Tahj Garvey

It’s like a tangent bomb ready to happen
You sit in their black leather chair
That was once full of mold
While they pump the seat as if you were shorter than a pea
And you listen to their blabber
About which boxer was more famous than the other
And you get your hair cut having to hear that annoying buzz of the trimmer
As if you were in the middle in the woods without bug spray
As if you were punished
Having to lose the hair style you grew into
The one you created a bond with
It’s like a cop turning in his badge
It’s the only thing people probably know you by
It hurts to lose your identity
Don’t you think?

Poetry

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Tahj Garvey reflects on how something as simple as a haircut can profoundly alter the bond between your appearance and your identity.

The Barber

Dr. Daniel Siegel

If you are like me when I was an adolescent, you may realize that some pretty big things have changed in your life.

For example, when I was eight years old, I remember thinking about how simple everything was — enjoying a bike ride around the block, having time with a friend, or just watching television at home with my family. Then, when I was 13, I remember preparing a pup tent with my buddy for a camping trip at summer camp.

I said, “Hey, Tommy, just think, right now we are cleaning out this tent. And then soon we will be up in the mountains. Then just like that (I snapped my fingers) we’ll be back here in the city cleaning it out again. Then next summer we’ll do it again! Then just like that (snap), we’ll be up in the mountains. Before you know it, we’ll be in high school, and then college, and then maybe we’ll be married and have kids who’ll use this same tent when they go camping together.”

“Before you know it, we’ll be getting old and getting ready to die.”

“ENOUGH!” Tommy said as he walked away.

But I could never quite walk away from that thought. Somehow I knew I’d never be the same. Not just because of those existential thoughts — reflections on time and life and its meaning. Thoughts about how nothing lasts, how life is finite, on and on about our existence.

Now you may not be someone who thinks like that, but so many other things change when we move from childhood to adolescence. We know that the brain starts to remodel itself in ways that permit such existential thoughts. Our body changes and we mature. We feel complex emotions about other people and live in the faster-acting world of other teens. The changes of puberty are just the start. We now know things about the adolescent period that we just never knew before. When my own two kids moved through their teenage years, I wanted to dive into that research and see what is actually happening. (And no, they never went camping with Tommy’s kids… at least yet!)

So first I looked into studies of the adolescent brain, and found some amazing new discoveries. Then I looked at the available books for teens and older adolescents to read, and found that there was nothing available. So I turned to the adult books, and again found zippo. There wasn’t even a book that could help both the adolescent and the adult — whether they were a parent or caregiver, teacher, coach, or therapist — learn what is going on during this important time.

So I asked my two adolescents and their friends what they thought about a book that could be read by both age groups — a book that might bust some of the myths that are not only wrong, but often insulting to adolescents, and certainly disempowering. They said that it would be useful, but not really possible to write. I tried to put something together, and let me tell you, of all the books I’ve written (I’ve written eight others), this was the most challenging. I asked adolescents and adults to read the first draft, re-wrote it based on their responses, and then sent it out again and again for feedback and changes.

When Brainstorm was finally done, it met the approval of both adolescents and adults, so I felt it was ready for release. What emerged from all the research and synthesis, writing and re-writing, was a simple summary word; an acronym that holds the whole together. Here it is: ESSENCE.

ES stands for emotional spark — the way the adolescent brain changes enable emotions to influence our thinking more than in earlier or later years. The reason? To energize adolescents to leave home and be out in the world. The downsides? You can get pretty flooded with emotions, or feel irritable or moody. The upside of this increase in emotions is that life can be filled with passion and purpose, vitality, and aliveness. That’s really what these emotions can give you.

SE is for social engagement — the adolescent brain’s changes, in an area called the “limbic region,” encourage you to connect more with peers, to lean on them when you feel upset more than you used to on at your parents. The reason for this move toward your peers is that when you are finally out of the home, you’ll need the social skills to survive and do well in life. Relationships are a crucial part of living a full life. The downside? Sometimes we can give up our sense of morality–of right and wrong–for the sake of membership in a peer group. But the upside can be maximized if we develop an “internal compass” that keeps us connected to our personal values so we don’t fall into the trap of peer pressure. Then we can enjoy the great result of good and meaningful friendships.

N is for novelty — seeking new things like new experiences, ways of thinking, environments, adventures. The reason for this novelty-seeking is to prepare you to leave the familiar, certain, comfortable, and safe home you grew up in. Two processes in the brain create this change. One is an alteration in the reward circuit of the brain that basically increases the release of a natural substance in your brain called dopamine. Novelty is a great way to release dopamine. The other change is in something called hyper-rational thinking, where you mostly focus your attention on the exciting parts of a choice and pay little attention to the potential harmful parts. The downside of novelty-seeking is that adolescents are three times more likely to have an avoidable event with long-term consequences, like bodily injury or death. Because many addictive activities involve the dopamine system, it is during adolescence that we are most likely to develop a dependence on tobacco, alcohol, or even sugary foods. Yikes! So what’s the upside? Novelty-seeking gives you the courage to leave home — and to try out new ways of being in the world. That’s pretty exciting, and necessary to support your transition into adulthood.

CE stands for creative exploration — the way we challenge our minds to think in new ways, and push against the status quo, to think about a world that could be, not just how it is. What’s this creativity for? In small and big ways, exploring the world with your mind allows you to be more adaptive. As the environment we live in is always changing, it is adolescents who are the ones most prepared to take on an ever-evolving world. The downside is that you can feel let down by adults, now that your mind has developed to challenge their authority and wisdom. You can feel disillusioned and disoriented as the world you just accepted as true and the “way it must be” is now seen with fresh eyes. And adults can get challenged and irritated with this adolescent freedom of thinking, too. But the upside is huge. You can take on the world in new ways, finding creative solutions to some problems that others may not have been able to solve.

Not only is ESSENCE something you can learn to optimize in your own life, but it turns out these four features are something that as adults we need to hold on to. When you summarize the adult brain research and ask about the top factors for keeping the brain growing and functioning well across the lifespan, they are these: keep passion in your life with an emotional spark, keep supportive friendships going with social engagement, keep trying new things, and keep challenging your mind with creative exploration.

