449: Middle School

Hey everybody, I have a glass here. So we got this email at our radio show near the end of the school year from a 14-year old. Hello. Hey, is this Annie? Yeah. I caught her up at her house in California. And asked her to read it. Mm-hmm. It says, "Do this American myth. I just escaped the whitewash brick walled iron gated prison that is commonly known as middle school. And then finally out for good. But in all the time I have listened to your show, I have never heard an episode devoted to what goes on inside the walls of a middle school. I hope you'll think about it." Anonymous? Yeah, you signed an anonymous, but then your email was signed with your name. Yeah. Yeah. I said anonymous because in middle school everybody is so judgmental and I didn't want the kids to judge me or anything if they heard me on the radio. In English, she says that she wrote to us because she and her friends are talking right after they go after the eighth grade about how terrible middle school was. And she wondered, was it just as bad for other people as it was for them? Yeah, you always wonder whether other people are going through the same thing as you. And it'd be cool to hear other people's stories about it and how what they went through. And if you had to explain to somebody, what are the worst things about middle school? Can I actually just walk me through it? What is so bad about middle school? Kids there are all in kind of socially awkward stages that the drama every day can be frustrating and girl-boy things or if someone likes so-and-so and then no matter who you are or what you do, you'll get made fun of for it, anything, anything in the world you can get made fun of for. In Annie's case, she had friends who smoked so she got criticized for smoking. And then she also was made fun of for not smoking, for being too much of a city to start smoking. She was made fun of for coming from a bilingual elementary school, everybody going to speak Spanish and spoke it throughout the day. And leaving elementary school, I guess I thought that when I got to middle school, everyone would think it was really cool that I smoked Spanish, but when I got there, I mostly just thought it was dumb. I don't know if they were jealous or what, but they wouldn't make fun of me for it. And they'd say we're all full of ourselves for that we spoke different languages and stuff. Did it make you feel bad? Yeah, I didn't want to stick out in that way. If I got a new sweater or something, say, for Christmas that I really liked and I would really want to wear it to school or something, that I'd be nervous because like what if someone didn't like my sweater or someone made fun of me for wearing it, it can be hard to do even the smallest things because you're so nervous that people tease you or judge you from it. That sweater example? Is that a real example? Yeah, actually, I worried about it so much. I also had a pair of moccasins that I'd never worn and they're kind of my signature now. I really, really like them. They're like ankle-highly submoccasins. And how long did you have the moccasins before you actually wore them? A few months, like probably two months. I guess I just thought if people didn't like them, they would all like fun of me for wearing them. And I didn't want to stand out that much. What could be done to make middle school better? I don't think you can really do anything about it. Nothing. We talked about this for a little while. We said basically, everybody comes into middle school as a little kid and you're going to have to grow up and figure out who's in what group and who you are and who's above who. And you'd have to figure that out somewhere at that age, right? It might as well be middle school. There was terrible, she says, but now she's in high school. Whatever middle school was at work, everyone's a lot familiar and everyone's lives are a lot better now. What a day on our video program for Annie, we look at whatever it is that happens in those mysterious years that we call middle school. As the new school year begins, we have stories today from all over the country, people lurching their way through these years when you're figuring out so, so much. We go to middle school dances and classrooms and down to the Mexican border. From WBE/Chicago, it's this American life, I'm our glass. A day with us. Just American life today shows rerun, one that we thought would be a nice one to run for returning to school with, act one, life in the middle ages. So we wanted to understand what is going on exactly physically and emotionally with middle school kids. And we talked to all kinds of people about that this last few weeks and one of the producers on our staff had a very strong opinion about all this. Alex Bloomberg, before he got into radio, he taught in a middle school in Chicago for four years. He was a science teacher and you concluded from that experience? I don't know if they learned anything. Like they are so consumed with learning all these other lessons about where they fit in in the social order and how their bodies are now working and who they're attracted to and who they're going to be, that facts and figures and geography and all the other stuff that you teach in school, it just doesn't even penetrate. Are you saying like we shouldn't even bother to have them in school, we should just basically put them to work in the factory for two or three years? Yeah. I basically came away thinking like you're sort of wasting your time trying to teach middle school students anything. If that seems just insane, Alex told me that Maria Montessori, who's the creator of the Montessori schools, who looked at what kids could learn at each developmental stage. At one point in her career actually tossed out a similar suggestion, perhaps she said young adolescents would be better off at a farm school, what she called an arid kinder, where they would work with the land. Is he just got a great sense of humor or what? I am. Ranox is thought by Marion Stroke, the principal of Evergreen Academy middle school in Chicago, which was listed as one of the best middle schools in the country, a school to watch by the national forum to accelerate middle grades reform. You have to be, I have to say, well, I obviously don't agree, okay? I think that we definitely have a way to acknowledge in their heads. It's being creative about how we do it and taking into consideration all of those other things. I'm not going to lie, it's not easy. Can I ask you how much of the stereotype around students as age is true? Are you saying that the stereotype is true? You just got to deal with what it is? It is true. And you have to, as the adult in the situation, you have to find a way to work around it, find a way to help them to grow up. They won't have to suffer if we do things right. They won't have to suffer as much, let's say. I mean, you're