The Middle Matters

So much about what we do and what our students do is centered around achievement. This makes sense in a lot of ways. Little would get done or move forward if people weren't striving to do their best or complete the tasks at hand. But there are some days when the pressures of achievement are too high, the time it takes to achieve is too much, the criticism (whether external or internal) is too much to take.

That is why I love karaoke.

When you sing along to a random pop song, expectations are fairly low. It's not about hitting every note or nailing a dance routine; it's about being happy. If you focus on yourself and disregard the people around, you can leave the stage feeling fulfilled and energized, even if many of the listeners didn't care for your voice or song choice. You are singing for you, for your enjoyment. If others start to sing along with you, great. But it's not about achieving a certain status, not about winning a prize, and certainly not about avoiding making a fool out of yourself. It's about letting loose and having fun, no matter what anyone else thinks. That philosophy, however, runs counter to what most of us who work with middle schoolers see on a day-to-day basis. It certainly did not fit my personality when I was in middle school.
----------------

I was the type of kid who took everything seriously. I was driven to get high grades and I constantly feared getting in trouble. I didn't feel a huge drive to be "popular" (which is quite clear in retrospect given that I wore blue, green, or white sweatpants to school every day from 7th-9th grade). Even so, I was always afraid of being made fun of. When I was in a venue where I felt comfortable, like the classroom, I would freely put myself out there, confident that my responses would be positively received. Put me in the social world or on a stage, and, even though I craved that kind of attention, I was petrified of what others would think.

I have vivid memories of that fear manifesting itself at my 7th grade winter dance. After spending much of it standing awkwardly in the corner of my school cafeteria, half of me afraid of being pulled out on the dance floor, the other half of me wishing that I would be, the DJ announced that he would be having a lip-sync contest. He would announce a song and then choose a few students to come on stage to mouth along to the words.

For the first song, a couple of girls volunteered to perform to a Paula Abdul or Janet Jackson song – I don't remember which -- getting cheers from their friends but not really keeping everyone's attention.

Then, a large group of the popular boys (or at least that is how I viewed them) went on stage for "Insane in the Brain," by Cypress Hill. Everyone laughed and applauded as a bunch of suburban thirteen year-olds tried to act like they were "gangsta rappers."

The next song, though, made my heart jump. It was "I Got A Man," by Positive K. For those of you who may not remember this gem, it is a humorous rap duet between a man and the woman he is trying to ask on a date. And not only did I love the song, I owned the cassette single (remember those?), and, most importantly, I knew every word to both parts of the duet.

The DJ quickly found a girl, so all he needed was a boy. When no one forced themselves onto the stage (as middle school boys usually love to do), I started to raise my hand – pushing myself to the front has never been my style. But quickly, all of my fears and doubts crept into my mind. Everyone is going to think I look stupid. I probably don't even know all of the words. People are going to make fun of me for weeks. I'm not one of the cool kids – no one wants to see me on stage. I dropped my hand and walked away from the stage, hoping no one had seen my momentary flash of courage.

---------------------

When I host GA Middle School’s Karaoke Club each week, I always have students like the 12-year-old me in the back of my mind. Who is sitting there, dying to sing, but deathly afraid of how others will respond? Who is contemplating whether it will be ok, or social suicide, to get in front of everyone and meander through a pop song off key?

In my eyes, some of the greatest gifts we can give children, especially at a high-achieving school like GA, are opportunities to not take themselves too seriously. They don't need to be the best at everything. In fact, even if they aren't good at something, they can still love doing it. Your passions don't always have to align with your talents.

I love seeing two 6th graders sing One Direction while a boisterous group of 7th grade boys shout along in the back of the room. I love when a quiet 8th grader wows everyone when she nails every note of a Fergie song. And I love seeing that moment when a student seems unsure of whether they want to sing at all, only to be joined on the microphone by a peer who is willing to help them take that leap.

So, if given the chance again to lip-sync in front of most of my middle school, I still don't think that 12-year-old me would go for it. But every Wednesday, when a group of students come together, students who are
willing to take a chance, let their guard down, and just have fun, 12-year-old me slowly raises his hand and this time keeps it up. If only they made "I Got a Man" for the karaoke machine, he'd be up there rapping both parts.