It turns out that the ESSENCE of adolescence is also the ESSENCE of living a vital life whatever your age. That’s why Brainstorm offers something important for both adolescents and adults. It’s also why adults have a lot to learn from adolescents! It is the adolescent mind that has provided the most innovation in art, music, science, and technology. Now more than ever, our world needs the courage, creativity, collaboration, and passion of adolescence!

Adolescence is not a time just to get through; it is a time of great power and purpose. Because these changes are not due to “raging hormones” or “impulsivity” or “immaturity,” but instead are due to necessary and healthy changes in the brain, you can do something with your mind to strengthen your brain — to optimize how your brain functions and even how it grows, to minimize all those downsides and to maximize the upsides. Brainstorm offers exercises that help you do just that. The great news is that it’s in your hands — now you can be empowered with the knowledge and skills to optimize this time for yourself now and for years ahead! Enjoy your ESSENCE!

In a KidSpirit PerSpectives article, author and psychiatrist Dr. Daniel Siegel shares some of the lessons he's learned researching, studying, and writing about the adolescent brain.

Brainstorm: Understand Your Brain and Empower Yourself

Eleanor Goetz

The street stretched out before me, longer than I remembered it.

My heart was pounding and I wondered how I could make it. Everything looked so big that I felt as though I was shrinking and wanted to go back inside and grab my mother’s hand. But I had to go on my own.

Once I started walking, the power of my legs kept me moving towards Lucy’s house. In my mind my eyes were fixed on her house, trying to block out the dangers around me. The hardest part was turning the corner, because I would no longer be able to see my house. At the end of the long street I could see her house. I began to run, knowing I would reach Lucy’s in a moment.

This was the first time I had been given permission to walk to my best friend’s house on the busy Brooklyn streets. I was eight years old. Though she lived just around the corner, and I was on a cell phone with my mother while I walked, this was a big accomplishment. It marked a moment in my growth.

Looking back, I wonder: what if I had turned back and hadn’t raced toward Lucy’s house? Would I have walked with my mother for days and weeks to come? Would that yearning to walk alone have disappeared? No, I know I would have tried again another day. I would have learned to walk to Lucy’s on my own just as I had learned to put one foot in front of the other and walk years before. I would have made this journey toward independence just the same another day because something inside me propelled me to change. Making goals, such as walking somewhere alone for the first time, and facing fears, provides growth.

Thus far, for almost every year of my life, my educational growth has been captured in the completion of yet another grade in school. Contained in each year are small social and emotional changes, such as overcoming stage fright while in a school play. But looking back, the biggest change happened during my last year of middle school, which was characterized by difficulties; I had major back surgery, my beloved grandmother died, I left my small neighborhood school to become a student at a very large public arts school, which made me a subway commuter for the first time. As you can imagine the stress level was high.

Where I live in New York City students must apply to high school. It is a long and involved, anxiety-producing process. It starts in the fall with informational sessions, auditions, interviews, and tests. For a handful of top schools the competition is fierce. Some students prepare for a specialized high school test for years; others prepare a portfolio of schoolwork or artwork.

For admission to one school, Brooklyn Technical High School, I arrived at the school campus where the exam was being held. We had to park the car and walk to the building as the traffic was heavy from many other students arriving to take the exam. The line wrapped around the building, which takes up a city block. All my competition was before me. We entered at a checkpoint where we had to show our admission tickets and leave our phones and parents behind. They herded us into a cavernous, dark auditorium where “Iron Man” played on a large screen. The movie’s violent images and sounds made my anxiety worse; I felt defeated even before we began and still had the two-and-a-half-hour test to take. After about 20 minutes, the proctors flashed lights row by row, a signal meaning it was time to get up and move to the testing room.

For admission to another school, I had to prepare and submit an art portfolio and bring it to an audition where I was required to do three drawings: a figure drawing, a still life, and a scene of New York in messy oil-pastels. Facilitators interviewed us while we worked, asking why we wanted to attend the school. After I auditioned for art, I auditioned for violin. From start to finish these auditions took a combined seven hours.

At the same time, I was preparing for my Confirmation. In my family this coming-of-age ceremony is centered around the sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church. I was 14, and it was time for me to declare that I wanted to be a member of the Catholic Church. Much preparation led up to this day: attending classes, working with my sponsor, and a day retreat to a Jesuit Monastery on Staten Island. The retreat was during a school day and I needed special permission to take the day off from school. It was hard to fit all this extra practice into my already busy day and I wasn’t very excited about the whole process. The classes and retreat were tedious and cut into my limited free time.

After classes we had to confess our sins to a priest. I was nervous because I had to remember a prayer and terrified to tell the priest anything I had done wrong. Everything changed when I walked into the room being used as a confessional. It was not like my first confession because this was a friendly, ordinary-looking room with sun streaming through the windows, pink carpeting, and cheerful curtains. I sat down and the priest asked what I wanted to confess. I would not let myself think because I didn’t want to tell the priest anything negative about myself. Instead I confessed something about bragging to a friend about a high test grade. To my astonishment the priest laughed and said that was not so bad as I had that right to feel proud. At that moment I felt many things: I felt the love of God, the warmth of the Jesuit community, and the kindness of the priest. After going through all the testing and interviews and auditions for high school selection, here was a place where there was no judgment, only acceptance. Here was a place that I thought would be boring and tedious, where I would be criticized for my transgressions, but instead found unconditional love. This started my growth toward maturity with strength, serenity, and confidence.

Through this emotional growth my anxiety eased and I gained the strength to accept whatever decision would come from the high school admission office. The change into a new school in the fall was going to be difficult but I would be okay. Looking back both religious and secular experiences have shaped, directed, and supported my growth. I have found that growth can come through a single enlightening moment, in the small steps taken to a friend’s house, or in overcoming a big and daunting challenge.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, Roman Catholic teen writer Eleanor describes how religious and secular experiences alike guided her through the stress of school applications.

Growing Towards My Future

Sam Morrison

My confirmation taught me that good spiritual health will help me through my life.

I found that the rituals I practice as a Methodist have helped me understand what it means to grow spiritually. Confirmation seals your faith in God, and completes your membership in the church. As a confirmed Methodist, I am expected to serve the church through attendance, service, and donations. My church begins Confirmation classes in eighth grade, but anyone older can join, and has a mentor program in the hopes that the student and the mentor will form a lasting bond.