going to go through emotional changes in your body's changing, that that can't be helped. The raging hormones, that can't be helped. All of that can't be helped. It's the way that we react to it that will make such a difference in their lives. It's our flexibility, it's our concern, it's our listening to them, it's our hearing them out. And so what's actually happening, developmentally, in the bodies and brains of kids when they're in middle school? Let me give the overview this way. The terrible twels are a complete analog to the terrible twos. They're just not as cute, right? This is going to be pristine. When she wrote a book called Not Much Just Chillin, the Hidden Lives of middle schoolers following five middle school students very closely for a full year, she also incidentally researched everything she could find out about what is going on developmentally with kids that age. That makes them so different from other ages and fascinating. This is the time of biggest growth for a human being aside from infancy. So your bones are growing, your bones are growing faster than your muscles, so you can't actually sit still. Let your brain, your gray matter during the middle school years what happens in your early stages of puberty is this vast overproduction of brain cells and connections far more than you actually need. And only some of them are going to survive puberty. This growth in your frontal cortex, it peaks at 11 for girls and 12 for boys. And then what happens is the cells just fight it out for survival. And the ones that last are the ones you exercise more. In other words, during those years your brain turns you into you, the adult you. The stuff you don't exercise just kind of goes away and what stays. So if you think about what you learned at the early stages of puberty, I don't know what that was for you. For me it was tap dancing and French, you know, it sticks. I know French much better than any language I learned after that and not because I had a better teacher. I was learning it at the right time. I can still do tap dances though I won't that I learned when I was 12 or 13. Yeah, I can still do magic tricks that I learned at that age. Exactly. It's like it's it's it's embossed in your existence. It's this important time for your brain. It's like this you use it or lose it time. Lentiparolstein agrees that all the stereotypes about middle schoolers, everything in fact that Annie complained about, all of that is true. But she says that there's a flip side that people don't usually talk about. Middle school is when kids open up to the world, it's when they think about bigger things. And they haven't formed their opinions on things yet, everything is up for grabs, which is amazing to be around. I just think it's that age you're front. And I like being around them. Middle schoolers are in that real nice spot of being interesting, but also being able to explain to you what's going on in their minds and why they do the things they do. They're self-reflective. They're capable of self-reflection in a way that younger kids might not be. - Older kids, she says, high school kids, by then they can be jaded or cynical. They're settling into who they are. Middle school, everything's new. You're probably picking your friends for the very first time. For the first time they are on just the kids on your block or your parents' friends' kids or the kids who are around. So you make a best friend one day who then you drop two weeks later. You get obsessed with guitar or computers or dance for two weeks, and then two weeks later you drop it. For everything that's awful about middle school, she says. That's the great thing about it. You experiment. (upbeat music) - Back to stutter steps. One good place to see the experiment that is life in middle school, inaction, is in middle school dance. Last Friday there were middle school dances all over the country, all at the same time, and we sent reporters to a half dozen of them to find out how kids were doing. The doctor then before the kids went inside to the field of battle, and no surprise. We found a lot of stress, a lot of uncertainty. - Who's nervous about tonight? - I am. I don't know. - Why? - Well, just, I don't know. We don't know what's gonna be like. I just don't know. I mean, yeah. - I mean, we've got these things before, but they've never exactly had the term dance to it. - These four girls are six graders, and they're in a car on the way to a neon-themed dance at Edgewood Middle School in Highland Park, Illinois, with their mom and reporter Rob Wertherbar. - Who's gonna dance with a boy tonight? - Nobody. - I don't know. - I can tell you that. - You don't know what's gonna be like. Slow dancing or regular dancing. That's why we are nervous. - Roughly 800 miles east in New Jersey. Sixth grader Ethan DeRose was hoping that there would be at least one slow dance, though, did he feel ready for a slow dance? - Nope, not at all. - Why not? What are you worried about? - I just don't know how to do it. Like, I'm not sure that I'll do it correctly or, yeah. - He's standing in front of the school with reporter Brian Reed as a kid's stream into the school. Ethan is wearing a button up shirt with green and black stripes that he is not happy with. - That was my mom. She made me wear it. She said that if I don't wear the two shirts and I am wearing right now, that I can't go to the dance. - What are you hoping happens at this dance? - I'm hoping I don't, like, nothing bad happens. Like, no humiliation or not something that'll be a story for the next month or two, at least to me. - Of course, Ethan and the girls been the car in Illinois are six graders. In New York City, seventh graders, Evelyn Benson and Alice Westerman are excited and feeling very grown up on the way to their school's Halloween dance. - I'm really happy because, like, last year, they, like, split the gym in half, so it's, like, light on one side and, like, pitch black on the other side. All the six graders are, kind of, like, band from the dark side. But that's where, like, all the cool kids are. So now we're in seventh grade with a dance on the dark side. So it's, like, woo, we're cool. - Dance on the dark side. - Just dance on the dark side. - Some of the middle school boys got up the nerve to ask girls to be their dates to the dances. But because this is a new experience to the girls too, being asked out on a date, they don't exactly know how to handle it. Here's a grown-in autumn, talking with a producer with a Pollock in Delaware. You have to turn into the dance. - Did you get asked to dance? - Yes, I did. - And what did you say? - I said I don't know, but I'd probably won't say yes. - Wait, you haven't told them yes or no yet? - No. - Okay, so it's 120 and the dance is seven. - Yeah. - When do you have to let them know? - I probably won't answer. (laughs) Are you serious? - Yeah. - I