One half of the teen muddle

I was chubby and uncoordinated in grade school and, after seventh grade, gangly and uncoordinated. But I was tall, so everyone thought I played basketball.

Let’s be clear: I played the oboe better than I played basketball, and I have never blown an oboe. Basketball (and P.E. class) were scary arenas in which to expose my clumsiness.

Yet I earned a letter jacket and keep it, lo these many decades later. It hangs in my closet and flashes into view most mornings while I dress. I’ve worn it twice since graduating.

Why keep it?

Credit the two contradictory impulses that wrestle in most of us, although never equally – and most acutely in teenagers.

One is to stand out. As a teen, I sometimes did. I wore suspenders, wide and orange and, yes, goofy. And I was a theater nerd.

The other is to belong. My letter jacket, earned for serving as basketball team student manager, declared that I did.

Youth is an angst-ridden muddle that – we hope – delivers grownups who mostly manage through muddle. My jacket is reminder and anchor.