My mentor’s name was Byron Ricketts. He was about 50, so I called him “oldie.” He was always cheerful, and pushed me to try my hardest. As a result, I was inducted into the Order of the Arrow, the National Honors Society of Scouting. He encouraged me to seal my membership by becoming a Brotherhood member.

Byron was hilarious. I remember one time we were required to attend a service of another religion or denomination; we chose to go to a Jews for Jesus service. The service itself was over two hours long. At one point the whole congregation made a giant conga line and started dancing. They pulled people from their chairs to join. Byron quickly moved closer to me — he almost knocked me over to avoid getting grabbed and forced to dance around!

Byron and I always find time to tease each other, and occasionally we’ll talk about deeper things — such as how faith can us help through anything. He is one of the reasons why I’m still here, and why I didn’t attempt suicide. Because of all we’ve been through, our bond will last forever.

The Confirmation process lasts one year and ends with a ceremony. My class had 20 kids and we met after the 9:20 church service to check on the progress of each student and their mentors. Class was helpful at times, but often some kids distracted those who were trying to take it seriously.

At the end, I was required to meet with one of the pastors to review what I had learned, what my own beliefs were, and how this process would affect my life in the church. The course taught me that belief in Jesus guaranteed entrance into heaven, no matter what. However, I do not believe this is true. I believe that living a good life and performing good deeds will get you into heaven, and that it is not up to people to decide who is worthy or not; it is up to God.

My pastor responded to this with, “Well, that’s a most… interesting take on it.”

We left it at that, and continued with our discussion. He then said I was part of a new family — a spiritual family, if you will. Confirmation most definitely changed my whole outlook on life.

After all the students had met the requirements, the Confirmation itself was set up and the class prepared. In my church, we go through the ceremony during one of the services we chose as a class, and from there we become members of the Methodist church. There aren’t fancy parties afterward; just the opportunity to talk to the congregation. With everyone welcoming and congratulating me, just seeming happy we all survived the process, it hit me that I was indeed part of something bigger than myself. At that moment, I knew I was not alone and that anyone in the whole church would be glad to help me. I see Confirmation as one of the best things that ever happened to me. When I completed my Confirmation, I realized I wasn’t alone; there were people everywhere to help me. I started looking on the bright side of life. Rather than dwelling on the negatives, I saw the positives right in front of me, waiting for me to notice them.

Now I feel more tolerant and patient, kind and loving. Confirmation helped pull me through one of the hardest years of my life: eighth grade. I realized others were going through the same thing and were there to help me. While I did hit some bumps here and there, I always kept my faith.

My spiritual family is here to guide and support me, even when no one else is. If you are hesitant about going through Confirmation, I recommend you do it. It will change your life forever. It changed mine for the better, and I hope it will do the same for you.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Sam recounts his path to confirmation in the Methodist church — with the help of a close spiritual mentor.

Growing Spiritually

Shikha Vinodanandan

Hinduism, my faith, has rules, traditions, and idols; plenty of idols. Hinduism is more than just a faith, it is a lifestyle. We are taught that you must treat yourself properly and others even better.

Dharma is one of the four Purusharthas, or Hindu goals of life. It means to uphold your beliefs and take responsibility for your actions. Once you have accepted yourself, have accounted for your actions and preserved your beliefs, you are considered to have fulfilled the rite of passage to adulthood. The entire religion is based on the holistic principles of one’s health, which includes peace of mind, and by treating others and yourself well.

The followers of Hinduism try to follow these values so that we can integrate our mind, body, and soul. For example, Hindus are told from a young age to practice patience. Keeping calm will help you focused. When you are stressed, you accomplish less than when you are aware of your task and calmly, but efficiently, go about it. As you get older, you are expected to follow these and many other principles more precisely. One of the most important values is personal responsibility, which helps shape you into an adult. Responsibility is taught as soon as your parents see that you are capable of being accountable for your actions. My parents saw that it was time for me to take the wheel when I entered middle school as I was keeping up my grades and my priorities.

My parents taught me everything I know about my faith; thus I look to them first for guidance. They often set goals for me that I frequently felt were far too high, unattainable at best, such as straight A plus grades. However, my parents have always listened to me and given me plenty of support, so I always felt I could achieve anything. When I turned 12, I noticed my parents were no longer pushing me to reach for the stars. At first I thought they were preoccupied with some other pressing matters. Because of their absence, many of the problems I had once faced with their support, I now faced alone. At first I was terrified. I was completely stunned that my once pushy parents weren’t on my back every minute! I felt relieved once I realized that I was free. Or so I thought.

My folks told me that, now that I was old enough to take responsibility for my actions, I should. In the Hindu religion, once you are past your childhood days it is time for you to be able to say, for example, “I am going to practice tap-dancing everyday to keep up my skills.” Whatever you do, any hobby that you pursue, you are expected to take seriously. If I ever needed advice, my parents were always there, but they would no longer push me to achieve the goals.

"If I ever needed advice, my parents were always there, but they would no longer push me to achieve the goals."

Unfortunately, I started becoming a little less aware of my time management and did not realize what my parents were expecting of me. I missed assignments and then said I would make up the homework by doing well on the test. When I skipped club meetings, I would ask friends to tell me what happened. Guilt ate away at me, but then I blocked that out by being even more lazy. I was doing these things simply because I could. Eventually, this caught up to me. I had neglected everything I had worked so hard to achieve: my grades, reliability, faith in myself. I realized I had thrown all of my achievements out the window. It was then that I started trying to build things again.

Neglecting all responsibilities is not how to be the best you can be. I am a free spirit, but there are certain things I must achieve to attain that level of total happiness. By letting go my parents had shown their faith in me. They told me, “From now on, we aren’t going to chase after you to get your work done or telling you that you have a test tomorrow. You should have it all planned out because from now on, you are handling your own school affairs.” And so, from then on, school and school work became my own responsibility.

