It’s my 14-year-old son’s first foray into YouTube stardom. Sporting a plaid bow tie over his vintage Nirvana t-shirt, his hair is styled in a way that channels a modern-day Jimi Hendrix. With one hand, he clicks the camera on and steps back, ensuring he’s perfectly framed.
“Ahem,” he clears his throat dramatically, bowing with a flourish that would make any performer proud. After wetting the tip of his recorder, he launches into an unexpected rendition of Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” using a penny whistle he ‘borrowed’ from his younger sister. As I watch, I can’t help but cringe, my eyes instinctively closing as I brace for impact. He believes he’s hilarious. He might be— but it’s causing me genuine anguish.
While I appreciate his vibrato, a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach, worrying about his future friendships or romantic prospects. A boy with colorful hair and a love for ’80s pop isn’t exactly the poster child for social popularity. But when the performance wraps up, I find myself in awe.
He is unapologetically himself, a kid who dances to the rhythm of his own quirky tune. Sure, he’s a bit of a dork, but he’s my dork. And honestly, I see so much of myself in him.
My teenage years were a whirlwind of eccentricity. I was the drum major in the marching band, a serial crush on the percussionists, and a proud employee at the local library, where I spent hours shelving books and scribbling poetry. My hair was a fluffy, voluminous mess reminiscent of the best (or worst) of the ’80s.
Let’s not even discuss the lip bumper I wore during middle school—trust me, it was a sight to behold. My first kiss resembled a comedy sketch: “Wait, let me just—SLUUURRRP. Okay, where do we go from here?” I had a certain je ne sais quoi, and as the dork I was, I often spoke French at the most inopportune moments.
Watching my son perform his rendition of a classic pop song filled me with a mix of worry and pride. In light of these memories, I want to take a moment to celebrate all the wonderfully quirky kids out there.
Here’s to the unique souls—the eccentrics, the nerds, the dorks, and the classroom standouts. Here’s to those who eagerly raise their hands because they know the answers, who cheer when they ace a math test, and who stay late for Reading Club.
Here’s to the boys who doodle Pokémon in their notebooks and create secret handshakes in their backyards. Here’s to the alternative girl in the back of the classroom, draped in fishnets and sporting spiky hair—who knows what she’s thinking?
Let’s raise a glass to the percussion section of the marching band—each one of you occupies a special place in my heart. Here’s to the kids in the Debate Team, the Forensics Team, and the wildly imaginative clubs that sprang up overnight.
And now, as a parent, here’s to the moms—the unsung heroes. To the mom who embraces her son’s choice to carry a Barbie around because it reminds him of Grandma. To the mom who sits in the stands long after the crowd has left, cheering on her daughter who’s still on lap three. To the mom who bites her tongue when her daughter decides to dye her hair an electric hue.
To the mom filled with questions, holding the door open for her son lugging a bass drum, quietly reminding him of the hardwood floors as she prepares a well-deserved drink. To the mom who drives hours for chess camp and cheers her daughter on, even when the odds are stacked against her.
Three cheers for all of you—for me, for my son. For those of us who march to our own beat and who play life by our unique rules.
Life with a “quirky” child may pose its challenges, but I assure you: it’s a journey filled with laughter and adventure.
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In summary, let’s embrace the quirky kids and all their eccentricities. They teach us to be proud of who we are and remind us that life is richer with a touch of individuality.