Your swollen, red-rimmed eyes speak volumes…
Of what it’s like to be almost thirteen and unsure if you fit in
Of having a well meaning adult make a sweeping statement which completely debunked
What you thought defined your talent.

Trying to “prove” yourself
You’re still working the problems
Calculator in hand
Trying so hard to find some teacher error that would prove to her
You are smart
And you belong in the “fast group”

You don’t want me to see you cry but you can’t hide it
It’s not cool…
I watch you cringe at the thought of being labeled …and besides
Guys don’t cry, do they?

But you’re a kid, not yet an adult, but no small boy either
You’re trying to find out who you are
Desperately wanting to be accepted
To be recognized as “special”, somehow to be noticed in the crowd
To be valued and loved…

You just want to win sometimes
To feel the exhilaration of having your friends recognize
To feel included
To be part of the gang

So we sit and talk
I am silently praying to some greater force than me inside my soul
To please let me say something that makes some sense
Eases some pain
Bolsters your battered self-esteem
Let you feel accepted and loved, and “good enough”

Cause the fact is, my dear boy, all any of us, young or old
Fat or skinny, smart and good looking or ugly and not so smart


All any of us want is to be liked.
To have someone recognize that shining light inside us
It’s there…maybe just a spark right now perhaps

But...

If you say my name
If you ask me to join the group
If you tell me I have a great jump shot
Or I pitch real well...
If you’d only notice how I aced that tricky math problem
And not zero in on the five I didn't understand….


Then just watch the fire you’ll light
Notice how you feed it, feel the warmth which will, in turn
Nourish your own soul

All fanned with
The kindness of your compassion.

Tina Busch-Nema
February 27, 2009