Get over it and grow up. Cliques are so passe. Serious. It's okay to talk to people unlike you. Quit hanging out with only those you feel comfortable with.
A 15 passenger van holds 15 passengers. Fifteen. That is why we arranged to have it. So everyone could have their own seat belt.
The second car was only going because we had more than 15 passengers. It was secondary.
And then I found out that they took one extra. One more beyond the seat belt limit of the secondary vehicle. Why you ask? Me too! I'm asking why.
Why? When six seat belts went unused? Why the discomfort? Why the car sickness?
I have a theory. It's me. No. I realize it's not me. But sometimes I wonder.
See, every combined youth activity? My vehicle is the last to fill. Serious. It's a mad dash to every car. Except mine. And if I see a car overstuffed, I say- get over here. I've got room. And the response? Look away. Look away. Don't make eye contact, or risk getting caught; drawn into the periphery of my car. Another good coping mechanism is to just act like I don't exist. Look through me. This one works well with the high school kids.
Back to the story. No one left the car. No one. Why? Because they were in groups of three. The fear of separating for one car ride. The uncomfortable feeling was more overwhelming than the risk of car sickness, squished proximities, and, oh, a lovely little thing called breaking the law.
The twelve year old in me knows. Understands calculating the risks of inner turmoil vs. physical discomfort. Then again, that same twelve year old would probably just say it's me. Adult me, that is.
A 15 passenger van holds 15 passengers. Fifteen. That is why we arranged to have it. So everyone could have their own seat belt.
The second car was only going because we had more than 15 passengers. It was secondary.
And then I found out that they took one extra. One more beyond the seat belt limit of the secondary vehicle. Why you ask? Me too! I'm asking why.
Why? When six seat belts went unused? Why the discomfort? Why the car sickness?
I have a theory. It's me. No. I realize it's not me. But sometimes I wonder.
See, every combined youth activity? My vehicle is the last to fill. Serious. It's a mad dash to every car. Except mine. And if I see a car overstuffed, I say- get over here. I've got room. And the response? Look away. Look away. Don't make eye contact, or risk getting caught; drawn into the periphery of my car. Another good coping mechanism is to just act like I don't exist. Look through me. This one works well with the high school kids.
Back to the story. No one left the car. No one. Why? Because they were in groups of three. The fear of separating for one car ride. The uncomfortable feeling was more overwhelming than the risk of car sickness, squished proximities, and, oh, a lovely little thing called breaking the law.
The twelve year old in me knows. Understands calculating the risks of inner turmoil vs. physical discomfort. Then again, that same twelve year old would probably just say it's me. Adult me, that is.
2 comments:
I would so go in your car!!
me too. you are the coolest yw's leader ever. don't take it personally though, 12 year olds are really not that cool.
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