Once, I procrastinated so much that I missed the deadline for a major English project due months earlier. I told myself, “I’ll just complete that assignment tomorrow.” Well, tomorrow turned into next week, and next week turned into two weeks, and before I knew it, I was overrun with late or incomplete assignments. The true meaning of my parent’s words hit me at my lowest point: I had to get my act together and do something. Whatever in this gigantic universe I wanted to do, I just had to do. I have my wits, my determination, and my courage. I just had to reach out and grab what I wanted!

Now, I try my very best to achieve my goals. I won’t give up: tenacity is what I believe responsibility means. Once you have taken up a task, you complete it to the best of your ability. Even if you are scared, you have to do what you think is right and aim for your dreams. Being responsible means you are willing to accept your actions and face the consequences for whatever you do. Your actions represent who you are and what you stand for. I want to be known in this world as an amazing, brilliant, human being. I want to leave a mark on this earth. That is my ambition.

Hinduism has opened my eyes to much moral knowledge. One of the most important things I have learned from my faith is that faith in my parents forges trust, but faith in yourself is one of the most powerful things you can possess. My parents taught me that personal responsibility permits you to be content with your life. With the knowledge that I had about faith in myself, they released me into the world knowing I would be successful in pursuing my dreams. I took that chance in trusting in my capabilities and flew to the moon with it. For when you have faith in yourself, you can do anything.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Shikha explores the Hindu concept of dharma and the value of taking responsibility for your actions.

Faith in Myself

Gracie Griffin

Alone
Outside in the fresh, cold air
A swing sways
Dancing a slow, sad waltz
In the orchestral moan of the wind
The violin bows of the tree
Sweep down
Sending the simple wooden board
Into a spin
No child to weigh it down
No laughter to block out the sough
No playmate for when the sun beckons
Alone

Until
On a crisp fall day
When the air snaps
And the leaves are bright as a child’s eyes
A girl wanders
Seemingly lost
To the tree that houses the swing
They recognize each other
As if out of a haze
An old friend
A companion
Another part of yourself
You forgot long ago
They meet
Hand curling around rope
Fitting exactly where it used to

As she pulls herself up
Onto the awaiting wooden board
Ingrained with the memories
Of a childhood falling behind
And as she sits
On the swing
That still sways in the wind
As it sings lullabies
Until she is no longer a girl
But a child
Here to
Weigh down the swing
Cover the sough with her laughter
And play when the sun beckons
Here to swing

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Gracie Griffin expands on a moment of reunion between a girl and her long-disused childhood swing.

Rift into Childhood

Fareeha Shah

today. You smile and act normal. Your mother

weeps gently into a crumbling tissue in the corner

that have come to give their condolences, kissing them

on both cheeks just like the French do. You say,

Won’t you sit? Would you like anything to eat? You don’t know what to do

with your hands. You invite the younger children up to your

pastel-pink bedroom. You laugh when the older ones remind you that you are

twenty-something years old and comment on how girlish you remain.

your new perfume. You place the perfume on your chest of drawers in front

bringing out new bottles every time telling yourself you will put them away

Three days later, the perfume bottles are still there.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Fareeha Shah uses perfume bottles to portray feelings of grief, confusion, and idleness after losing a parent.

Perfume Bottles

Vanita Sharma

I am from the aroma of fresh baked cookies,

From the brown townhouses of my neighborhood.

From the baby blue shade covering every spot of my room,

The drawers, the walls, the bed, the books.

the sliver of the world that means everything.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Vanita Sharma traces her personal history through the places and people that matter most to her.

Where I'm From

Rachel Romaine

A different kind of wave that fills the keyhole

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Rachel Romaine describes the waves buffeting her heart and filling "the keyhole made for the hand of God."

Tie My Hands and Pray

Morgan Cooper

The way her eyes sparkle when she smiles at me

Her delicate, gentle hands on each side of her body.

My fingers intertwined together in my lap,

I pick away at the rough, dead skin on my hands

I fidget, like I constantly need to be moving

Or do I only speak unless spoken to, maybe.

They reveal everything I hide away from the world

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Morgan Cooper confronts her mirror image and reckons with the differences between who she is, how she seems, and what she wants to be.

Self Image

Lucienne Mettam

I flinch, then I blink, and I look down with shame.

As sound hits me again with emergent shock,

My mind screams high shrieks and low cries,

But no one around me knows the anguish in my mind,

And I try not to let them see the ailing within me

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Lucienne Mettam struggles against an overwhelming cacophony of grating sounds.

Sinister Sounds

Patricia Luk

of cracked, crusted paint
on solitary ground.
I stand alone against the storm
with dignity and pride.
I may be homely without beauty,
but I do not need those things.

I stand from afar,
solitary, away from the cities and
my kin, the towers of glory.
Few remember me,
but the sailors know my faithful song
that sings in the night,
through the storm,
because I am strong and faithful,
and there is none other
brave enough to take my place.

I smile faintly and watch
as the ship lands safely
as tears and laughter fill the port
as beloved fathers come to life
before their children, their wives,
and through that,
I am silent.
I have no part—
rather, my part is forgotten.

But I am strong,
I need no other,
I have no other.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Patricia Luk describes the daily dramas of harbor life from the point of view of a lighthouse — a silent, watchful sentinel.

The Lighthouse

Gemma Laurence

At 12,749 feet up in the air, I felt victorious. My heart pounded in my ribcage. My cheeks were flushed.

Bruises blossomed beneath the hip and shoulder straps of my pack, which was over half my weight. I looked down. All those boulders I’d scrambled over were pebbles. The vast snowfields were tiny patches strewn across the pass. I now stood on the mountain that towered over me earlier that morning.

We dropped our packs and hugged each other. We had made it up the mountain together. Now we were here. Nothing could possibly go wrong in that glorious moment. Or so we thought. Ominous clouds began to build on the horizon, obscuring the once bluebird sky. I figured that being the highest thing up for hundreds of miles probably was not good. If we couldn’t make it off that pass before the storm hit, we could be struck by lightning. The day took a dark turn from triumphant hardship to disaster risk.

Frenzied, we threw on our packs and began our descent. I felt a drop of rain, then another and another. In moments the rocks became slick beneath our boots. Then the hail fell, ice shot from the sky, making our miserable situation frightening. The icy marbles pelted my hands raw and red. Shrieking winds lashed my face, trying to push me off the pass. Then I heard something. We all heard something. Thunder rumbled through the mountains; a flash of lightning illuminated the sky.