just kind of want to hang out with the girls. - So he's the only one who asked you. - There was other people too. How many? - Probably five-ish. - What five boys asked you to dance? - Yeah. - You told all these guys I don't know. - Yeah. - What if they took that as a yes? - Then they got the wrong answer. - Do you say I don't know because it feels too mean to say no? - Yeah, I'm not mean. - Of course, some of the boys are no better. During the dance in Windamena, reporter Claire Holman pulled six-grider Christopher Potter out of the action for a chat. - Is there anyone you like at the dance? - There is. - Does she know? - Yes, she does. We're kind of dating at the time. - So how's that going? - Good, it just started like 20 minutes into this. So yeah. - You asked a girl to go out during this dance? - No, a girl came to me and asked me out. - Okay, let's go by minute by minute. So where were you when this happened? - I was in the cafeteria. Just got on a drink of root beer. And she walks up to me and asks me to go out. - What did she say exactly? - She said, "Christ, will you go out with me?" - And were you surprised? - Not really. We've kind of been like on and off again. - So it's not the first time? - Yeah, not the first time. - But she always asks you or do you ever ask her? - Well, it's kind of weird because it's always she wants me to ask her. So it was weird that she asked me, usually they don't last. It's a middle school relationship, nothing really happens. - What does that mean like a middle school relationship? What do you mean doesn't last? I don't, it just is destined to fail pretty much. - Like it's a middle school. I mean, this isn't like where you start at your life with. You don't hear things about middle school sweethearts. - In Richmond, outside Moody Middle School's dance, reporter Eric Manel spoke with Elliot German and his stepbrother Jonathan Lotton. They're both eighth graders who ran through the official rules for the dance. - So some of them were kind of funny. He says, I mean, it's like no hands below the waist, no petting, which is all kind of funny. - No petting? - Yeah, yeah, no petting. What does that mean? - I don't know. - No one knows. - Like it was specifically like the fly that I had out. Like they give you the brush color, and then they give you like the rules. - No petting, and it's in like quotations. You never know what it means. It's like do people like sit there at dances and just like pet other people? 'Cause I do really weird. - There are rules like this at all the dances and some more comprehensible than others. As for whether or not the kids obey the rules and what actually happens inside the dance on the actual dance floor, one of our producers Lisa Pollock went inside to the dance floor at the Falk costume dance and lose Delaware, and I'm gonna hand it off to her. - So the scene in the gym was pretty much the way you remember it. Older kids dancing in the middle, younger kids in the periphery, a few aimlessly wandering around, looking like they're not sure what to do. Lots of kids were dancing, jumping up and down, occasionally you'd see a fist pump. They danced in these tightly packed clusters, the very little room between them. And outside of the clusters were shaperones, ready to step in if they saw any grinding or a suggestive dancing. Hovering outside one of the clusters was a teacher named John Gaws, and he looked perplexed. - This knot has gotten me on edge at this point. - Why? - Because they're trying to get away with stuff. Like, you can tell by the way they're looking at you. They have a guilty look. 'Cause you're about to see me swoop. - He actually did swoop. He plunged him to the pack of kids, pulled a boy aside and talked to him. Then he told me why. - He needed to be taken aside and told to stop being up against those girls like that. That's why I don't want to jump in too much, but I just want to give him the woe with a flat hand woe, just woe, just calm it down a little. I mean, usually if I see it, then they're going to stop because they see me. - And then comes the moment of truth. The moment that forces every kid in the room to make a decision. The moment that separates the timid from the brave. The slow song. I watch it with teacher Brian Comra. - So we got our slow song and just as I suspected, a majority of the students left the dance floor. All the way, all the couples are in the middle of the dance floor in the cluster. I suspect so they're not near an adult. - I love how the kids go up to the couple's dancing and interrupt them. - Oh, absolutely. - Some of the couples didn't have much privacy. The friends were standing a foot away, hanging out and talking to them. And every so often a random kid would just cut across the dance floor. - This girl, right here, just grabbed onto the back of her friends. Now, while the friend is dancing with the boy. - Yep, yep, yep. I don't know if you didn't want to be left out or they came with friends. Or I think at this stage of the game, it's hard when boys and girls hair off. And then one friend is always left behind. - There's a few of these slow dances, but most of the songs are fast. And then suddenly, Finally the song hit the road jack starts playing in a light snap on. And he was right. The experiment in mini adulthood that is a middle school dance was over. The same kids who minutes earlier were holding each other and swaying awkwardly on the dance floor, gotten to cars and said hi to their parents. Lisa Pollock coming up, surviving middle school by pretending that you are from a completely different family that is in a minute from Chicago Public Radio when our program continues. The American I from Iraq, a show of course you choose a theme bring you different kinds of stories on that theme today show, a rerun on middle school, a 14 year old from California who just got out of middle school asked for a show on the horror that is middle school. It'd be cool to hear other people's stories about it and how what they went through. We thought you know, that's a pretty good idea. That is a place with a lot of stories. We've arrived at act three of our show, act three, Mimi's in the middle. A place that Domingo Martinez went to middle school, they still caught it junior high. And he says it is sisters did something to cope with any feelings of inferiority they might have otherwise felt in the new school with all those new kids. When they started junior high, my sisters Mary and Margie invented the Mimi's as a way to cope with any feelings of inferiority they might have otherwise experienced. They were entering the sinister world of teenage girls, which in the mid 1980s in Brownsville Texas was tinged with border town racism. Instead of being ashamed of who they were, my sisters decided to create a polite fiction and invited everyone to participate. First, they dyed their