Life in the Teen Loft
A young man is looking for a book about "survival." He is a bit vague about exactly what he is looking for, so I make a small stack of books for him: books about how to survive in the wild, books by people who have survived disasters, and even a tie-in to the TV show "Survivor." He seems satisfied.
A few minutes later he tells me that what he really wants is a book on how to survive zombies. "Okay," I tell him, keeping up my best professional demeanor, "let me see what I can find." I type in "zombie" as a key word, buying time to figure out what to say next. Up pops the title "Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead" by Max Brooks. Imagine my surprise. And it's on the shelf. It's actually a satire, but he says, "That's exactly what I was looking for!"
A young lady runs up to me. Louder than I expect, she says, "THIS IS EMBARRASING BUT DO YOU HAVE A PAD?" I whisk her off to my office and open the drawer where I keep such emergency items, along with peanut butter crackers for kids whose parents are still at work when they get out of school but who have to wait for 3 or 4 hours for a ride home.
I say "hi" to a young man sitting at a computer. He says, "I wasn't doing anything."
I see the same kids every day, then they stop coming and I'll see them elsewhere, scooping ice cream or bagging groceries. They graduate, and there are new kids. I don't always know their names, and I don't always know their stories. I provide books for them on every topic. I find stray books hastily tucked away in odd places: books about sex and date rape, books about skateboarding and chess, books about overcoming eating disorders and self-mutilation.
A woman calls to tell me she'd like to bring 6 girls to a teens' yoga class I'm holding. Oh, and by the way, they're all pregnant. I okay it with the teacher.
I have 88 new emails.
A young man tells me he just signed up to join the service. I'm stunned. "You're just a baby," I want to say. "You can't keep from throwing paper airplanes at the girls when I ask you not to." I imagine him, and young men just like him, dodging bullets and bombs. "Give me your address and I'll write to you," I say. I don't see him again.
I have to start piling books on the floor because there's no more room on the shelving cart and I don't have enough time to put them away.
A young lady is sitting at a table with a bag of cheese curls, talking on her cell phone. I tell her she can't eat or use her phone here, and when she turns it off, I see she has week-old slash scars on her wrists. My heart lurches.
It takes a particular set of skills to be in charge of teen services. Sometimes a thick skin. Sometimes a warm heart. Faith that you are doing a good job when no one thanks you. And you have to like to be around teenagers. They drive me crazy. But I love them.
"I need to know about puberty," a young lady blurts out. "Oh," is all I manage to say, but I'm thinking, "Gosh honey, I know what's ahead of you and I just want to give you a big hug and tell you you'll get through this, most of us do, and you'll be fine, just fine, and you'll be a teenager, and you'll get through that, too, and even though your heart will get broken, and you'll hate yourself and the whole world a lot of the time, you'll also begin friendships that will last forever and have some of the best moments of your life."
But I'm a stranger to her. I don't even know her name.
"Here's a video" is what I actually say, "and here are a few books. Let me know if you need anything else."
(Editor's Note: Donna wrote this article for her local Newburyport Current (a weekly local paper). She felt she had left out "joyful events" but I was so moved by the undercurrent of joy that Donna takes to her job that I asked permission to reprint the article here. For pictures of Donna's Teen Loft and activities, please visit the YA Resources Blog at yaweb.blogspot.com/2006/07/ya-space-newburyport-donna-childs.html and yaweb.blogspot.com/2006/07/newburyport-duct-tape-craft.html.)
