Merry Christmas, dammit!

Every year we have a little Christmas party on Penikese Island and it, like the graduations, features traditions that have evolved over the years. Invariably, the issue comes up of what to get the students, how much to spend, and for the most jaded (or burned out, depending on your perspective), whether or not it is even worth it to spend money and time on presents that the students are apt to either lose, destroy, or fence on the street for cigarette money during home pass.

And every year we remind ourselves that the reason we give or do nice things shouldn’t come out of some expectation, but because doing nice things and giving are the right things to do. Now, that doesn’t mean it’s not OK to hope, because after all, expressing thanks is the right thing to do, too. I would be nice if that person you just let into traffic gave you a little wave of thanks, right? But just because our students might not express appreciation in the volume and earnestness that matches our giving shouldn’t mean we decide not to be nice and give them a present.

Part of why I am saying this stuff is that along with our other Penikese holiday traditions, another invariability is that some very well-meaning person or organization will drop off or bring presents out to the island, and sometimes some nice stuff, too: Timberland boots, Carhardt jackets and the like. These folks tend to be quite caught up in the Christmas spirit and want to do something nice for others, and they want to feel good about what they’ve just done, just like anybody. 

The problem is that their expectations and experiences haven’t been, shall we say, tempered as ours have. Our boys can be bitterly unhappy and ungrateful, yet unschooled in the simplest of the social graces (tough to make up for 16 years of anti-socialization in only months), or in some case by virtue of their trauma histories, apt to behave disrespectfully and even destroy the gifts for fear of appearing vulnerable by virtue of their appreciation (if I had more time I am sure I could put that better, but…).

So this year’s party day rolls around and out to the island journeys the usual jolly boat load of staff, volunteers, Board members, and food (thank you, John and Susan Gardner!), tree (thank you Pennie!) as well as a mountainous pile of presents donated by the Mashpee Southport retirement community. We arrive, decorate, eat and wassail. Toby makes a speech, thanks everyone involved, reminds the students of the gift of a chance at a better life they are giving themselves through their hard work, and then the wince-moment comes when it is time to hand out and open presents. How will they react? Will they at least feign thanks and make the givers in attendance who are watching the ripping and tearing of wrapping feel good about what they have done?

Considering the number of presents, there was a lot of ripping and tearing this year, lots of oohs and aahs, and many thanks and broad grins all around. In fact, the whole business went over in about as Christmassy a fashion as could ever be expected, one of our nicest parties in recent memory. One boy remarked that “Penikese treats me better than my own family,” and heck, I think he really meant it!

Later after leaving the island I heard from one staff that the students had been threatened with their lives and Christmas home visits (figuratively, of course) if they weren’t nice to the guests and expressed their appreciation. When I heard this I had to stop for a moment and ask myself if knowing this diminished my satisfaction with the party any. It didn’t take long to recognize that the answer was: not at all. For one thing, if merely threatening our students to behave with a because-I-said-so was all it took to get them to do just that, then there would be no need for Penikese or any other such school. Say what you want, but in the end they will do what they do.

The other reason, and perhaps the one to which we can all relate, is that we say these kinds of things to our own children all the time, and it is a valid part of how they learn over the years. For instance, I might say to my sons (ages 13, 11 and 6 and thus at different social development stages), “OK guys, we are going to Grandma’s. I want you on your best behavior: look people in the eye, give a firm handshake, and say please and thank you.” And yes, sometimes when the stakes are a bit higher and my patience on the short side, I might lean in a bit closer and whisper, “And if you don’t, you can forget about playing Xbox ever again!”

That’s how it works in the real world, and not so different on Penikese as we try to “raise” our boys, although in shorter time and more uphill circumstances. So Merry Christmas, dammit!

Dude, could you run that by me again?

A quick hit to tell a funny story illustrating just how concrete our boys can be in their thinking:

A number of years ago we had a student who, for the purposes of this story we shall call Brian. Unlike most of students who tend to be of the street and gangsta variety (real and affected), Brian was a two-legged illustration of the expression “this is your brain on drugs,” a stoner slouch with long hair that he would constantly tug at while excclaiming, “Dude!” Beyond the effects of some serious drug use, few of us could figure out what actually transpired in that brain of his. One thing for certain was that Brian had a hard time understanding metaphor and non-stoner idiom.

We loved him though, especially one of our staff Jim, who was an ardent believer in art and expressive therapy and colorfully nutty in his own well-meaning right. One particular day Jim was trying his damndest to get a point home to Brian about choices and accountability, and how Brian had to stop acting like a little bird in a nest with his beak open waiting for the world to drop him a worm and take care of him.

The scene was this: Jim pacing back and forth on the porch, waving his arms and speaking animatedly while Brian stood there, shoulders slumped, looking down and tugging at his hair in befuddlement. 

Jim said, “Life is full of choices, man, and they're yours to make! You can’t just stand there at the buffet and expect the food to jump on your plate, you gotta reach for something, man, you gotta go for it! Look, there’s chicken, there’s beef, there’s fish! (voice rising, arms waving) What do you want, man, huh? Do you want chicken? Do you want beef? Don’t just stand there, choose something!” Jim paused, chest heaving, leaning with his face right up in Brian’s, waiting for a response. 

For a moment Brian tugged at his hair, brow knitted in thought. Finally he shook his head, shrugged and walked away with a hand flip saying, “Whatever, dude. I’m not even hungry.”