brown-black hair blonde until it turned the color and brightness of hay. Then they began dressing in Sergio Valente and Gloria Vanderbilt. And finally, to cap it off, they decided to call each other "simply" Mimi. The typical conversation between them went like this. Mimi, do you like my new George S. jeans? Yes, Mimi, I do. Do I look rich in my new Nike's Mimi? Mimi, do you look like a tennis player, Mimi? I know, Mimi. Maybe I should make mom buy me a racket. It was really that simple. The Mimi's made a conscious decision that they would be rich and white, even if their family wasn't. In other words, Margie and Mary had a small break from reality that we all participated in to help them through junior high. We all helped in creating the Mimi's. At the time, the rest of the family had not fully realized that her job, as relatively new Americans and, worse yet, Texans, was to be as white as possible. And we honestly didn't see their delusion as anything other than another bewildering tactic in our sister's quest for a higher level of superior fashion. Those teenage girls doing what teenage girls do. There had been a time when her family had been rich by barrio standards, because her grandpa, dad's stepfather, fought in the Korean War, and used his GI money to start a trucking business when he got back. He married grandma, who was widowed from her fresh marriage at age 16, and gave both her and my dad citizenship. My siblings and I were all born in Brownsville as Americans, but really didn't understand what that meant, not really, not in that area. The grandpa died in 1980, and our world began to crumble. The trucking business began to disintegrate around Dad, and he was started on a slow road towards desperation and religion. Meanwhile, the Mimi's had made their decision to be two blue-blooded, trust-funded tennis buddies from Connecticut, accidentally living in Brownsville, Texas with us. A poor Mexican family, they had somehow befriended while undergoing some dekenzian series of misfortunes. No one acted like it was peculiar, especially those in the family who didn't speak English, or could not understand the Mimi's when they showed up at family gatherings. Yo, no Puedo, a Blarro Esponillo, one of the Mimi's would say to an uncle or cousin, who more often than not would linger lasciviously around them, at first conflicted by the idea of being turned on by so young or relative, and then mentally calculating just how distantly related they were, and tabulating his odds at scoring with this new white check, who just happened to show up at this barrio party. But only after two or three beers. Mimi, how did you like my Spanish? Oh, Mimi, it's getting really good. Mimi, do you think they understood me? Oh, Mimi, who cares? Soon, the Mimi's were buzzing at a fever pitch, intoxicating everyone who came near and caught a whiff of the Mimi's annaís perfume. We had all seen the commercials on network television while watching Dallas or Not's Landing, and it was a forbidden fragrance for rain-depressed English women, with secret muscular boyfriends, who drove jaguars dangerously through unpaid, one-lane Scottish roads, so the Mimi's had to have it, and they found it at the local JCPenney, and had mom pay for it. Me and my brother Dan, in our old sister's Sylvia, we just kind of stand for the heat and dealt with it. Even mom developed her own fascination with the Mimi's, like she couldnít believe her luck, now that she was related to royalty. Feeding into their fantasy gave her one of her own, so she was always ready for an air-conditioned trip to the mall. She took the little clothes budget reserved for us boys, my brother and me, and added it into the Mimi's wardrobe, because to her, it was the sign of status for the family that the Mimi's looked their best. None of the rest of us would question it, even though it felt wrong. I was often left with the Mimi's recently stylish hand-me-downs. No one else in my grade school was remotely label-conscious, or capable of reading in English, really, so it passed unnoticed that most of my clothes were made for glamorous junior high school girls. Almost every child that my school came from recently immigrated families. Kids so poor, they'd save half their free lunch to share with their younger siblings at home, their heads shaved to rid them of lice. My best friend Arthur, he noticed, though. He was part black and part Mexican, had just moved to Brownsville from some big city slum in Michigan, where his mother's boyfriend had been employed at a GM factory, and he read labels. "Hey, Dom," he said, "Yo, man, you're wearing a girl's shirt. Where's the spree-making baggy boy's shirt now, too?" So to change the subject, I slugged him high in the chest and ran away. He chased me down to punch me back, and left me crying in my girl's blouse. If she had any guilt about giving the Mimi's the lion's share of the clothing budget, I imagined the justification my mother probably used was that my older brother and I, which is Rue and her clothes, working with dad under the greasy trucks. It made better sense for the Mimi's to be in high fashion than for the feral boys to wreck new clothes. Mimi, you look just like Jennifer Beale's in flash dance? You should join the dance team at school. I know Mimi, I think so, too. Mimi, I think you should dye your hair back to its original color. Ash, I know Mimi, I'm trying. During this time, my brother Dan's eyesight was so bad he couldn't read the blackboard in school and constantly ran into corners or short skinny people. People thought he was Asian, he squinted so much. Every photo of him taken in junior high, he looks like he's trying to see into the photographer's eyes through the camera lens. This of course goes entirely unnoticed, and it is the younger Mimi Mary, with a 2020 vision who gets vanity glasses with her name etched in gold script in the corner. Dan wouldn't get glasses until he was in the military when he was 17. Eventually, Dad's failure at navigating the business and providing for his family intruded on the Mimi's fantasy. Dad made a decision that as soon as school ended, mom would take the Mimi's and sell and drive them to California to participate in the seasonal gray harvest with Dad's cousins. People vaguely related to grandma through marriage, I think. It would be treated like adults there, paid the same as everyone else. Mom, I remember, was horrified at the implications, at the shame of having to send her virginal and royal daughters out to the fields. Plus, Dad's extended family out in California were very different from us, wild and frightening and Californian. The Mimi's, though, were undaunted, did not understand the complications. Mimi, we're going to California? Oh, my God, Mimi, we're going to be valley girls, Mimi, gag me with a spoon, Mimi, Mimi, you're what you're showing. We packed up mom, the Mimi's