated with those little velociraptors from the movie “Jurassic Park.” (By the way, in this game you vocally pass around the word “Pterodactyl” or reverse the word by screeching like the dino, all while keeping your lips secure over your teeth. No teeth are allowed to be seen or you are a dead “Pterodactyl”…who COMES UP with these games!!!!)
When we play this game, the shield of inhibitions is removed and soon all kids are forming their own velociraptor-pterodactyl personalities. Again, examples:
“Dude” from page one and “Pooh-Bah” are in a screeching contest, serious and absurd, each wanting to succumb the other in fits of laughter. Arms are raised, eyes are bulging, mouths are open. Their lips are secure over their teeth making these two teenage boys resemble some form of toothless alien intent on making conversation but only peals of “GRRAAWWKKK” are emitting. Finally, after the battle cry is passed a few hundred times, each time growing in intensification, Dude succumbs, falls off his chair in a wide toothed grin, gripping his stomach in mock death…all while we adults wipe tears from our eyes.
“Tarv” is a tall lanky kid with a dry humor…I love dry humor. He is sitting back in his chair, legs outstretched, arms crossed, hat pulled low, hair sticking out in all directions. Pterodactyls come at him from all directions, the words, the screams, the outstretched arms…the boy is under attack from younger raptors. Yet, he passes the word with no emotion, and succeeds in causing peals of laughter from his unsuspecting neighbors, when he returns their “Pterodactyl” with a simple look and a nonchalant, “gaw.” Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Monotone-a-saurus.
Then there is “Dot,” the leader of this game. She bats her eyes, cozies up to her neighbor and coos: “Pterodactyl.” Watching this show, you envision in your mind a cartoon dinosaur complete with a giant bow and absurdly painted lips. But what really fits the bill is when Dot goes true to her feminine, dinosaur nature. She cozies up to her neighbor, bats those eyes, cunning as a siren. Then, as you expect her to pass the word, she lifts her arms and scares the pants off the poor kid with a screech fit for a banshee.
I love absurd games.
Page Three
Back at home, on a Sunday morning, we are standing around refreshments. During this time, I usually go around trying to convince youth to stay for Sunday School. This is always fun because their parents are all hovering around the food, antsy to slip out the front door once the start of classes is announced. I do not understand this habit…but what can I do.
So I am talking to “Smiles” (a kid no matter how much I fuss at him, he still comes out with a smile). I am trying to entice him to come upstairs for Sunday school. He is standing there with his dad watching me plead like I’m an organ monkey asking for change. I know I will not win them over. His excuse is priceless: “I have to go home to clean my room for the cleaning lady…”
Now excuse my soap box, but seriously…these thoughts cross my mind:
“The CLEANING LADY IS KEEPING YOU FROM SUNDAY SCHOOL!! What a biatch… Does she work on Sunday? It is presently 9:30 in the AM. Are you telling me an additional 45 minutes will make or break the clean room?? You will probably go home and play video games anyway until dinner time, not really cleaning your room until 9:30 tonight, right before you hit the hay for sleep!! Are you kidding me!!?? Your room is seriously so messy that you have got to jettison out by 10 am just to have enough time to clean!?!?”
Ok, enough. Like I said, I know I am not going win this one. So I small talk the dynamic father and son duo. The comment comes from my mouth, “Haha, you have to clean the room for the maid? I remember that from growing up…”
And snap. My mind has officially flown off to never, never land where I am a teenager and my mother is telling me to clean my room because: “the maid is coming.” My eyes glaze over as I remember arguing with her the absurdity of that comment. My mouth continues the oration of this story. My mind is so lost in translation, that editing my words has ceased…and I hear myself repeat to Smiles and his dad my mother’s response: “the maid can’t clean with all your crap lying around.”
Are you allowed to say “crap” at church?
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