“Quick! Underneath this boulder!” My instructor called.

In seconds, we dove under a huge boulder to wait for the storm to pass. Thunder booms shook the ground. Curled up beneath that rock, wet hair plastered to my face, my clothes soaked to the bone, I wondered if it could get any worse. We stayed huddled and shivering beneath that boulder for what seemed like ages. Then, just as everyone was becoming mildly hypothermic, the storm let up. After that day, I knew that if I survived that, I could handle anything.

I used to have a very different mentality. I felt constantly stressed about the past and the future. I feared everything I couldn’t control. I played the “what if” game for just about any situation. I would over-prepare for tests, worrying if there was any extra credit that I hadn’t studied for; I would psych myself out before every cross-country meet, fearing I would do worse than my last race, and beating myself up before I had even competed. I would even prepare what I might say to people before I even spoke to them to avoid not knowing what to say.

It got to a point, in the midst of a bleak winter, when I realized that I did not want to live like that anymore. I wanted to do something that would put my everyday worries into perspective. I wondered how to give myself this reality check, and so I talked to my mom. She had done a National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) course, when she was in her twenties, and loved it. It wasn’t anything life-changing for her, but I felt like it could be for me. There was something that had always drawn me to the wilderness and I wasn’t quite sure what it was: the raw beauty, the hard work… the unexpected? Now that was it. There was something alluring and daring about putting my vulnerable self in the elements, without the safety and security of a house or nearby civilization. I would have to adapt to my wild surroundings because I had absolutely no control over them. It sounded scary, but it had to be the perfect antidote. So with determined but shaky hands, I sat down and applied for a month-long backpacking NOLS course in Wyoming.

In the months leading up to the trip, I was terrified. Then, before I knew it, the bus dropped us off in the wilderness of Wyoming. We were 8,000 feet in the air. There was not a cloud in the sky or another person for miles. My trip leader turned to us and said, “Are you guys ready to take a walk?” Some of us had nervous faces and trembling knees, others wore falsely confident smiles. Despite my fears, despite not knowing what these four weeks would be like, despite not knowing what incredible, terrifying, amazing, near-death experiences were to come, I felt ready. As the bus drove down the bumpy road, leaving a trail of dust behind it, I realized I was about to embark on an adventure I’d remember for the rest of my life.

Sure enough, those four weeks changed me. Not just because of the beautiful views, the delicious food, and the incredible friends I made, but because each day threw something new at me. Whether it was new terrain, hail, snow, waist-deep mud or river crossings, I had no idea what was to come the next day. And instead of being afraid of that as I had been before, I learned to embrace it.

When I came home from NOLS I felt fearless. I stepped out of that vicious worry wheel I had once been trapped in. I felt like I could do anything. Soon after I came home, I started attending a new school, a semester program on the coast of Maine. I had been nervous about the new school ever since I had been accepted, but after NOLS I wasn’t worried. I knew that although I had lived in the same house and gone to the same school for years, I could handle change. I was more excited than ever.

It took these extreme measures for me to realize that living in the past and future caused me stress. Now, in stressful times, I can tap into that feeling of relief and euphoria when I realized we had made it through the storm. Life will always be unexpected, but I am okay with that. I came out of my NOLS trip a different person and I am at peace. Anxiety-free at last.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Gemma achieves a newfound sense of perspective and self-reliance after enduring an alpine thunderstorm.

When the Mountains Called Me

Natalie Jakiemiec

When my friends ask why I like to write, I always just shrug and say, “I don’t know. I just do.”

But when I’ve tried to pinpoint why I like writing, I have found it a lot harder than I expected because I realized that there were so many things I love about it.

There’s something about creating characters with interesting pasts and secrets that’s just very satisfying. Writing gives me a way to express what I’m feeling, whether pride, anger, or happiness. It can be hard for me to say the words out loud, but writing them down? No problem. Writing allows me to vent my feelings, all of them.

When I was around 13, I wrote a narrative about a boy named Blake. He was stuck in a small town and wanted to get out. He thought that his town would never change, and he was sick and tired of the same things — the same people, the same gloomy supermarkets. Nearly every day was identical to the one before. Blake wanted more than one option in life, which his town couldn’t give him. Though I didn’t include any of this in the piece itself, I had to come up with a back story to find out why he hated his town and wanted to leave it. Creating Blake’s character was interesting because I ended up using some of my feelings as his, and in the process I ended up learning more about myself. Writing about Blake helped me realize that the only person who can make your dreams come true is yourself. You can’t rely on others to give you what you want.

"In the process I ended up learning more about myself."

Thinking about why I love writing made me remember my second-grade teacher, Ms. Sedlock. Besides leading me into writing, Ms. Sedlock also made me really want to try in school. She was really the first teacher I wanted to impress. I think it’s really important for everybody to have a teacher that makes them want to do well in school, and I’m grateful that Ms. Sedlock was mine.

It started when Ms. Sedlock read a book to my class. At least once a day, she gathered us on the dusty blue carpet and picked out a book to read. As she examined the bookshelf before us, we wondered which story we’d get to hear. She was always encouraging us to read and write; to form our imaginations into something tangible. Whenever we did projects, art was always a big part of it. When we were studying Australia, we created a booklet filled with our own drawings of animals: dingos and wombats and koalas. Although I can’t recall the name of the book that Ms. Sedlock read that fateful afternoon, it was probably something by Patricia Polacco, one of her favorite authors. Ms. Sedlock held the book in her right hand and flipped the pages with her left, using different voices and facial expressions for each character. It felt like the story was happening right there in front of me, and not on a piece of 8×11 paper in crayon. After she finished reading, I remember thinking to myself, “Wow. That was a good story. I want to write one.” That’s it. There was no complicated reasoning. It was simply something I wanted to do.

Write a story I did. I sprawled on the scratchy carpet of my room, fighting through the terrible ache in my right hand. My story was handwritten on binder paper, and with each line the story narrowed and narrowed, until I could only fit three words on a line. After I wrote it, I didn’t have a sudden flash of realization that all I wanted to do was write. My passion for writing came slowly. I learned to love it. It didn’t matter that it was horrible, that my stories lacked character development and actual plots, because what did matter was not what I had written, but the happiness and pride that I felt when I was scratching my pencil against the paper, trying to write as fast as I could think.