in Sylvia, in the beige 1980 Pontiac Bonneville, already an antique on its second engine and failing transmission, and they drove out of Brownsville. A year later, I took this ride as well and also ended up picking grapes for the summer, mostly out of envy. That we were migrant workers for that period didn't occur to me, nor to anyone else. That label would never stick, it could never stick. We couldn't descend to that level. We just had to do it to help out Dad, that was all. Desperate circumstances calling for desperate measures and all that. But it was too much for the Mimi's, the reality of this first trip. Sadly, I think it was childhood's end for the Mimi's. The vineyards had somehow inverted their secret garden and the low door in the wall had closed shut behind them. When they first reached California. The Mimi's did indeed become valley girls. The hippest, cutest, best-dressed migrant workers of that ear, and very likely for many years to come. The older Mimi, Marge, continued to dress like Jennifer Beale's in flash dance out in the fields, where the sun sizzled any inch of exposed skin. She wore a spaghetti strapped, red and white striped a spree top, white cotton shorts, and a matching headband with her red and white leather Nike tennis shoes, and took pictures of the vineyards and the workers with her Canon AE1. Her headband kept a white strip of skin on her forehead from tanning, and as a result, she was forced to wear headbands for a few months afterwards. Way after headbands were out of fashion. Eventually though, even she started dressing like the rest of the migrant workers, wearing long-sleeved collared shirts, bundled all the way to the neck, thick, unstylish denim and work boots, with a bandana covering her nose and mouth, or else she would have died of heatstroke. There were no photos taken of that. Mary, the younger Mimi, did not fare any better. Her vanity glasses with the fake lenses were scratched well beyond recovery. Her roots grew out, and her hair turned a lighter brown as a result of the heat and the pesticides of the grape fields of Southern California. The hard work went on all summer, and eventually it became bitter enough to breach even the walls of the Mimi's perfectly constructed fantasy. And so sadly, eventually even they were humiliated, and the illusion of wealth that had kept the family's idea of itself buoyant was deflated. When they returned to Brownsville, as happy as we were to see them, no one ever mentioned the Mimi's again. They were gone, and it was Margin Mary that returned to their place. Mary rubbing her nose with a palm of her hand from allergies and snapping at anyone who tried to talk to her, and Margin, who never went back to California, and took a job at the bank the following summer instead. I was sorry to see the Mimi's go. We all were. When they were at their peak, the Mimi's had been capable of creating a real sort of magic around them, enchanting both people in places so that you could be looking at the same dreary landscape as them, the same terrible and hopeless event. And while you might be miserable and bitter, they would be beaming and thralled and enthusiastically hopeful. And then, if you got near them, who were blessed enough to maybe talk to them, you would walk away feeling the same way as they felt, too. They were a gift to everyone who was lucky enough to get caught in their Anaís, Anaís, the Mimi's. They made all of us Americans. Domingo Martinez, reading an excerpt from his book The Boy Kings of Texas, which is memoir, and a finalist for the National Book Award. Since we've heard his broadcast today's show, Domingo's published another memoir called My Heart as a Drunken Compass. Act 4, Anchor Babies. So, this week as we were putting together the radio show and sending reporters out into middle schools, we discovered that in schools all over the country, there already were reporters on the ground. Deep inside, covering the issues that middle school kids really care about. Good afternoon Huskies. It is Thursday, September 15th, 2011. After today, there are only 162 school days until summer vacation. I'm Taylor. These are student newscasters from Heart Middle School and Pleasant to California. I myself got my start on the mic on the morning announcements. And this is what middle school morning announcements in some schools are like today. Students make these full-blown video productions. Some of them have music themes. The kids stand up front of banners with their school logo or sometimes it's a green screen backdrop so they make it look like they're on a local TV news set. A producer Jonathan Menhivar has been watching these newscasts all week with fascination and he has noticed a few trends. Just like the local news, middle school newscasts tend to follow a formula. They almost all start with a pledge of allegiance. This next segment from DMS News at Divell Middle School in Divell Oklahoma is a staple of almost every broadcast I watched. This has to qualify as breaking news because it's school. There's not a lot of exciting stuff for them to report. They have to tell their fellow students what the cafeteria is serving that day when makeup pictures are being taken and do the weather. My favorite comes from this girl, McKenna, near Buffalo, who's clearly had enough. Good morning every middle school that's McKenna with today's weather. It's going to be how it is like it is now pretty much all day. In the afternoon, colder windy and wet with heavier rain. In the evening, winds and south vibes. These newscasts are middle school in relief, like what you'd see if there was a middle school exhibit at the Natural History Museum. There are tiny kids with big ears, shy, red faced kids, jocks, computer club kids, completely normal, super sweet, over-achieving ones. They were fun to watch. I've forgotten that middle school kids can have this overconfident goofiness. I spent days watching kids deliver these newscasts and I was curious what they'd be like if they actually reported on the stories that mattered the most to them. Stuff they'd never say on the morning announcements. The big headlines in their school that week. So I found a school that was willing to play along. Parkville middle school is just north of Baltimore. And the students there do their morning announcements as a six-minute show called PTV. With the help of their teacher, Ms. Davis, the kids put out a really involved production. There's three TV cameras, a control room, and the anchor said it one of those giant news desks. It has a PTV logo on it. Behind them, there's a backdrop of downtown Baltimore. With Ms. Davis's help, I enlisted the kids in this experiment. To write up a newscast, with news from their lives. And the stories they each cared about. And they delivered. They said they had fun doing it. So I've heard that there is a new Martin Luther King Jr