There is nothing cuter than a lion cub practicing at being a
lion, mustering all of his tiny ferocity into one unconvincing meow. It is recognizable to us. He is practicing. Something in us sees in the furry prince the
mighty king that is yet to be.
So it is with our human cubs. Something in us sees in the swagger and
posturing of youth that same juxtaposition.
After all, we don’t want milquetoast youth – de-fanged and domesticated. Although maybe we’re not so sure about facing
down a sweaty, hormone-addled beast. Our
ambivalence on beholding the endearing cub and seeing the rough beast is inherent
in the human condition. Really, in the
animal condition.
My hope is that recognizing it, naming it, and putting it in
its proper place can restore right relations among the generations, but not
just that. Because whether our own lion
cubs make us want to cuddle them and scratch them behind the ears or reach for
a whip and chair says a lot about us.
About where we’re at with race and class and gender. It says a lot about what we think it means
when a kid pumps the bass on his car radio or loiters or jaywalks or wears a
hoodie.
My mother would never let us hang out at the mall. We could go if we had a goal – to buy this
item or to see this movie – but she saw trouble in the idleness of teens. She was a social worker in the community, so
she likely knew more than she could disclose.
Plus, truth be told, we weren’t prepared to swear that we weren’t
up to no good. Despite being good kids at
core – generous, helpful, kind – we would have been disappointed if no
one found us menacing or shocking. If we never pulled our lips back far
enough to show our burgeoning fangs.
I know that I had a reputation for being smart, and that my
reputation for being smart, at least at first, had a whole lot more to do with
how my parents talked and what books we had in the house than any native
intelligence of mine. And that once you
are perceived as smart, as gifted and talented, then that becomes a
self-fulfilling prophecy. You learn this
truth: that the hardest classes are the
easiest, because they are the spaces where you are given the benefit of the
doubt.
In those spaces, those traits that make you a good strong
lion – mischief, aggression, obstinance, guile – which could easily be punished
as infractions -- are celebrated. Many
of my friends, whose pranks were no more injurious, whose stance was no less
affected, whose convictions were no less deeply held, were received quite differently. It was not lost on me that I could get away
with it and they couldn’t.
This I believe: Audacity
in youth is not a vice. It is a virtue. And it’s going to express itself in the
pedestrian trying to stare down the car or the entrepreneur trying to game the
system or in the music that’s too loud or the pants that are too tight or too
baggy or in the naked disdain and pity that stares back at us when we stare at
them. And it is good and right that it
be so. Because every lion cub has to
scratch his claws. Every lion cub has to
practice his roar. Else whence do we get
our lions?
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