Teenstupid By Mike Freeman

 Teenstupid

By Mike Freeman

Medical science says the male brain achieves full development or maturity around the

age of 25 years. Until this maturity is reached, male decision-making is suspect as

being reasonable, thoughtful of others, examining consequences, accurately assessing

risks, and understanding that actions impact families, communities, and societies.

Science also contends that female brains achieve the same level of maturity or full

development a few years earlier than males.

Many women seem to have a different world view. My wife informs me that her brain

reached full maturity at age six. Young girls know how to manipulate their adult fathers

by the age of three.

Many of my friends' wives claim their husbands' brains have not reached full maturity as

we enter our early 70s. I nod my head in fake empathy as they tell me this. I have one

friend, Scott, who is still working on being contrite when required. Unfortunately, he's a

horrible actor and convinces no one.

My new medical term describing the quality of decision-making by males lacking fully

developed brains is "Teenstupid." I illustrate its meaning with the following story

from my youth.

It is 1971, Christmas time during my freshman year at college. I am at prime teenstupid

at the age of 18. I have been driving for two years, can now vote, get drafted by the

military, and buy cigarettes. Legally buying alcohol is a distant three years away.

I have a few weeks off for the holidays. I spend most of this time with my friends doing

meaningless things and occasionally do a few chores to help my family.

My mom asks me to go to my old high school to pick up my younger brother who is a

junior that year. Servite is an all-boys, college-prep Catholic high school. As I arrive to

pick up my brother, Tim, I notice something new on top of the two-story red brick

classroom building. It is a large five-point star outlined with radiant yellow lights set up to

celebrate the Christmas season.

I return home with my brother. After dinner, I get into our family 1959 green and white

Rambler station wagon with large fins and drive to my friend Mike's house. Turning into

his neighborhood, I notice a six-point Star of David on top of a residence the same size

and light color as the pentagram star on top of my old high school.

"What are the odds?" I think.

Mike and I head into the night, meeting with several friends looking for adventure. There

is not one mature brain among us. The odds for adventure are high, and low for mature

decision-making. We dwell on the teenstupid mountaintop.

The brilliant but bad idea hits me and then the group. Why don't we exchange the two

different stars on top of the home and our old high school? The result would be a

Jewish star on a Catholic high school building and a Christian star on top of a Jewish

home celebrating the Christmas season. We think this is hilariously funny.

How long will it take people to notice? The stars are the same size and color. We will

leave a note at each location instructing people where to return their respective stars.

We are sure this prank is a slam dunk for the Practical Joke Hall of Fame.

We are positive everyone will join us with holiday laughter once the stars are discovered

with the notes. No property damage means no harm, no foul.

"What could go wrong?" our teenstupid brains think. We soon find out.

All of us pile into my Rambler station wagon. We head out to the star-adorned home

first. Parking down the street, we quietly exit the car and proceed towards the house.

Two of us climb onto the roof to quietly remove the six-pointed star. At this point, we

realize we brought no tools to accomplish our goal.

The two guys on the roof decide this is not a problem. They grab the star and begin

working it from its well-secured base on the roof. The sound of splintering wood and

roof shingles fills the night air. They free the star from the roof and hand it to the rest of

us. The amount of noise we are creating begins to make us panic as we all scramble

back to our car.

There is one problem. The larger-than-we-realize star does not fit into the back of the

station wagon. A neighborhood car drives by and stops. It turns around losing a hubcap

and accelerates towards us!

"Hold on!" I cry out. I hit the accelerator. Our green and white 1959 Rambler station

wagon with the large fins takes off with three guys hanging out the back grasping the

star that doesn't fit. The neighborhood car pursues!

"I hate good Samaritan neighbors!"someone yells out. Mike, who knows his

neighborhood well, issues emergency getaway guidance.

"Hard right!" he instructs me.

As the ancient, fully loaded, underpowered station wagon squeals around corners I

begin to wonder how we can ever outrun any car built by any country in the past

decade.

Mike continues his inspiring commands. We eventually ditch the pursuers.

