My son Max used to ask me to swing with him on his not very sturdy swing-set in our back yard.
It was beyond him that if daddy were to honor that request, his once beloved, erect swing-set would succumb to daddy’s 280 pounds and 34 years of cheeseburger abuse, resulting in a mass of splinters and rubble.
What he really wants, I suspect, is for me to watch him. So I’ll either push him, or pull up a chair and watch. And I had better not be daydreaming, reading, talking on the phone or doing anything other than paying strict attention to what he’s doing, or I’ll hear “Dahhdeeeee! Wash meee!”
I remember when I wanted my mom to watch me play. I wanted her to come outside and watch me turn into Tarzan or turn (ruin) one of our old sheets into Superman’s cape. And my mom, like so many other young superhero’s moms, would put aside whatever she was doing, i.e. washing my clothes, cooking my supper, to give me her attention.
Like most sophisticated adults, I’ve learned that asking for attention is not the “mature” thing to do and I’m now accustomed to pretending that I don’t care if other people notice me. And I’m sometimes guilty of expecting the same from young people.
However, kids today suffer from a crisis of invisibility. Contrary to what many think, our greatest fear is not rejection or even being physically hurt. Our greatest fear is being invisible.
Whether it is under the cloak of their bedrooms, behind their computers, between two ear buds or lost in a web of text messages, they have more ways to hide than any previous generation. And they are not happier for it.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, kids want us to see them. They want us to see them for who they are and who they are becoming. They want us to “keep tabs” on them, but even more so, to be deeply aware of what’s going on in their life, their dreams, their hurts, disappointments and fears.
In Mark’s account of the Rich Young Man it reads, “Jesus looked at him and loved him.” What a parenting practice. What an educational philosophy. What a youth ministry approach. What difference would we make in the lives of kids if we, like Jesus, looked with love into the hearts of our children?
Whenever I see a kid who is tattooed from head to toe only sparing those parts that are pierced with God only knows what, I think to myself, “Here is a kid who wants to be noticed. Here is a child who has learned that the only way people are going to see him is if he marks himself up or pokes holes in his body. Here is a child who feels invisible. Here is a young person who longs to feel the loving gaze of Jesus.”
Kids still need us to see them, even after they stop playing Tarzan and Superman. They still need us to watch them even long after they’re no longer willing to ask for it. They still need us to see them, even when we don’t like what we see. They still need us to stop doing important things in order to give them what’s most important—our love and attention.
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