Afternoon Conversation
I met S. this year. She's starting her senior year of high school next month. Her graceful face, framed by her long red hair, is usually tilted slightly to one side. She is thoughtful and kind. She trusts me.
We’re having a conversation about religion—or rather about her family’s hop-scotch religious affiliations (all Christian). It feels daring—this talking about religion so openly, so personally with a teenager. I haven’t quite lost the paranoia I once felt as a public school teacher in a one-religion state.
But S. and I are doing well in our conversation. When a teenager trusts you with their heart truths, it takes your breath away.
S. tells me about her family’s current church practice. They host a “house church” for themselves and 3-4 other families. They worship and study at home. S. finds that this kind of church allows deeper conversations about her faith. She dislikes the emphasis on superficial things that she sometimes experienced in more formal congregations. She is serious about her faith.
If I didn't know better, I would assume S.’s religious seriousness indicated a closed, dogmatic person. In reality, she is refreshing and open.
She tells me about her struggles to define her own morals, especially related to gay issues and abortion. She’s still not sure about it all, but she’s sure that separation of church and state is essential. So she’s sure that abortion and gay marriage/unions should be legal, she’s worried about what it all means in the big picture.
The whole time she is talking, I’m sensitive to how fragile this moment is. This intimate glimpse into S., a person I quite like, is such a lovely gift. I don’t want to say or do anything that might cause her to regret trusting me. At the same time, I want her to start articulating the assumptions she’s making and imagining alternatives.
Mostly, I listen. And it is good.
We’re having a conversation about religion—or rather about her family’s hop-scotch religious affiliations (all Christian). It feels daring—this talking about religion so openly, so personally with a teenager. I haven’t quite lost the paranoia I once felt as a public school teacher in a one-religion state.
But S. and I are doing well in our conversation. When a teenager trusts you with their heart truths, it takes your breath away.
S. tells me about her family’s current church practice. They host a “house church” for themselves and 3-4 other families. They worship and study at home. S. finds that this kind of church allows deeper conversations about her faith. She dislikes the emphasis on superficial things that she sometimes experienced in more formal congregations. She is serious about her faith.
If I didn't know better, I would assume S.’s religious seriousness indicated a closed, dogmatic person. In reality, she is refreshing and open.
She tells me about her struggles to define her own morals, especially related to gay issues and abortion. She’s still not sure about it all, but she’s sure that separation of church and state is essential. So she’s sure that abortion and gay marriage/unions should be legal, she’s worried about what it all means in the big picture.
The whole time she is talking, I’m sensitive to how fragile this moment is. This intimate glimpse into S., a person I quite like, is such a lovely gift. I don’t want to say or do anything that might cause her to regret trusting me. At the same time, I want her to start articulating the assumptions she’s making and imagining alternatives.
Mostly, I listen. And it is good.
posted by Lizard Foot at
10:46 PM
1 Comments:
I want her to start articulating the assumptions she’s making and imagining alternatives
Isn't that the best thing about listening and talking to teens? There are so many "ah ha" moments on the horizon.
It's hard to remember, sometimes, that they don't hear what you say, they hear what they think you said, based on their limited experience. I just had a painful experience with a teen in this regard when he totally misinterpreted what I'd written and took horrible offense, and then later re-read it and calmed down. It was heartrending.
You're a good teacher. Perhaps it's your "human resources" background--heh heh.
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