Personal Essay For My Juv. Delinquency Class

TJ was the one that all the leaders were worried about. Well, I had good leaders. Hopefully they were worried about all of us. But TJ, apparently, was ‘on the margin,’ whatever that means. He would come to church, fairly regularly. He would even wear a white shirt and tie—with the sagging blue jeans and skater shoes to round out the ensemble. His hair, not to be out done, made its own statement in a way not completely dissimilar to the statement being made just below it. It was long, but not too long. It was brushed over to one side in a way that could not have been styled passively, yet didn’t scream “I obsess about how I look.” TJ made me think that he cared enough to give the impression that he doesn’t care. But I knew better. I knew enough that I didn’t worry about him very much. Chalk it up to naiveté or sophomoric apathy on my part if you want; but looking back on my interactions with TJ, he was one who did not make me feel like I was being judged or that certain expectations were not being met. I saw that he was an OK kid wanting to be trusted with his own life. I saw that through how he treated me. It was almost a case of one social misfit sympathizing with another social misfit.
To describe my high-school self as a social misfit may be the most irresponsible and ridiculous way to use the word—from an outsider’s point of view, anyway. In retrospect, I was just fine and lacked a real reason to be disappointed in my high school experience. But I felt on the bubble. I felt like a misfit. I bring my own experience up in order to set a kind of perspective on what kind of guy I saw TJ to be. He may have been marginalized, but he wore it well. I fit in that ever-broadening, ever-redefined margin along with TJ, but I didn’t like it like he did. I didn’t embrace it like he did. I was friends, acquaintances really, with the popular, rich, funny kids during school. But Friday afternoon hit, and there was only one, very residential place to find me until Sunday morning when church beckoned, and then Monday morning, when early-morning seminary summoned. What’s more? My high school had release time, but I still went to the early-morning section! Why? Because choir and orchestra met at specific times of the day; not leaving my English, Math, and Social Studies classes much wiggle room. Yeah, I could have worked it out so that I did not force myself into a bleak situation that left me with but one option. But early-morning seminary kids build a connection unlike other early-morning classes could. I wanted to fit in somewhere, and nothing secures you a niche like have a sob story about early seminary to whine about; drawing attention to yourself in the process, of course.
Really, TJ and I were not all that different, we just had different interests. He had drugs. I had the cello. You may or may not see immediately the similarity between the two. His drugs were fulfilling the same social need that my cello was. (‘K, they were just cigarettes. But I was going for the shock value. Did it work?) We were both acting out, just in a little different of ways. He most likely never did any of the hard stuff. Sure, a pack of cigs and a forty of beer were completely outside my realm of acceptable behavior. But even though he had plenty of opportunities to go farther, (the people he hung around certainly did go farther) his delinquency seemed to hold steady at the cigarettes and beer culture. He would step outside of that every once in a while to come to church and play teachers basketball. He still came on our Young Men’s lake trips; even the occasional Wednesday night activity. He was never that bad.
On the other, yet similar hand, I played the cello. I associated with the upper-echelons of high school-aged musicians in Arizona. I can’t say high school musicians because some of them were so good, they didn’t have time for high school. They were too busy with music. Even though I was around them a lot, I never was truly one of them. I was the worst of the best; while TJ was the best of the worst. We both wanted to be extreme, but we just could not commit ourselves to our respective extremity. Ours was a kind of reluctant delinquency. “I’ll show you,” we both seemed to say to the moderate middle. “I’ll show you that I can be hard core if I wanted to, but I choose to not be.” Hard core? Really? Sure. But hardcore in name, and just barely enough effort to secure that name, only.
My group looked down on his group, and his group resented my group. Yet when we were around each other and had reason to talk to each other, we could connect. Here I was, the preppy kid without a cause; and there he was, the rebel without a cause. Why did I get dressed up for church and go to mutual every week and participate in a lot of different activities like sports and music without ever really sinking my teeth into them? I don’t know. Maybe I will just revert to the cliché answer that I was looking for acceptance, and convenient acceptance, nonetheless. I was trying to do just the bare minimum to gain the title “preppy.” On the other hand, why did TJ come to church often and wear a shirt and tie and stay involved with school, but only among the punk, skater group; all the while putting out the impression that he could fall off the cliff any time, but never quite going all the way? Further establishing the cliché, he may have also been looking for acceptance, among a myriad of other possible reasons. Funny how, even about yourself, you never know 100% why someone did something.
