High fives are for the cool kids, kids are the cool kids

Since September, I've worked at an after-school program at a local, small (think less than 50 students TOTAL) Christian school. It's been a wonderful experience, especially coming off of my last job where I spent about three months in daily turmoil and agony (and while I'm obviously not one prone to exaggeration and hyperbole, I do feel the need to specify here that I am not exaggerating in this instance). I had almost forgot that it is possible to, in fact, actually like what you do.

However, I have struggled at times to figure out my role in this organization. While I feel like I'm providing a very helpful service to the parents and the school (and the kids all really seem to like coming), admittedly there hasn't been as much of a traditional academic focus as I wanted. I've had the kids work on homework at times- but working primarily with 2nd-4th graders, there isn't a lot of homework to be done. And while there is a routine in the overall attendance of each kids (I have some every day, some bi-weekly, some on certain days), the discombobulation in their individual schedules means it is difficult to have any sort of rigidly structured program. Some kids, for instance, are only there for a half-hour before being picked up. Some kids are there for a couple hours. Sometimes I can set the clock by when they'll be picked up. Sometimes I have no clue. It doesn't make sense to me, therefore, to set an hour-by-hour schedule when there's no guarantee that every/anyone will actually get to participate in the standardized activities.

What the after school program has become is organized chaos. Not entirely true, actually- I don't want to give the impression that I'm this sort of lost puppy dog in the middle of a room full of flying toilet paper and screaming children (although, there have been days where it has felt like that). But it's been more of a place for kids to come after school and play and get some energy out. I try to give them a voice about what we're going to do on any given day, letting them decide as a group, and trying to make sure that everyone gets a chance to do something that they want to do.

I've gone back and forth over my rendition of the after school program time and time again, and I think that what it is, is for the best. I have primarily younger children for inconsistent periods of time- and they've been sitting in classrooms all day. They have lots of energy- what better way to get that energy out than by playing? And with my background in behavior modification, I am able to use the situations that they encounter to try and teach them social skills through their play.

So why do I bring all this up? What is the point of making this a blog post? Well, it's really about the role that I see myself growing into right now- a role that actually doesn't have anything to do with my title or my degree. It's the role of the High-Fiver.

Bullock Creekers from the mid-late nineties (and probably earlier/later, but I can only speak from my experience) will no doubt remember Mr. Ostyn. I'm not sure what official title that Mr. Ostyn had with the school, but it really doesn't matter. What I do remember is Mr. Ostyn, standing faithfully in the hall by the cafeteria, waiting for all the Lancer adolescents to pass by on their way to class and holding out his hand in hopes of giving each of them a sweet high five.

This is one of my fondest memories of high school. While I wasn't a social leper, I definitely wasn't a "popular" kid, and the high school years are such an important part of our search for ourselves and acceptance within our peer group. There's so much inter-group destruction for the purpose of self-edification- some of it blatant, most of it subtle, that it's a wonder that so many of us come out of it on the other side in tact. And I would posit that it's largely guys like Mr. Ostyn that help to navigate those choppy waters.

See, Mr. Ostyn was cool. He just had this sort of Yoda-like chillness, a functional sense of humor, and a black and gold Lancer windbreaker. It probably didn't hurt that his son had been a star athlete at the school a few years prior. But most importantly, he had his place by the cafeteria with his outstretched hand and a smile on his face. For the social turbulent high school years, how awesome was it to have an amazing guy like Mr. Ostyn, standing in the same spot like clockwork, always ready to give a high five (and for the dexterous among us, an additional five on the flip side). Maybe some people thought it was corny- but it made me feel like somebody. Like there was somebody that I could interact with and not have to worry about the pseudo-class system.

I don't remember much of my high school education. I remember most of my teachers. I definitely remember many painful, awkward moments and countless mistakes. I'm not saying that Mr. Ostyn made all the bad go away. And on the flip side, Mr. Ostyn wasn't the only positive memory from that time either.

But Mr. Ostyn played a very vital role for me. He made me feel unconditionally accepted. Like I was, in those few seconds, one of the popular kids. Isn't that what so many of us are looking for? We may look in different places or different ways- but we want to feel accepted and loved for who we are, regardless of what we wear or what we look like.

That's where I see my role developing. I'm definitely trying to develop as a professional- I'm not going to show up one day looking like a hippie and speaking surfer (not that Mr. Ostyn did that). But with my personality, I feel like I've been made to be a guy like Mr. Ostyn. I've always had this thing for the scholastic outcasts, the underdogs, the down-and-outers. Maybe I won't save the world by giving out high fives- but maybe I can make a difference in how a kid sees themselves because by playing games with them and throwing out an occasional sweet high five, I can help them to see the truth- that there is acceptance for them that transcends social role.