(Originally Published Apr 26, 2016)

I think that as a species, we have a tendency to romanticize the past. We like to imagine that the things that came before were somehow better, purer, more satisfying. Today's society thinks back to a time when people were more polite and life a bit less complicated. The people of that less complicated time probably thought about how much more pleasant life was living on lush plantations, and those plantation owners probably reflected fondly on the industriousness of Britain, and if we follow this trail long enough someone at some time in human history was remembering fondly how exhilarating it was to create fire and gather around it. 

Of course, remembering the past with rose colored glasses means we ignore the problems of those times. Remembering fondly the "good old days" of the early 20th century requires ignoring Jim Crow laws, gender inequality, and labor abuse.

We don't have this problem when thinking about the now. Our problems may be daily, our challenges are often many, and our opportunities to escape them are fewer than we would like. The difficulties of the day are, to a degree, badges of honor, the kinds of things we brag about. Who has the most difficult situation is a game that gets played from grade-school to the workplace. It makes sense, then, that we would compare our past experiences with our present ones. And, given that our current challenges are... well, current, they are clearly more significant to us. Our past obstacles tend to look smaller once we have put them behind us.

"Mr. Highison is making us write a six-page paper!"

"That's nothing! Ms. Thomas is making us write and present a seven-page paper!"

"So? Mr. Lydon keeps slapping us with a large freshwater trout!"

"... ok, yeah. You win. That's pretty bad."

For this reason, adults have a tendency to marginalize the difficulties of childhood. That is, to suggest that the challenges faced in high school (and before) are insignificant compared with the challenges of adult life. I've done it. My friends have done it. My parents have done it (and probably yours too). 

And they are right about one thing. Being an adult is harder. It is stressful to manage a car payment, a phone contract, a gas and electric bill, credit card debt, conflicts at work, distant family, children, pets, health insurance, personal recreation, retirement planning, home buying, and a thousand other things. There are more stressors to deal with as an adult, without question, but here's the rub: adults are more equipped to deal with these things. We have experience and practice at managing multiple problems at the same time. We have had to deal with emotional trauma while remaining a functional member of society. We also realize - at least most of us - that our stressors are of our own choosing, and thus we have similarly chosen to take on those responsibilities.

Most of this is new for teenagers. At this age they have multiple teachers expecting a great deal from them. There are responsibilities at home. There are social obligations with friends, frenemies, and, for the fortunate, those with whom they get to share a snuggle. To an adult, these difficulties might seem paltry. This isn't meant as an insult to teenagers; to adults, these challenges would be a welcome vacation from the adult world, especially given the high stakes that come with it. To a teenager, however, these are very serious, highly consequential issues, and they should be.

Which friends you spend time with determines the kinds of experiences you enjoy, miss out on, or regret. One group of friends could put a young person in contact with athletics, physical fitness, and create a path they follow for the rest of their life. Another group could create a support system for unburdening emotional stress caused by school or home. Even more groups could lead to experimentation with sex, alcohol, or drugs, at a younger or later age, or a connection with religion could be developed, or a greater focus on education, or a thousand other possibilities. Nevermind how much it matters to seem "cool" or mature, the choices made by teens are monumental in ways they do not even realize, and they should certainly take them seriously. 

All of this creates complex emotions that, through exposure, we learn to deal with. Until we have spent some time wallowing in our own sadness, confusion, embarrassment, and joy, we are not really sure of what to do with ourselves. We don't know what we are made of.

When I was in high school, I was an arguably terrible student. I didn't do my work, and the reality is that I didn't understand why. I understood what was assigned, I understood how to do it, and I understood what would happen if I didn't do it, but I could not for the life of me figure out why I didn't actually get it done. There were times when I sat around the house literally doing nothing and thinking about the work, and still I ignored it.

This behavior applied to chores at home too. I just couldn't get myself to care.

Oddly, this apathy was something I cared about. I felt like a failure. A loser. I knew I was disappointing my parents, so "disappointment" was a badge I wore as well. I was also making myself angry, and I didn't know how to direct that anger. Balling my hands into fists and hitting fences didn't do much good. I needed to do something. Somehow, "do your homework" wasn't a solution I was able to come up with. Instead, I decided I should run away.

This all sounds dramatic - and I can assure you that at the time, it was - but I made no great journey into the world on my own. I didn't worry my parents, I didn't have anyone looking for me, I never hitched a ride anywhere. Instead, I walked out the door without a destination but with an understanding: I am worthless. I was sure that I was incapable of doing anything, and doing anything right was definitely beyond my reach. At the time, the solution to the problem of disappointing my parents, to giving them one less thing to disagree about, to avoiding failing at anything else, was to simply disappear.

Now, I didn't get far. At the end of the street, near where a meandering running path curved beneath a behemoth electrical tower, I sat and watched the world turn for an hour. The stars were out, and the only sounds were the steady hum of the wires above me and the stuccato passing of cars.

It didn't take long for me to realize that I wasn't running away. Not really. But leaving and thinking and trying to make sense of all the emotional garbage in me was calming. I thought about the friends I wanted to see at school tomorrow, and the dinner I wanted to have, and how cool the grass was, and how simple life was without thinking about school.

There were no revelations. I decided at some time to go home, and I did. I had been emotionally exhausted, and needed a break.  I didn't feel more valuable or more capable than when I left the house that night, but for some reason that was okay. Over time, I learned to value myself. I learned to trust my own judgment and to value others' too. I got better - mostly - at getting things done. I got my heart broken a few times and realized I was all the better for it.

If it were possible for me to go back to high school with the sense of self I possess today, to experience all the highs and lows, I would do it in a second. Not kissing a girl when I should have would have been easy. Deciding not to play baseball after freshman year would have been easier. Choosing to tell my parents when I made serious mistakes would have been less about my guilt and more about their worry. And then of course there are the decisions I would have changed; the solutions to those problems and opportunities seem much clearer now.

But we don't get to experience our teenage years with the benefit of our wiser years. Instead, we make it through the best we can so that, God willing, we can find some measure of wisdom.

So the next time someone tells you that being a teenager is easy, don't blame them for forgetting. And the next time you hesitate to tell me the real reason why you couldn't get your homework done, know that I get it. 

That is not to say that I faced extraordinary challenges as a young man. I didn't have to deal with parental divorce until I was an adult, I didn't have to confront death or serious illness when I was a teen, and I've always been a middle-class white guy, the definition of entitled. It is very likely that I have students who face greater difficulties now than I ever have, and I do not suggest that I can relate to those very real struggles. What I can say, is that I can still remember not understanding or trusting my own feelings and thoughts. If you didn't finish some work and it makes you embarrassed, confused, or angry, you can still let me know. 

You aren't going to get out of the assignment. But I'll understand. If I can, I'll try to help. I know it's hard to be a teen.