Wonder Years Wisdom

The Wonder Years is one of the most brilliant television shows in the history of the medium. Sure, it was heavy on the nostalgia, but that's part of the timeless appeal of the show. (DVD set NOW, people!) I watched the show as it aired, but now that reruns are on again, I have a greater appreciation; the writing so purely captures the agony and the ecstasy of growing up... and looking back on growing up. Teaching teenagers, I find myself constantly reflecting on my own Wonder Years, as they were. So, in what I presume will be an ongoing series (I have a whole .txt file full of quotations on which to prattle!), I shall now expound on a few particularly resonant lines from Wonder Years episodes.

"Maybe if I'd been a little braver, I could have been her friend, but... The truth is, in seventh-grade, who you are is what other seventh-graders say you are. The funny thing is, it's hard to remember the names of the kids you spent so much time trying to impress." Season 2 (Episode 21): "Square Dance"

Truth is, we never fully escape this junior-high mentality. We like to think, as adults, that we're far beyond such childishness. We aren't. Sure, it's less urgent, less consuming, but we still try to impress people (who are themselves preoccupied with impressing someone else), and we are still defined by the people who surround us. I know I have been. And I'm not immune - I've thought plenty about others because of the company they keep. It's ridiculous, but yet it's so easy.

Shakespeare was right - all the world's a stage. We all play certain roles. We deliver performances that we presume others expect of us. Some of us are perpetual understudies. And some of us put so much time and energy into the performance that we lose our offstage identities. The costumes stay on after the curtain falls. The critics' approval is everything. We let others develop our characters, and then we play to the crowd. We become hollow and reactionary, addressing situations as we think our character should, or even taking a seat in the house and detachedly watching scenes unfold.

Some of us never figure out the deception and live unsatisfying lives of judgment of and by others. Some of us eventually figure it out, though, and realize that the people from whom we so very much want approval don't truly deserve the power we willfully hand over to them. [And often, they're oblivious to their effects on us.] It's lifeboat theory(1) - if life is like a lifeboat, then aligning yourself with the right people so as not to be thrown overboard is of critical importance. And yet absolutely wasteful. I was well into my twenties before I appreciated how truly useless and endlessly tiring this way of life is; I was nearly thirty before I allowed this understanding to permeate my daily life. And I still lapse into worry about what others think of me - and when I do, I'm miserable. How different would our teenage years - no, our entire lives - be, if we spent less time trading in the commodity of human approval?

"A suburban junior high school cafeteria is like a microcosm of the world. The goal is to protect yourself, and safety comes in groups. You have your cool kids, you have your smart kids, you have your greasers, and in those days, of course, you had your hippies. In fact in junior high school, who you are is defined less by who you are than by who's the person sitting next to you." Season 1 (Episode 1): "Pilot"

Attempting to develop our own personalities, we try them on to see which one fits. And the source of those personalities are the friends we select. So of course we are defined by those sitting next to us - that is, in fact, how we choose to define ourselves. It's scary to look inside and critically examine ourselves - is it not easier to let someone else decide who we are? So we let them. We essentially live some other life for a time. At some point, we decide that one is too much work to maintain - it's not a natural fit, it pinches in places and it gaps in others, the seams chafe, the clothes that seemed so attractive on the hanger aren't as flattering when on. We shed it and move on to the next version of ourselves. Lather, rinse, and repeat. It becomes an endless cycle; we model others who are, themselves, trying on their own array of personalities - even trying on our version of themselves. Like a mirror reflecting another mirror's image, things get turned around. Few teenagers really know who they are, the rest are lost - disoriented in an endless contorted maze of funhouse reflections of personality. Eventually we outgrow it, but when we do, to whom have we granted ultimate permission to define us?

In this constant flux of youthful identity, should it surprise us that friends come and go with alarming alacrity at this time in our lives? I see it every school year - best friends in November don't even acknowledge each other in April. Some of my closest friends one year? I never saw them the next. My friends were determined by class schedules and activity choices. [Maybe they still are.] A few of them transcend it all - sinking deeper, below the wind waves of adolescence and carried by the same tide. We might not have washed ashore on the same beach, but we are still tethered together. Some by thinner threads than others, but connected nevertheless.

"Over the course of the average lifetime you meet a lot of people. Some of them stick with you through thick and thin. Some weave their way through your life and disappear forever. But once in a while someone comes along who earns a permanent place in your heart." Season 4 (Episode 60): "Courage"