Counter-culture. Angst. Turmoil. Searching. Pain. Torment. Hand-wringing. I’m different. Nobody feels what I feel. Aloneness.
Reading pieces by peers of a certain Boy I Know. Impressions of gloom. Hints at where a consolation might be. Rejection of such. Everything artsy. Everything counter-cultural.
Prevailing themes similar. Styles different. Same effort. Same atmosphere. Counter-cultural? Unlikely. Culture of despair. Culture of empty. Culture of....oh wait, this is a culture.
This Boy I Know: He wears his hair high-and-tight. He nurtures babies. He has a sense of duty. He doesn’t always budget his time well. He likes games and hanging out with friends. He has a goofy laugh; It sounds like Scooby-Do. He sometimes rough-houses too much, because it’s fun, and he doesn’t know when to quit. He eats. He eats everything. All of it (review: he’s a boy). He loves to ride his bike. He loves to wrestle. He looks really handsome in a suit, and never feels like a monkey wearing it (he feels handsome). He can’t write an essay on time for beans.
He prays, this Boy I Know. He has a well-formed conscience. He doesn’t always follow it. He wears a cassock when he serves at Mass. He serves at Mass. He loves Our Lord, Our Lady, and St.George. He thinks deeply on our Faith, and is learning to practically apply it to history. He counts his pastor amongst his great friends. The Boy has joy. He has hope. His hope comes from informed faith, which gives him answers. He loves his family. He knows the Cause of his joy. He knows to be thankful. He is not lost. He may have fears, but he knows them to be temporal, and doesn’t despair. He knows Whom to turn to when he’s not as awesome as his mother makes him out to be.
I asked this Boy I Know to write a piece for his school’s publication. He thinks no one would be interested in it. From my observations, I suspect him to be a counter-cultural revolutionary. I hope so.