Feeling safe, we pull over to secure the star using the luggage racks on the car roof. We

can now legally drive to our old high school without attracting much attention. Any plan

of leaving a message at the now starless home is quickly abandoned.

We arrive at the high school and go up a back alley to the two-story brick building. Once

again, we realize we brought no tools or ladders to help us with our mission.

"How will we get on top of this building?" we ask ourselves. Teenstupid kicks in on

overdrive.

We will climb up rain downspouts to reach the overhanging roof. Assuming we survive

that 24-foot ascent without falling, we will then reach back over the overhang with one

hand. Then we dangle until we get our other hand on the roof edge. We pull ourselves

onto the roof and get to the second star.

My friend Joe says,"I will catch you if you fall." I have little confidence that he will or

can. Still, I appreciate his support.

Three of us climb up the downspouts successfully reaching the rooftop. Now we realize

we brought no rope to hoist the Star of David up to us. In a flash of brilliance, we take

off our belts, combining them with the extension power cord from the star on top of the

roof. Now we have a cord long enough to bring the Jewish star up to us.

We switch the two stars and decide to leave the Christian star lying down on the roof.

Writing a note informing the school where to return the Jewish star is impossible. We

have no pen and paper.

The Star of David shines brightly on top of our Catholic high school celebrating

Christmas! Our hearts are stirred. We congratulate ourselves on a successful caper.

The problem arises of how to climb safely down. The overhang prevents us from seeing

where the rain downspouts are along the side of the building. Our friends on the ground

direct us to the correct positioning on the roof. We lower ourselves over the edge

hanging by both hands. Then we swing our bodies till we can catch the downspout and

rapidly descend before we rip it away from the wall. All three of us make it safely down

to the ground.

High fives are flying all around. We laugh and celebrate our great triumph. Then the

horror hits me.

I left my belt up on the roof. It has my name on it. What am I going to do? At this

moment, I achieve peak teenstupid and make the poorest decision of my life. I will climb

back up on the roof to recover my belt. I double down on stupidity.

Joe repeats his pledge to catch me if I fall. A few others join in. My only hope is that if I

fall, one of them is dumb enough to do it.

I climb up the downspout and successfully reach the roof and recover my belt. I put it on

this time and scale my way down employing the same high-risk maneuvers done

previously.

I am unsure who is more relieved that I made it safely again… me or the guys who said

they would catch me if I fell.

We climb back into the Rambler station wagon and return to our gathering place. We

celebrate our great accomplishment one last time before heading home.

A few days pass. No one seems to detect the change of stars on top of the Catholic

school building. The Star of David shines brightly every night. A growing number of

alumni drive by the school every evening as word spreads about the luminous star. We

wonder how long this will continue? In a few more days the high school will dismiss for

Christmas vacation.

A week goes by. It is now the last day of school before vacation. We cannot believe our

caper has survived this long. Certainly, a teacher, student, parent, or janitor would

notice something by now. Nope!

I can't take it anymore. I stop by the school to pick up my brother. I approach one of the

priests. In the middle of our conversation, I feign surprise and loudly exclaim,"Father, is

that a Jewish star on top of the school building?"

His head swivels around as his mouth opens in shock. Students standing around look

up and begin to laugh hysterically. Janitors are urgently called into action to do

something, anything. There is absolute chaos on the campus.

Mission accomplished, I retrieve my brother and head home.

Many of us escape our teenstupid years without serious negative consequences.

Unfortunately, some of us do not. Whatever the outcome, we must learn from those

experiences. Things I did back then can result in me laughing, feeling embarrassed,

regretful, or wiser. I would discipline my children for doing some of the same things I did

(although I sometimes laugh in another room when they are not present).

I believe this is part of God's plan for us. He gives the gift of free will enabling us to

make good and bad decisions. He wants us to learn and grow from our mistakes. This

brings us closer to Him.

Here is a radical thought. Maybe we should share our mistakes with others so they can

learn from them too? Do you learn from your mistakes? Are you willing to share them

with others when appropriate?