Do You Remember That Feeling?

I tutor two kids in my neighborhood, and every few weeks I like to take them to the library to assist them in finding reading material. On our last visit, I suggested to the boy going into sixth grade that we might want to just take a look at the YA section of the library.
"Many of the books might not interest you," I told him, "but I saw a lot of biographies down there, and it would be worth taking a look. You're right at that age where some of those books might be at your reading level."
He is a quiet boy, and when I said this he just opened his eyes wide and nodded his head to indicate that he'd give it a try. After leaving the children's area, we stopped into the teen section, and while I searched through the biographies, Andrew looked carefully around. Then he leaned into the bookshelf where I was checking the amount and complexity of the text in the books and said to me in a very quiet voice, with his nose scrunched up, "I'm going to be a teen?"

I so remember that feeling! All of the adults around me treating it like it's not such a big deal, but also trying to prepare me for some major life change. I remember it most clearly in the battle over wearing a bra. My Mom wanted me to wear a training bra in fifth grade, and I absolutely didn't want to. I can remember sitting in church and looking around me at all of the women, the women in the choir, the women beside me in the pews, and thinking, "they all wear bras. It can't be so embarrassing if every single one of them wears one."
But it still took me several more months before I wore one. And I only started then because my Mom told me in the tone of voice that meant I couldn't argue that we were shopping for a bra.

I'm so glad that phase in my life is over. And I'm also glad that I have such clear memories of it. I think that's why I kind of liked teaching in a Middle School.

My Brother Jonathan

At the end of June, I went on a short vacation with some friends and their sixth-and-a-half year old son. We got stuck in traffic driving out to Pennsylvania, so to keep Owen calm, I started telling stories. I started with my fishing stories, which led to my camping stories, which led to me being plumb out of stories and Owen still begging for more. Finally, he told me I should just repeat some of the stories I had just told, and so I chose his favorite, the night my Dad scared us by pretending to be a bear.
The story is good because my youngest brother, Jonathan, was so scared that he jumped off the ground while cocooned in his sleeping bag. Jim and I still aren't sure how he could jump that high from a horizontal position. Owen loved that image of Jonathan shooting up into the air, his arms and legs wrapped in his sleeping bag, and then crashing down on top of Jim and I in our sleeping bags.
Later in the week, I was having a very serious discussion with Owen's parents about adoption and race, and I mentioned Jonathan, who was adopted from Korea. Owen had been eating and then playing near the table, and when he heard me mention Jonathan, he came over to whisper in my ear, "Did you tell them about Jonathan and the sleeping bag?" His eyes were big and expectant and he giggled in anticipation of his parents hearing the story. My brother, the sleeping-bag-jumping superhero.