chaperon.

I was sitting in the kitchen of the Panther Branch Community Center with three certified adults and one other pseudo-adult. In the main room next to us was a group of fifteen kids, sitting at the far end, perhaps unconsciously as far away from us as they could get. They were not quite whispering, but they were not trying to be overheard either. Their conversation was peppered with bursts of riotous laughter. Even from my position and my age, I could tell that they were playing some sort of confession game. I guessed "Truth or Dare," though from my experience, it could have been switched to "Truth or Truth." No one ever wanted to do the dares, and it took too long to come up with a good one anyway. Once more I realized how little has changed about being sixteen.

My brother asked Josh and me to help chaperon a sweet sixteen party for my niece. I agreed immediately, but as the date got closer, I got apprehensive. I thought about my experience five years ago, when I attended another alliteratively-named party for my roommate's little sister. There were half a dozen of us older kids there. It was a segregated event. The younger girls all stared at us older kids, seemingly amazed that anyone ever lived to nineteen. We tried not to look directly at them, not understanding how we had ever been that age. The experience was unnerving. How much worse would it be this time, when I was another five years removed from the younger crowd? I was going to be a chaperon, an authority figure. Luckily I remembered that at sixteen, I hadn't known that twenty-four-year-olds were clueless, too, so maybe they'd confuse me with a real adult. A younger, hipper adult, but still someone who could make them shut up if necessary.

I was prepared to be annoyed. Have you talked to teenagers lately? Mouthy little brats, aren't they? I remember being that age and people would complain about teenagers acting like they knew everything. I thought that was kinda silly and overstated, because I certainly didn't act like that, nor did I know anyone who did. Now I can say that I was exactly like that. So were all my friends.

The kids weren't making any trouble, so we didn't chaperon so much as observe. Actually, we stared outright. It was like watching a nature program about the social behaviors of humans in the wild. The girls giggled and the boys made idiots of themselves in order to generate more giggling. It was as intricate as a bee's courtship dance. Rather than feel irritated at all the ridiculous preening, I just felt sorry for them all. Every move seemed to scream out "Please, please, please like me." I never realized how much we were all ruled by our own self-consciousness. It was revealed in everything: how they stood, how they talked, how they ate (or didn't), how they picked who to hang out with.

We watched the boys especially, because there were fewer of them. Maybe I was watching them because my niece is a little too cute and I wanted to make sure she wasn't hanging out with any jerks. There was the tall one with the expensive car (and generous/foolish parents), the one who cared too much about his hair, the chubby one who was compensating by being a clown. Oh, they were trying so hard. I wish I'd known back then that the boys were just as cowed by insecurity as we were. I looked at the girls and wished that I had my little high school body back. I bet each of those girls hates her own body. I did.

The kids mostly ignored us. Sure, they knew we were there, and I'm sure more than one of them lowered a voice when a dirty word was coming out. They didn't stare like at the party five years ago. When I was nineteen, they could tell that I was still like them, all young and cocky, but with unimaginable freedom. Now I'm just someone else that has to pay bills every month. I'm too boring to register.

Back to the kitchen, where we were sitting around talking about our youth. Mostly it was the real adults talking, responsible adults who used to be irresponsible kids. I knew some of the stories about my brother's colorful early twenties, but I heard some more. My sister-in-law had a couple of her own; she claimed that she and my brother tamed each other. I know Josh's stories, and he knows mine, but we both kept quiet, because we're still young and stupid and writing new stories. We overheard some of the conversation outside and realize that they were not playing "Truth or Dare," but "Never Have I Ever," another confession game. I explained the game to the parents, who hadn't heard of it: one person says something they've never done, then everyone in the circle who has done the deed in question has to raise a hand. After my explanation, my sister-in-law paused for a moment, then smiled. "I guess I'd lose."

Now I think about breaking the invisible barrier between the teenagers and the adults, how hilarious it would have been to go sit down and play along. Just raise our hands to admit to our crimes and smile at their shocked faces, blow their minds a little bit. What would scare them more - that we were like them or that they will be like us?