Craig

I’d turned 30. Ah yes, the one I’ve been waiting for. And at 30, I realized I wanted to volunteer with high schoolers at church. I don’t know why; I do not feel qualified to offer much of anything to high schoolers.

I don’t even know how to connect with high schoolers. They think TikTok is an app and not a Ke$ha song, they don’t know what Homeward Bound is and the music they listen to is literally insane.

When you turn 30, whatever you listened to from 8th to 11th grade becomes “real good music” and “whatever the kids like these days” becomes garbage. This holds true from decade-to-decade. So when you were a kid listening to your “real good music” there was a 30-year-old who thought it was trash. We can fight about it but which to bury? Us or the hatchet?

Or maybe you’re just nostalgic like me and found yourself listening to Relient K while driving down Carrol Creek Road on a Friday sometime after your 30th birthday when the sun is out and it’s a lovely 75 degrees.

“This is real good music” I think to myself as the shuffle moves Mmhmm from “I so Hate Consequences” to “More than Useless.”

And the nostalgic chemicals hit my bloodstream. This gives way to another of my drugs: all the shame from when I loved this music and did stupid things usually mixes itself in with the nostalgia.

And memories from high school are not subtle with me. I'll be mowing the lawn, washing dishes or laying down to sleep at night and memory x will come to mind when I did this or that and my insides churn. They have a way of reddening my complexion and winding up my insides like a towel that’s about to be used to snap someone’s bare back in the locker room.

I guess who I am really does hate who I’ve been.

“What do you want me to do with this?” I prayed. I’d never really prayed about this stuff because it’s easier just to run from it and everyone else. But I was tired of feeling this. I think a lot of times I’m praying to get feelings to go away.

I turned onto the Bristol Highway.

“What would Craig have said to you?”

Craig was my high school small group leader. He didn’t have a lot of words but he did say “dude” a lot and he had cool stories from his motorcycle racing days.

Craig also shared the parts of his past he’d wrestled through shame with, and something about that made me think I could tell him anything. He wouldn’t think less of me; he’d try to understand and for a high schooler to be understood is, well, everything.

“I’m not sure what he’d have said but I know he’d try to understand what was really going on and he wouldn’t hate me for it” I said to myself.

The last words choked out because I knew they were true. I don’t remember much of what Craig told me during those years, but I remember how he made me feel: safe, loved.

I didn’t exorcise my shame for good on the Bristol Highway, but I felt lighter and enjoyed singing “Be My Escape” at the top of my lungs.

And when the student pastor asked me why I wanted to volunteer with high school students, I said I wanted to be like Craig.

Mmhmm.