statue Washington DC. That statue doesn't even look like him. It looks like he has a unibrow. Our school is getting their boiler fixed and they talked over the announcements like it was an important thing. But it didn't really sound important to me. But I guess they thought it was important for some students and the teachers. Kids were randomly clapping at lunch and the teachers got fed up. So last week, it was me that you're not allowed to clap. So in lunch, this one kid, Raymond Crabbs, I think he got suspended. The US Department of Agriculture is banning potatoes from school lunches. I love potatoes. They can just make them healthier or something. They don't have to ban them. The weather has been terribly cold lately. I've had to wear my ugly boots like five times in the past three weeks. I swear if I find any dirt on them anywhere, my other nature is going to hear from me. So over the weekend, my best friend told me he's still going to trick her treating. He says he's going with a firm from school. Personally, I think we're all going to be trick her treating. Well, that is all I have for today. I'm really y'all can have a good day. Zakiya Bryant decided to go hyper-local with her news. She wears glasses and she had her hair pulled back with a headband. In local news, aka Harry Park Mill Middle, there's a lot of drama going on. Me personally, I lost most of my friends. I really miss those chicks but I don't think they feel the same. Kaylyn and Jaya were my besties and now they're gone. I still love them though. They're my sisters. Well, I don't really have too much point to say because my life is kind of boy. So, deuces. Zakiya and I talked for a while. She told me that deuces is just another way of saying peace out. Can I ask you about your friends what happened? Well, it was a lot of drama going on. Some things got said and people's feelings got hurt and some of us made up. Some of us didn't, but I hope that we can. It sucks. So, you're not talking to them at all? Well, actually, she's not talking to me because I called her a name and it hurt her feelings. So, she's very upset with me. I just, I need to apologize. I didn't do that yet. I feel kind of bad about that. So, I'm going to. The very last kid I talked to was Jaya Wadi. She's saying what's your most surprising news in between a couple other stories. My brother goes to Penn State and he's on the football team and I've been to all the home games and there are a lot of fun. The students are crazy and they get dressed up in blue light. It's really cool. So, my friend is always depressed and then she's like mad at me all the time. So, I don't understand that. I was watching the news the other day and they were talking about how President Obama. Did you catch that? A better, depressed friend. I asked Jaya if it was hard to write about her. Yeah, because I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but she really doesn't care because she said she wrote about me too. Oh, this is. Zikia. Yeah, yeah. Oh, wow. I didn't realize that her friend she was talking about. We're in this class. Yeah, there we are. But I've known her since like 5th grade. So, we kind of fight a lot, but we always wind up being friends in the end. So. What happened exactly? Nothing really. Just people telling other people things, spreading rumors in drama, middle school. Ms. Davis, the journalism teacher at Parkville Middle, is always stressing that her students be factual and truthful in their stories. The news isn't rumors and opinions. But in middle school, sometimes it's hard to remember that. It's hard to step back and look at a story from different perspectives. "Johnathan Mahivar, these days he's the executive producer of a new podcast from the Guardian called "Stateside" with Kai and Carter, they're on YouTube and everywhere you get your podcast. 5 - Blue Kid on the Block Last September, a kid that we're going to call Leo, not his real name, started seventh grade at a new school and he was having a more extreme experience. He was having a harder time finding his place in middle school than other middle school kids because he was new to town. His family had just arrived from Rochester, New York, he had that on top of everything else. Leo still loved Rochester, he got this school there, he got his friends, suddenly everything about his life was different and according to Leo, much, much worse. The signature in his Gmail account read, "Rochester is much better in big red letters." Sarah Cainig knows Leo and his parents and visited them at home to see how Leo was doing. This is how much Leo does not want to be here. When I got to his house, he was on the sofa with a laptop investigating Greyhound bus schedules. His mother was going to drive him and his sister back to Rochester for the Columbus Day weekend but not until Saturday morning and Leo wanted to get there Friday for more time with his friends. A multi-stage negotiation followed with his dad. For one thing, a bus ticket cost money. The bus takes eight hours, even if you left it noon, you'd eat it, "Hey, you're going to do the math, that's excellent." Never mind that the bus takes twice as long as driving and never mind that Leo would be alone and have to change buses and that his parents had no intention of letting him go through with this plan. But it's the kind of negotiation you indulge when your kid is miserable, and Leo is miserable. He told me right away he was, and then he had been from the moment he got here in August. Is this the first time you've in your life where you felt like you've been sad about something for this long? I think so, except for maybe when my other cat died, my old cat. And does this feel worse than that? Yes. I've never had long periods of sad until now. I don't know. I don't know. Anyone here, really? And I think it's just everything, in general, that's overwhelming. Back in Rochester, Leo had known all his best friends since kindergarten or before. They played together at school, after school, on weekends. They knew everybody, everything was comfortable. And as a sixth grader in his old school, he and his friends were at the top of the heap. They wore green sashes in the morning and got to be door monitors for the younger kids coming into the building. So imagine now, Leo takes a school bus for the first time to his new school, a sprawling, one-story building full of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. Leo's small for his age, only a hair taller than his sister, who's only nine years old. On day one, he knows exactly no one. He was much louder than my old school, much louder. People talking, people closing and opening lockers, people walking, it was just noise. Just older kids, more kids, because my old school was tiny. Leo is between. He's old enough to decipher Greyhound bus schedules, but not old enough to actually travel on one by himself. And