Climbing monkey bars

Aaron let me read a personal essay yesterday that he wrote for one of his classes. The essay was about the development of his musical taste, but in talking about how that developed, he talked about his personality as a young elementary student and he described himself as having adopted the role that was placed on him as the quiet, smart kid. He went on to talk about how he spent his recess reading rather than developing friendships, like the other kids were. He explained that while he progressed from that shyness, there’s still a part of him that is the shy, quiet kid that walks around the playground reading a book instead of climbing the monkey bars.

I had forgotten about those days, and how sad I was at the time that he seemed such a lonely little boy. And when I read that, it made me sad all over again. That he still sees himself as that lonely little boy, despite how social he has become over the last few years. He is an extraordinary young man, and most people who know him know would never suspect that about him.

And then it made me sad for me. Because I was much like Aaron as a child. And, like him, there’s still a part of me that is the shy, quiet kid that walks around the playground reading a book instead of climbing the monkey bars.

I’m far more social than I used to be. I’m involved in lot of different groups. I have quite a few friends. I enjoy being around people that I care about. I can get up and speak to a large group of strangers. And I can do it well. But with all that, I still don’t like gatherings with large groups of people, especially those made up of accomplished or wealthy people, who make me feel inadequate. It’s often still hard for me to insert myself into a group or to feel like I belong to the groups that I’m a part of. There’s still a part of me that is the shy, quiet kid that walks around the playground reading a book instead of climbing the monkey bars. Those of you who have only known me for the past few years might never suspect that about me.

I wonder if all of us have a different personality inside us somewhere. One that goes back to childhood. One that our recent friends and acquaintances would never suspect about us. One that steered who we would become, who we still are at times, one who even affects who our children will become.

I think being aware of who we were and who we still are at times helps us to know why and how we relate to people in the ways that we do. I think talking about it to others, while making us vulnerable, also makes us more real. To others and to ourselves. And being real goes a long way toward helping those shy quiet kids walking around the playground make friends so they can climb on the monkey bars instead of reading a book by themselves.