How amazing that all of it was because my second-grade teacher decided to read us a book she loved, a book that inspired me and helped me find something I really, really enjoyed.
It doesn’t matter that I’m not the best writer or that I might never publish a book, because writing isn’t a job to me. It’s a passion. It’s something I do for myself alone. Writing gives me an outlet to release whatever I’m holding in. If I’m feeling insecure or stressed out, I take an hour-long break and just write. By the end, I always feel much better because I’ve found a way to let go of whatever negativity I’m feeling. I normally don’t share what I write because every bit of writing is like a piece of me, and I always find it a little embarrassing to show it to somebody. Without writing, I don’t think I ever would’ve found a way to express myself. Thank you, Ms. Sedlock.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Natalie extends her gratitude to a former elementary school teacher who instilled in her a passion for writing and self-expression.

Thank You

Kacey Sorenson

Rain is, without any doubt, my favorite weather.

I love turning on the windshield wipers and driving. I love checking out of class to dance alone, and I especially love standing still and listening to it fall. At home, the rain is cold and it is hard to stay outside for five minutes without needing three extra layers.

Over spring break, my family and 20 medical and non-medical professionals, traveled to a small town in Guatemala. In Nuevo Progreso, it rains every afternoon for at least an hour. Every few years, a medical group that works with my dad’s ophthalmology firm travels to Nuevo Progreso for one week to perform cataract, glaucoma, and other surgeries at the local hospital. The medical group is comprised of surgeons, assistants, Spanish-speakers, and young adults. I roomed with and spent most of my down-time with Camilla, a family friend about the same age and immaturity level as me.

Camilla and I walked through the market every afternoon on our lunch break. We played soccer on the dirt field, marveled at the colorful, hand-woven bracelets and accessories, spoke with the locals, but mostly hoped for rain. Around 3 p.m. each day, there are rainstorms, and Camilla loves the rain almost as much as I do. On our third day at the market, we were discussing our mutual love for rain, when we felt small, hesitant drops on our overheated shoulders. We stopped speaking, and simultaneously looked skyward. We sprinted up the hill, through the nunnery doors, to our rooms.

Pretty immediately, I ran outside, into the open area, shoeless but still clothed, and lay down. I closed my eyes and started giggling. I couldn’t stop giggling; it was not a surface giggle or the giggle girls use to flirt. It was the giggle little kids make on a teeter-totter or when they are playing tag (before the part when someone gets hurt and starts crying). The giggle turned into a full laugh, and mind you, my laugh is anything but gentle. It began in the bottom of my chest and built to its loud, intrusive sound. I was too happy to care about disturbing someone’s meal or nap. My whole body and outfit were soaking wet, shaking with laughter. I had just started to calm down when I looked to my left and saw Camilla lying down, shoeless, her eyes closed. The giggles returned, and we laid on the ground, laughing, until we started feeling cold.

But the cold did not stop us. We got up, drenched in tropical rain, and started dancing and singing. We were fountain fish, spitting water into the air for all to enjoy. We were tribal dancers, stomping our feet in the water granted to us by the rain gods. We were anything but overstressed young adults about to go to college. Our giggles and songs had attracted the townspeople who not only glanced into the nunnery, but entered to stare and laugh at the insane Americans.

This moment was not special because I was in a foreign country experiencing a vague realization about the connectedness of people, or because I was doing service for people who I assumed needed my service. Rather, this moment was incredible because I was completely out of my element and felt completely at home. It was a feeling of pure joy, love, and peace. It was a feeling I have not often felt before or since. This feeling reminds me what it means to take an opportunity, however small and unimportant, when it is given. It reminds me to be happy, even when the sky is cloudy and the rain is falling.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Kacey learns to seize small opportunities for joy after reveling in a Guatemalan thunderstorm.

Rainstorms in Guatemala

Sharon Lin

Warfare, murder, battles, hatred. If we glimpse at humanity’s past, we find an arsenal of evidence supporting the claim that humans are selfish, violent creatures by nature.

After all, every civilization in history has been linked to a kind of violence, whether it be slavery, armed conquest, or depredation and inequality.

This is why Frans de Waal’s theory is so revolutionary. While mankind has often thought of itself as having fought through millennia, achieving success through competition and warfare, de Waal makes the argument that cooperation, not competition, is actually our innate drive. The Age of Empathy: Nature’s Lessons For a Kinder Society presents this perspective on the issue of how nature drives our actions. De Waal is a primatologist in the psychology department of Emory University, probably best known for his work with bonobos, great apes of the chimpanzee species, whose genetic structure is most closely related to humans. Indeed, de Waal does not fail to include his furry friends in his book since primates of all shapes and colors exhibit a distinctly similar trait: empathy. Once thought to be a solely human characteristic, de Waal’s comprehensive analysis shows that there may be a reason why empathy is so innate.

Empathy can be traced back millions of years to our mammalian roots. This form of interspecies, and even cross-species, connection has nourished us through the generations, allowing the boundaries between individuals to dissolve, and giving intimacy to cooperation. Our capacity to place ourselves in the shoes of others has given mammals (along with birds, bees, and select other species) a distinct survival advantage that other wild creatures do not have.

The Age of Empathy is a narrative that includes a combination of technical explanations for natural phenomena followed by observations and statistical data. While de Waal’s anecdotes are intriguing and even amusing at times, factual evidence is always present. All his quotes are properly attributed to their respective speakers, from film characters like Gordon Gekko to primatologists, with scientific backing to support the anecdotes. The chapters are sequential beginning with the earliest theories of empathy (i.e. those of Charles Darwin and Herbert Spencer) and progressing to more modern understanding, such as the theories of animal psychology. Even his case studies begin as stories and as scientific jargon is slowly incorporated into the tale, the reader slowly begins to understand the point de Waal tries to explain.