old enough to know that if he's going to survive in middle school, he has to make friends. But then making those friends stands to be significantly more complicated than it was back in Rochester. Leo's sister, Odin, is in fourth grade. He says she's not having as hard a time of it. She hasn't been alive as long, she hasn't made us deep connections, and she's already met some a friend in her school. I think it's easier to make friends in elementary school than in middle school. Oh really why? Because people care less about who you are. What do you mean by that? They always do get the more you judge people on their looks, their background, their how they act, like what cool is for kids, because in kindergarten, you could just walk up to someone and say, do you want to be my friend, and then that would be it, but it's harder. The day I interviewed him, Leo had a couple of breakthroughs. He emailed his parents during the school day to tell them the first piece of good news they had from him. Until that day, the emails had mostly been three desperate words, I feel awful. Not even a period at the end to make the feeling finite, it was an endless awful. But on this Thursday, he wrote to tell them the mashed potatoes they serve in the cafeteria were great, followed by four exclamation points. Second, and this was the big news, he asked another kid if he wanted to come over. Leo told me he thought about it first for a few days, and finally emailed the boy, whose name is Devon, another seventh grader. But now Leo didn't want to call Devon's house to finalize a plan. He dreaded the awkwardness of the phone. And his dad called Devon's parents, introduced himself as Leo's father. He goes to school with your son, Evan, and we were, Devon, I'm so sorry, Devon, I'm getting the evil look for my son, I apologize, but we're hoping Devon can come over on Sunday. Thanks. Hi, panic. How'd that go? Not well. I thought Leo might be upset about it, maybe get silky, but here he was cracking up, joking with his dad. It was such a relief to hear him laugh after he'd been so solemn in our interview, and I thought this is all going to be okay, he's going to snap out of it, he's almost there. And after noon with Devon is going to do the trick, then Sunday came. Okay, now I have three humps again, I can tell you, you can tell you a wolf to attack. Okay, I'm going to tell my wolf to attack them. Leo taught Devon how to play dungeons and dragons, and the wolf lands on its feet. Yay, go wolfie, go wolfie, go wolfie, I am so weird. On the drive home, Leo and Devon talk nonstop, a general rat attack one-upmanship, emanating from deep inside a computer game. I am a blood elf, warlock, warlocks are fun, can you summon your impet, yeah you start with them. I like, um, I had a goblin shaman, I'm a night elf druid, and I can turn into a cat at level eight, which is nice, and it leveled 12 you to bear, yeah, and then I-- By the time they dropped Devon off, they were giggling. They don't worry, they don't worry. Our cat responds to whatever you call, and he said, his name is Tipon, and we can call him football. You can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go, we can go. Thanks for coming over. Thanks. Thank you for inviting me. See you tomorrow. So a perfect day, right? Leo's parents were relieved, hopeful, but no. It's Wednesday, you had your friend over on Sunday how to go, when okay, yeah when okay. Has it changed anything about being here? A little bit, I don't think very much, but a little bit, yeah. What's changed? What's the little bit? Then I know someone at school, it helps, not all that much, but sort of, yeah. This is when I realized I'd underestimated the depth of Leo's gloom, that he greets every morning of every school day with dread, and not because he's being bullied or anyone's being mean to him. I feel sick because I know that I have a whole day ahead of me, and then I have the next day and the next day and the next day and the next day and the next day ahead of me. Does it pass once you get to school? No, not really. It usually increases to a climax around lunchtime, and then I actually have been throwing up recently, and then it just stays that level of sickness until I get home. You're kidding me, you're throwing up at school? Yeah. Oh. And it's awful. In the bathroom or where? Yeah, in the bathroom, usually at lunch, I feel really bad, and then I go to the bathroom and I throw up. Has that happened this week? Today it did. Do you tell your parents like, "I don't want to go, I don't want to go," or do you just, you know you have to see, "Don't say anything." Ah, no, I throw a screaming fit. Every morning? Yeah, pretty much. I didn't today. What was different about this morning, how come you didn't today? I felt resigned, I knew that I would have to go anyways, so I gave up. Here's the curse of being almost 13. Old enough to understand his life will supposedly get better with time, but not old enough to really believe he's going to feel any differently than he does right this minute. Since making friends with Devon, Leo is one step toward being the kid he wants to be. Someone with pals, someone who's comfortable again. But he says, "Right now, he's just worried he's going to be throwing up all year." Sarah Canning. In the 15 years since we first broadcast this story, Leo has transitioned. She now goes to New York City and is pursuing a career in the arts. She says she's not happy all the time, but things are better than they were. Sarah Canning's now the host of serial. She's working on a brand new show that I heard a draft version of. I have to say it's incredible. It is a total pleasure. It's gonna be out very soon this fall. - Six. Grande with sugar. So I've been talking to educators and one who had taught for years in high school and then moved to middle school, told me that the key difference between teaching in the two environments was that in middle school, you have to be sympathetic to and patient with all of the emotional drama. You have to deal with that directly if you want the classroom to work. Which brings me to this next story. I was a student who was doing badly in a middle school in Newark, New Jersey. - He was a master. He would come in, his uniform would be dirty. He had it showered. He hadn't had breakfast. His book bag, most likely at a hole in it. And all of his pens and pencils had fallen out. His homework wasn't done like. And so of course, he'd come in and he'd be angry. - This is Shannon Grande, who teaches at Rise Academy Middle School, which is a public school. 