It happened again last week: I was openly snubbed in public. But this wasn't someone I actively dislike; this was a middle school-aged boy on the Metro who looked straight into my eyes and smiling face and showed no sign of recognition. Thanks, Carl!
Some background: five years ago, I finished a four year run as an activity counselor at a Boys and Girls Club after school program. This equaled three hours each day and eight during winter, spring and summer breaks. Modestly, I estimate that I spent hundreds of hours a year with many of those kids - helping with homework, reading Captain Underpants books, playing tag, and comforting them when they were frustrated, lonely or hurt.
When I left the Club, Carl made a Mad Lib about *me* as a going away present - one of the best gifts I've ever received from a kid. But he was maybe eight then, and now he's basketball player-tall, probably 13, and that was a long time ago. I wasn't disappointed or even surprised last week when he didn't know who I was; I've seen the same blank expression on other buses, in parks, and in stores in the years since I stopped working with those kids. I know a lot of other people have entered and exited their lives since they last saw me. And I know there are exceptions, ones who remember my face and sometimes even my name.
Still I never stop feeling amazed at how all those hours of drawing, snacking, and playing kickball were wiped away for many of them. Old people have Alzheimer's; what do we call this particularly young affliction?
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