There are moments when de Waal elaborates on topics he covered in previous chapters, such as the philosophy behind sympathy as well as theories of the mind. These serve to provide extra emphasis on these important theories of animal psychology. He inserts dozens of hand-drawn illustrations of apes to monkeys engaging in simple problem-solving behavior and other difficult concepts to provide a lighthearted respite from the more serious topics. His systematic approach to the political and cultural sides of the history of human empathy takes the reader on a step-by-step journey through the lanes of our history and into the heart of the human mind.

Not only does the book deliver a thorough explanation of why animals, including humans, seek to understand and feel empathy in situations where we cannot perceive the pain of others, it also offers a look into the history of evolution and how it influenced the development of empathy. Taking a plethora of examples from his own work with primates, de Waal has assembled an impressive collection of curious anecdotes. For instance, popular novelist J.K. Rowling describes how she heard a man scream after he was told his mother had been executed. This story is told in conjunction with the scientific explanation of mirror neurons and how the human body is inclined to mimic what it senses, both emotionally and physically. Other examples he utilized were the studies done on monkeys to demonstrate community concern or selfishness.

He contends that we have descended from a line of primates who made compromises as a means of survival. He claims that since ancient times it has actually been more beneficial for humans to work together. In primate communities he has observed groups, traditionally antagonistic to one another, coming together and working for a common cause. This was one of the many instances in which he illustrated the workings of the human mind with the actions of a primate.

One of de Waal’s pet topics was the progression of empathy through the ages. One striking example was about a mother ape that could not care for her offspring, even in the face of danger, because the part of her brain that controlled empathy — a portion of her cerebral cortex — had been damaged. The offspring was already at high risk for death before it was able to fend for itself. A mother must be emotionally connected to her children to ensure their survival. The female hormone oxytocin seems to play a role in this, demonstrating the unbreakable link between biochemicals and emotions. All mammals are capable of showing some sort of empathy, even if only at a basic level. Whether it is simply the transmission of fear throughout a group of animals, or the “virus” of happiness, emotions are tightly bound to the development of animals. Of course, the idea that animals have emotions in the first place is still controversial. Strict behaviorists question why consciousness is necessary when stimulus-based response is sufficient for survival. De Waal casts a light on these skeptical views of animal psychology.

De Waal also casts an insightful light on human selfishness, with an explanation about a terrifying experiment in the 1920s where babies were withheld emotional interaction. These so-called baby farms were started by an American child behaviorist, John Watson, who began this nightmarish experiment early in his career. He conditioned a nine-month-old baby dubbed “Little Albert,” whom he had chosen from a hospital, to fear furry animals. Watson presumed that infants should be raised according to scientific principles without the interference of parents. His belief was that parents “over-kissed” their children for sexual reasons. The experimental babies were kept in isolation, separated by white sheets, and denied any visual or auditory stimulation. The theory was that infants were weakened by emotional contact with their mothers. If a baby was to be reared correctly it should be done with no emotion whatsoever. Unfortunately, his baby-farms only produced infants with immobile, expressionless faces. They had a near 100% mortality rate, and ethics aside, prove that emotions are a necessary element of human development.

In addition to Watson, de Waal is highly antagonistic to the Gordon Gekko character, from the film Wall Street, and those who believe greed is good. “The point is, ladies and gentleman,” Gekko says in the film, “that greed — for lack of a better word — is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms — greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge — has marked the upward surge of mankind. And greed — you mark my words — [will save that] malfunctioning corporation called the USA.” Not only does de Waal convince the readers about the absurdity of this statement, he goes on to prove why cooperation is better than quarreling for the upper hand.

Presenting a new outlook on the philosophy of our age, The Age of Empathy is a gem among current philosophical and scientific explorations of the human mind, a worthy member of the ranks of authors such as the revolutionary Ulric Neisser and George A. Miller. De Waal’s scientifically backed anecdotes and case studies display his expertise in areas of the mind influenced by our primeval roots. Nevertheless, readers may still be skeptical about his work; when does one go too far in making assumptions? He claims that we possess an innate sense of empathy that eclipses our selfish nature and need for warfare, but theories can only go so far. While he supports fostering empathy, his egalitarian arguments never seem to surface in the wake of today’s society. His ideas of mutual cooperation are difficult to imagine, especially in a society where we have come to expect the most aggressive members of our community, as opposed to the most cooperative members, to be the most successful. De Waal makes a fine argument that humans ought to be more empathic towards each other but for practical purposes his theories fall flat.

This book would be of great interest to young adults and those interested in social science, politics, and human development. While The Age of Empathy may not be the most scholarly of readings, it is certainly a guide that is well worth one’s time. Although some of the more convoluted passages may require more thought and a keen understanding of philosophy, de Waal ensures that even the most difficult sections are thoroughly explored. There is no doubt that this is an excellent book with its simple but effective message: follow the ape inside.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Sharon Lin takes a look a Frans de Waal's "The Age of Empathy," tracing the crucial evolution of empathy through our primate ancestors.

Why We Should Follow the Ape Inside

There are kids in my middle school, like in every school, that just don’t fit in with the crowd.

Some are disabled. Some have a mental disorder or a facial disfigurement. They are hidden among the other children at school, camouflaged and unnoticed. Students don’t bully kids who are different at school, but no one makes an effort to invite them to hang out or sit with them at lunch. When I entered my new school last year, I was so engaged with the people around me that I never noticed the hidden children. There was a girl in my social studies class named Alana who always had an aide with her. She had tangled blonde hair, was a little overweight and wore the same loose jeans and baggy sweater almost every day. You couldn’t tell when she was smiling; her mouth was always positioned in a half-smile. She sat with others in her assigned seat and no one talked to her except for her aide. Not a single student dared to be rude to her, so she remained as invisible as a ghost.

I don’t know what disability or disorder she had. As a new student I jumped around lunch tables often, once landing on hers. She sat on the far edge while I chatted with my friend across the table. We began discussing the popular band One Direction and she jumped in. The discussion eventually changed to plans for high school. She slowly sank back into her seat, mumbling, “I wish I could change middle schools first.” I might have been the only one who heard it, because I was the only one who seemed shocked. When I glanced at my friend, she shrugged. As my friends brought up a new topic, I couldn’t focus on my lunch. Why would Alana want to leave this middle school and start over? After that day, I began noticing these hidden children.

