Middle school boys love to shove. Oh sure, there's always time for a nice punch on the upper arm or a trip when someone is walking down the aisle. But nothing quite tops the joy of a shove from one adolescent boy to another.
As I stand and watch kids in the locker bay by my room, I am always amazed at how much shoving goes on. Into lockers. Into other kids. If you can knock books out of someone's hands, that is just a bonus! Girls like a good bump now and then, but they can't hold a candle to a middle school boy's penchant for pummeling.
Why, oh, why do they shove? Is it, as many claim, the pulse of increased testosterone in their veins? Is it misplaced aggression? Truthfully, I think it is a side effect of homophobia. You need love or affection? You better not let another boy know it. Men don't hug. Men shove and thump one another on the backs. Men shake hands as hard as they can or fist bump. Manly men do not hug.
For many years, we had a male guidance counselor in our building named Rick Showalter. Rick was one-of-a-kind. With his weird tee shirts and the rubber chicken outside his door, Rick was a fascination for many of the troubled boys in our building. Also? He gave them candy just for coming to his office. Oh! I used to get so frustrated with him. Boys would come in to my class, rushing in just after the bell, Jolly Ranchers rattling between their teeth.
"I wazh wish Mishter Showalter," they lisped and shlurped.
"Doesn't he know they only come by to get the candy?" I would fume to myself.
It is only now that Rick has retired that I get it. Of course he knew. They come by the first few times for the candy. Then, those big, shoving boys would start to talk. Talk about the girls who didn't like them back. Talk about the parents who were splitting up. Talk about the dad who drank too much or the step mom who hated them.
You see, Rick understood those kids in a way many of the rest of us couldn't. Rick's dad had been an alcoholic, and he was so open and honest about the hurt that had caused in his life, he was an inspiration to kids who had to tread a rough path like his. Name any boy dressed in black, satanic rock tee shirts, and Rick could tell you anything about his life. Where he lived, where he sat at lunch, whether or not he got enough to eat each day. Rick knew and loved those hard-to-love boys.
The shirts, chicken, and candy -- none of it is what mattered most, however. No. It was the hugs. Rick Showalter gave a hug to any kid who wanted one, and the shoving, sometimes smelly boys wanted and needed them most of all. For the first, and maybe last time in many of their lives, those boys had a full grown man show them affection. Rick was a true "guy," yet he saw no shame in wrapping those boys in a big bear hug right in the middle of the hallway. None of the boys saw any shame in it either.
When Rick retired a few years ago, he got up and spoke to the staff at our annual breakfast. He cried; we cried. He told us how much his job meant to him and how hard it was to leave some of the kids who had no one else. "Hug the kids," he challenged us. He practically begged. "Please, hug the kids. They need it."
I'm not sure we have truly honored Rick's request, or his legacy. But, starting today, I'm in. Maybe the next time I see some boys shoving one another, I'll walk right up and hug them both. Well, maybe not. Maybe I should start with candy or a rubber chicken. Either way, Rick was right, and I've got some hugging to do.
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