II. Background
TJ lived down the street from me. We both lived in the same neighborhood for a while; maybe five or six years. It’s not like he got transplanted into a foster family to stay for a while, or that he was an outsider; our neighborhoods were literally the same. So you can’t say that we were coming from completely separate worlds or something. This leads me to wonder why we did act so differently. It may have been partly because Heritage Street couldn’t hold us. If we revisit the “extreme” theme, we see that the neighborhood actually did not have a huge impact on either of us. Heritage Street didn’t need to hold me. I was content being a good kid at home. My parents moved our family to that neighborhood to cut out any distraction to their parenting; actually quite a good move on their part. But I probably would not have been much different in any other neighborhood. As for TJ, Heritage Street had no interest in keeping him around. We on Heritage Street prided ourselves on being so tight-knit despite our lack of gated-communityness. (Again I include as a resident of the neighborhood rather than a part of the neighborhood.) Because TJ was not an asset to the tight-knit nature of the neighborhood, he couldn’t strengthen it. Therefore, the neighborhood didn’t need him, so it didn’t do anything for him. Or so he felt. I don’t really believe that Heritage Street residents were so stratifying. But I believe that’s how it was perceived, especially by TJ.
Because we really did have leaders who were not overly judgmental, and in an effort to not be too extreme, TJ was not a stranger. We had one leader, Richard, who was especially welcoming and forgiving, but not in a Young-Women kind of way. No cookies changed hands, but heart-felt talks about what was going on certainly took place. Of course Richard’s experience with Anasazi only helped us. Anasazi is a high-adventure survival camp for troubled youth, and Richard had been a counselor. He didn’t coddle us, but he didn’t just let us go, either. Although he told us from the beginning, “When Bishop gave me this calling, he just wanted me to keep you guys the same. I don’t need to save any of you;” he still cared about us. The fact that I’m talking about Richard now is something of a tribute to his very positive influence on all of us; from the kid that everyone else worried (TJ), to the preppy kid who never got into trouble (me).
I remember Richard saying things about TJ like “I really like that kid,” or “TJ is so cool.” TJ was a huge fan of the band Metallica, and Richard had been to a bunch of Metallica concerts and knew all about the band. Richard, apparently, had something of a delinquent past, same as TJ. But he had turned around. They even had similar body-types. They had a lot in common. One sight that will stay with me for a long time is that of Richard and TJ sitting on folding chairs in the sand bank on Lake Powell during a Young Men’s boating trip. TJ had blown up at one of the other boys and stormed off after an f-word or two. Having built a strong relationship with him already, Richard went immediately over and spoke with him for a while. I don’t know what was said, of course. But I do remember their demeanor. I hadn’t seen TJ quite so calm and open as when I saw him and Richard talk it out. That scene is among a very few that I feel has really influenced my attitude toward other people. I don’t freak out about a member whom I home-teach not coming to church; and I didn’t take it personally when an investigator didn’t come to a meeting. These are silly things to be upset about, I feel. There are other problems that are more of an issue when someone doesn’t come to Family Home Evening than simply not coming to Family Home Evening. In TJ’s case, the “problem” or “issue” or “challenge” or whatever was something other than his long hair or skater shoes at church. And Richard realized that.
III. Recommendations
I can’t say much about TJ’s home life. His parents were active in the church and they provided a safe living environment. TJ’s father was in the piano business. He restored and tuned pianos, and TJ helped out with that. I never saw them fight with each other. From what I saw, there wasn’t much more for TJ’s parents to do. However, I saw how my leaders treated him, and I do not feel regretful about it. I think they did a fantastic job. We had a few boys in my Young Men’s group who were not model church members. They kept their hair long or wore their pants sagging a bit, but that did not make them bad people. I have seen, however, undue pressure put on similar boys in other wards. Their leaders guilted them into fitting the stereotypical bill of an LDS adolescent. Thankfully, my leaders never expected one of us to show up on the latest “For the Strength of Youth” pamphlet. That relieved them of undue, unfitting expectations. We had pressure enough, TJ included, to do better. Richard and the other leaders were truly on our side and gave us whatever support we needed.
TJ moved into the ward when he was about 13 or 14 from a much more delinquent-prone neighborhood. I’m sure that’s how his behavior got started. But it really didn’t get worse once he moved. He just hovered around the same level of disobedience. Perhaps, though, the single greatest part of the LDS Church’s organization is the positive male presence. TJ had a dad who was fulfilling his divine appointment as father. He had a caring bishop, an understanding Young Men’s leader, two home teachers at his disposal, a faithful Sunday School teachers, and a handful of friends’ fathers. TJ’s weekly involvement in the church networked him to half a dozen grown male mentors.
This masculine resource can be made available through other means besides just church programs. Male public school teachers should have training and helped to realize their role as model examples of responsibility. Boys PE in junior high comes with benefits far surpassing physical fitness. It is a perfect opportunity for coaches to teach skills and principles beyond push-ups and dodge ball to boys who are just coming to realize the emotional differences between men and women. I would hope that all male teachers realize similar opportunities, no matter the prescribed curriculum of their discipline. I would hope they realize that “learning across the curriculum” does not simply mean writing essays for math class. While it wasn’t public school teachers who helped TJ, the principle of example can be extended to anyone with prolonged exposure with juveniles.