91% black and Latino and eligible for free lunches. One of the Kip Charter schools, hence the uniforms. I heard about this story from Elizabeth Green, who has been reporting on this school for a journalism outfit called Gotham Schools. Anyway, this teacher, Sharon Grande, says that this seventh grader would come and angry all the time. - And usually someone would say something little to him like, you know, your shirt's not tucked in. - I know the kid would. - Yeah, 'cause they, you know, they do that. They like, you know, just kind of pick it each other. And it was set him off. And then he would just be very loud and just be like, "Oh, why do you always have to say this to me and slam his stuff down? I hate this place." And you just go into like these very general rants. And, you know, usually that's an indicator to us. Like when they use those very general statements that they're not processing through their emotions that they're feeling overwhelmed. - So this kid was an unfortunate spiral. He felt isolated from the other kids just inherently, 'cause this home situation was so bad. And then he would get angry with the other kids, which then made them mad. I made him more isolated. And he got worse and worse. He used some stuff across a room and it hit a teacher. - I mean, there were points where he would come in and he would refuse to do anything all day long. And he'd just, he would cry. He would break out and cry in the middle of class. You didn't even know why. - And he couldn't explain why. One big problem for him. One reason that he was ostracized, he didn't wash. Kids would whisper about it. And when he would get mad and then arguments would escalate, that is where it would go. You're dirty, you smell, because you say it right to his face. Every time the step found all kinds of ways to address this, they got him clean clothes and a place to clean up before school. But the bigger problem. And that's the problem of his isolation and his anger. Ms. Grande says it was not clear how to deal with that. They would try things, but nothing was working. And then finally one day in history class during a group work, he was trash talking and one of the best girls in the class, one of Ms. Grande's best students ended up in an argument with them saying terrible things. And Ms. Grande felt like really? You too? - When I pulled the girl and she was like, well, he brings it on. He gets angry and then what am I supposed to say? I was like, well, you could not say that, you know? And that being that he's dirty and he smells. And she's like, well, he does. And I said, I think this is a bigger conversation. - So Ms. Grande took this girl and the three other girls who had been doing group work with this boy. And she took those girls into the teacher's room and all four of these girls were academically strong and all of them had shown good leadership qualities in the school in the past. And she talked to them. - You know, I had explained to them that he struggles just to get here every day. That I was like, you know, you wake up in the morning and you've got somebody that's getting you out of the door, giving you breakfast, making sure your clothes are clean, making sure you get a hair on time. He doesn't have that. Like he has nobody doing that for him. And at that time, you know, I knew that the power had been off at his house. That the week before the water was shut off, that they had had part of the roof cave in. He has an elderly grandmother that he tries to take care of and she had been getting up in the middle of the night and wandering and he would hear her and get up and carry her back upstairs. - What was the reaction? - Empathy. And she's like, I didn't know that, you know, and the other girls there were, you know, talking about that. And I was like, you know, I'm telling you something that I normally wouldn't tell another student this, you know, this is something very private. But I'm trusting that you're mature enough to handle this. And I was like, so, you know, you're kind of breaking him down when you're doing these things and she's like, well, can we talk to him? I was a little nervous, you know, obviously. I was really worried about it. I was like, what am I doing here? This could be really dangerous and backfire on the terribly. They started to talk and they're like, you know, when you get angry, I, you know, we get angry back. What do you expect us to say? - It really was just a couple minutes before the kids told Ms. Grande, we can take it from here. And she left them to talk. Afterwards, the boy told Ms. Grande that it felt good. It felt good that these girls knew that he was trying to deal with his anger. And since this conversation, over time, the entire class has entered this discussion with this kid. And when this kid hasn't outburst, they will all talk openly about his anger. - I feel like the students say, well, you've told us you're working on this. What are you gonna do differently now? And then he'd try to explain, well, you know, I'm trying to take deep breaths, you know, I'm trying to journal when I'm getting angry. I'm trying to, you know, and you've come up with whatever solutions he's trying to do. But a lot of times even it wasn't about the solution and the peer pressure itself. And the feeling like, you know, he'd come in and, you know, he's making these general statements like everybody's against me. And then he's starting to feel like, okay, maybe everybody isn't against me. You know, maybe they are just frustrated with this behavior that I'm doing that I could be doing better. And so that, we started to see that impact of peer pressure. - It's like you took the entire machinery of middle school dynamics and you're harnessing it to help this kid. - Exactly. - It's a harness effect that they'll listen to peers. - Exactly. And we know they do. - This is what the research shows, that in middle school you listen to peers more than you listen to anybody else. And that is working with this kid. The other day this kid got a detention for missing part of his uniform. And he started on a rant in class about how they're all against him and all the time they're on his back. And everybody's against him. And it was the end of the world. And Ms. Grande finally asked him, who's they? Who's everybody? And he started smiling. And she asked him, what's he really upset about? And I'm like in the past, he could entangle it. He could tell her. (upbeat music) (singing in foreign language) - With the base program is produced by Lisa Pollock with Ben Calhounsir, Candy Jonathan Menhivov, Brian Reed, Robin Semyon, Alissa Ship and Nancy Updike, our senior producer for today's show, Julie Snyder, music helped today from Damien Grafe, production of on today's rerun from Stone Nelson, Matt Tierney, Adrienne Gulley, and Ruby Schwartz. 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Thanks as always to our program's co-founder, Mr. Tremality, you know, he gets so confused at the beginning of every HR meeting. - If they give you the dress code, and if they give you the rules, no panic, and it didn't like quotations. - I'm Eric Glass. Back next week with more stories of thisamerican life. (upbeat music)