The first day of school is a nightmare for every new student. Last year, when I started seventh grade in a new school and a new town, I felt like the third wheel for a long time but I wasn’t one of the hidden children. Although I didn’t have any firm new friends, I brought myself into friend groups even though it felt awkward to tag along at first. I remember walking down the halls, watching friends scream with delight when they saw each other. I know from experience that new students often feel they are invisible, but in reality everyone notices their presence. When I was new everyone was foreign to me. I couldn’t classify anyone as popular, nerd, geek, or friendly. As I looked for friendship, the hidden kids came into focus. Soon I was able to tell who was ignored and who was praised. After a few months, the invisible kids kept becoming blurrier until they were unnoticeable specks in the hallway.

These experiences wandered my head as I read the book Wonder by R.J. Palacio.

In Wonder, August Pullman, the main character, was born with a facial deformity. He had been homeschooled all his life because of all the surgeries he had to fix his deformity — 27 to be exact. August thinks of himself as completely ordinary on the inside, but he knows he is the only person in the world who thinks so. His parents think he is extraordinary, his birth doctor fainted at the sight of him, and the kids on the playground run away from him. The summer before fifth grade, August’s parents decide he should start going to Beecher Prep, a private middle school in Manhattan, because he needs to experience the outside world and learn more than his mother can teach him at home. August is terrified. He was used to people trying to hide their reactions when they saw his face. August knew that young kids didn’t understand the effects of their words, and in fifth grade kids say what they mean.

Throughout the book, August adjusted to school. It was a lot like he imagined, with people laughing behind his back and calling him names. From my experience as a new kid, some kids just blend in with the background after a while, but as August said, “You can’t blend in when you are born to stand out.”

Students who touched August sometimes claimed they caught a disease, but they feared teasing him directly. As the reader might expect, August did not have many friends. His principal assigned three kids to help him: Charlotte, Julian, and Jack. They faked friendship with him around adults and didn’t really seem to care. Halfway through the school year, after August had endured his classmates’ snarky remarks, some of the students change their harsh behavior towards him.

Throughout the book, the author switches narrators, from August, to his teenage sister, Via, to their friends. These shifts in point of view enlivened August’s life. They showed what people thought of him when they glanced at him, and what it was like to be an out-of-the-ordinary boy’s best friend. While it was compelling to learn Via’s feelings about August and August’s new friends, some points of view were unnecessary and they decreased my interest in the book. In some sections, I felt frustrated that I couldn’t figure out how August felt.

Wonder was a fairly easy book to read with understandable words for middle schoolers. The author uses great words to describe the students’ feelings. And I liked that the author was very straightforward in the book, pulling us through August’s challenges in middle school. However, she gave me no reason to sympathize with August and some parts of the book were heart-breaking. The author expresses how August knew he was an ordinary boy on the inside and that made the book more inspirational than upsetting.

I gave Wonder a 4.5 rating. It is a book which inspires kids to stand up for who they are. Wonder is sanguine, humorous, and life-affirming. It can affect the reader in a positive way. The author expressed all her thoughts in this book very well and presented some important life lessons, such as don’t judge a person by his or her face. I think the book is titled Wonder because of the last sentence in the book, when August’s mom bends down and whispers, “You really are a wonder, Auggie. You are a wonder.”

After reading the book, I realized the hidden kids in my school are prevented from being exposed to all of the other students. No one knows the special needs students in my school because they are excluded by most students, who avoid them, and protected by their aides.

Books like Wonder are important in helping people understand that everyone should be given an equal opportunity to play a role in school. I recommend this book to readers of all ages because it can teach everyone a lesson about tolerance and can change their perspective on people who seem different. I believe the book is aimed mainly at middle school readers because they experience what August felt in the book; though people of all ages would enjoy it as well. No one can develop if they are separated from others. Everything that someone does impacts someone else and no one is self-sufficient. Just as in the line from the poem August reads in English class: “No man is an island, entire of itself.”

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Vanita Sharma shares her thoughts on Wonder, a novel by R. J. Palacio about a school-aged boy with a facial disfigurement.

A Review of Wonder

Zeeshan Hassan-Andoh

Autism is a huge mystery. For several decades, scientists have been trying to understand the autistic mind. Parents of autistic children have written about their own experiences in the hope of helping others.

Then there is the occasional book written by a person with autism, such as The Autistic Brain by Temple Grandin who has Asperger’s Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism; or Congratulations! It’s Asperger’s Syndrome by Jen Birch, the autobiographical case of a woman diagnosed with autism at age 43. Such books are valuable because they provide a doorway into the lives and experiences of autistic people.

The Reason I Jump is even more inspiring because it is a memoir written by a 13-year-old nonverbal autistic boy named Naoki Higashida. He accomplished this by using a “Japanese alphabet grid,” a device not properly described in the book, although his mother is said to have invented the grid to give him more independent communication.

The book is written in one- to three-page chapters, each headed by a general question about autism. Naoki answers each question briefly, in what feels like complete honesty. Because of this the book takes on a surprisingly fast pace. However, the compactness of each chapter is understandable because of Naoki’s circumstances. Although not thoroughly explained, it is clear that using the grid is a painstakingly slow process, which explains the short length of each chapter.

Throughout the book, it struck me that Naoki completely understands that the non-autistic world sees him as strange. He explains his actions with lighthearted flair, answering even the most sensitive questions, such as,“Why do you speak in that peculiar way?” or, “Why do you move your arms and legs in that awkward way?”

With humor, understanding, and grace, Naoki describes how he can’t control his own actions even though they appear strange to the “normal world.” For example, he says “My problem is that as soon as I try to run fast, I start thinking about how I ought to be moving my arms and legs, and then my whole body freezes up.” His account of his daily struggles — repetitive movements, wandering off, fearing loud noises — are heartbreaking, yet his tone is uplifting.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Zeeshan reflects on The Reason I Jump, a personal account of autism written by Naoki Higashida, a nonverbal thirteen year-old Japanese boy.

Heard Without a Voice

KidSpirit writers engage in a rich exploration of the inner life, unmasking the creativity, boldness, and chaos of the human psyche while acknowledging our desire to understand ourselves.

The Barber

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