The other day, while scrolling through Instagram, I came across a post from an old college friend. Although we hadn’t seen each other since graduation some 19 years ago from Quinnipiac University in Connecticut, we’d still kept in touch via social media as most of us millennials tend to do.
The post was about her nine-year-old son, Chase, and how he was being teased at school, and not really having any luck making friends in second grade.
A young kid who, according to his mom, is big into history and has a great heart. And yet, the cruelty of youth rears its ugly head once again.
And I really liked what she wrote: “A gentle reminder to chat with your kids about being bucket fillers instead of bucket dippers. Feeling sad sending your child to school because other kids aren’t kind to him should never be something any parent or kid has to carry. Kindness matters. Inclusion matters. The little things our kids say and do matter more than we realize. Raising children who make others feel welcome is just as important as anything else we teach them.”
While reading the post, a flood of memories entered my field-of-vision, images and moments of my own childhood, and how I went through the same exact thing as a kid growing up in the 1990s. I felt a deep sense of solidarity with what he was going through, the alienation of trying to make friends right out of the starting gate of life. Heck, making friends at any age can be tough.
So, I reached out to my friend and sent her a message. I told her I knew all-too-well that feeling of sadness and loneliness her son was going through. I also asked her if I could send him a letter to cheer him up. Can’t hurt, right? I mean, I remember those gloomy days in elementary school, this frustration of feeling misunderstood and not finding a way to break through to others.
Sheesh, even as I’m writing this to you readers out there, I just felt this full-circle kind of thing washing across my heart and soul, one where “nothing’s the same, everything’s the same.” Adults are just big kids, in essence, and for good or ill. But, just like I tell Chase in the letter below, “kindness breeds kindness.” Y’all be nice out there, yah hear?
“Dear Chase,
You don’t know me, but we’re kindred spirits. We probably have more in common than either of us realizes at this juncture, but that’s beside the point.
To preface, your mother is a friend of mine. I’ve known her for 23 years actually, all the way back to the ancient times of young millennial life when we were teenagers and freshman at Quinnipiac University. That said, she always made me feel welcome and always carried a smile on her face, something I bet you also inherited from her coming into this world some nine years ago.
So, let’s get this out of the way immediately: being weird is cool, loving history is cool, being yourself is cool, and being someone who walks this earth at their own rhythm is, well, the absolute coolest.
All of that last paragraph leads to my main point: always be YOU, and always know that what makes you unique and stand out from others is your calling card in life. It’ll serve you well in the long run, you don’t know it yet, but it’ll emerge within you, and in due time.
You see, I was once in second grade. It was at a now long-gone Catholic school on the Canadian Border in rural Upstate New York. Lots of cornfields and emptiness, but also enough wide open spaces to wander and explore.
And I did, seemingly every single day that I didn’t have to go to school. I used to build tree forts in the big field behind my parents’ farmhouse, the same field I’d hit endless golf balls into in an effort to practice my swing. Elsewhere on the property, I’d read history books from the local library in the hammock on the side yard or I’d hop on my bike and cruise around town.
Truth be told, I did all those things alone. All the other kids on my street went to the local public school and bonded for years before we entered middle school together later on. So, I got left out and left behind. Never invited to their birthday parties or to go swimming, and teased unmercifully whenever I would ride my bike by their homes wondering where everyone was.
I’m not going to lie to you, it hurt my feelings and I got very upset. I remember even crying sometimes, questioning just why nobody wanted to be my friend and why they were so mean to me.
But, I never let any of that stop me from doing what I loved, my head held high and a genuine smile of gratitude on my face. I kept building tree forts. I kept hitting golf balls. I kept reading books in the hammock. And I kept riding my bike around. I had my own fun and I knew someday that things would change. And they did.
And I want to tell you this, especially as someone way down the line from where you currently stand — it gets better. I can promise you that. It gets better, trust me. Repeat this to yourself whenever you need to: ‘It gets better.’ Oh, and one more thing to always remember — kindness breeds kindness.
Eventually, those things that make you stand apart from others will be the exact things that pull people towards you, almost like a magnet, where they want to get to know that unique and special person that is you. And they will. And you will smile and accept them with open arms because that’s what unique and special people do — they’re welcoming and compassionate towards others, no matter what the universe throws at them.
In closing, remember what I’ve said to you above. Keep those words in your figurative back pocket as you continue to wander and explore this great big world of ours. For someone like myself, who has been lucky enough to extensively wander around the world for years now, it’s a pretty beautiful planet we call home, and one filled with all kinds of people ready to meet you.”