Reminders

I’m not gonna lie. The last two weeks have been kinda craptastic. We thought Barney was going to have to be put to sleep, Casey’s “check engine” light came on in his car, our dryer broke, I lost my wallet, and I’m going to have to unexpectedly leave one of my jobs.

And then, (perhaps because everything happens for a reason?) I got an e-mail. An e-mail that reminded me of a season in my life that I hadn’t thought about in a very long time.

I was not a typical teenager. In fact, before I even became a teenager I had already testified at a City Council meeting when they were trying to pass a law to allow police to kick homeless people out of the park in the center of town. I clearly remember telling a city council member that he should try talking to the people in the park who were homeless instead of assuming that he knew everything about them.

When I was 13, my Mom and I became part of the forming of a group called The Teen Action Committee. Then (and now) teenagers have a bad rap. In the town I grew up in, teenagers were not to be seen or heard if the community had their way. They didn’t want to see kids hanging out downtown, skateboarding (gasp!) eating (oh no!) or talking with their friends (run for your lives!)

The Teen Action Committee (TAC) took on the project of forming a teen center in town, that would be staffed by positive adults and have things for kids to do. This was not a simple task- although the community didn’t want to see the teenagers, they also didn’t want to give money, space, or time to them for them to have a safe space to be, either. So the teenagers and adults involved in TAC spent countless hours meeting with city officials, testified at numerous council meetings, wrote grants, and spent hours on the steps at the BOR lobbying people to vote and support teens. Both the mayor and the city manager knew me by name. I didn’t know it then, but I had just begun my life of community organizing. I was also given the gift of doing this all with my Mom, who taught me to care and invest in my community – a virtue I hold dear to me.

Eventually, we were given a space. We had grant money. We had adults to staff it. And we’d brow beaten the city council into allowing the teen center to open its doors.

We cleaned this space from top to bottom. We got donations for a pool table, games, a stereo for music, snacks, and pizza parties.

We opened.

Here I am with Aaron, at the Grand Opening giving an award to the city manager, Mike Welch (a good guy and major help in this quest) as the mayor at the time looks on. I am 16 in this picture.

The Teen Center didn’t stay open long. For a lot of reasons – both internal conflict in TAC, lack of community support, constant funding concerns, and so on – it closed its doors not long after it opened. “New Directions for Barre” was formed from the dissolution of TAC, and it did go on to continue to work on teen issues.

I, unfortunately, have always looked back on the teen center as a failed effort at community organizing. Even though I loved it, and I met some amazing people (both through organizing, and hanging out at the teen center myself) it closed so quickly. After years of trying to make it a reality, it didn’t succeed in the way that we all had hoped.

Until I got this e-mail. From an old high school friend who wanted to say thank you to my Mom.

For what?

For the teen center.

Turns out, the teen center (and the positive adult staff, including my awesome Mom) intervened in her life in a way that made a difference. A big one.

And suddenly, my two rough two weeks? Didn’t matter. And the teen center? It wasn’t a failure at all – it was a huge success. It mattered. It made a difference.

Thanks universe and thank you my friend, for this important reminder.