Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives for great articles you might have missed over the years. This article about a dad’s introverted teen daughter comes from 2018.

I recently ran into the mother of a girl at my daughter’s high school. Both our kids are seniors this year; they know each other and are casual friends.

After congenial hellos in the line at our neighborhood coffeehouse, she asked, “So! What are Riley’s plans after graduation?”

We’re not totally sure yet, but are looking at colleges in the area.

“The whole college thing is overwhelming, isn’t it?” the mom exclaimed. “How are her grades? How are her SATs scores? Are you applying to places that put a big emphasis on extracurriculars?”

Grades were fine; test scores, fine. I had no idea how much certain schools care about extracurriculars (because of how I’m a bad dad and stuff), so I kept my answers polite but short, without elaborating much.

But this mom could not be stopped.

“Hey,” she said, “did Riley ever decide to try out for any school plays? The last time I saw you, you said she was thinking about doing theater. Theater can do wonders for a kid’s social skills and confidence. Skyler isn’t a theater kid, but she’s really loving her debate team. Plus she’s on the yearbook staff. And she’s doing cheerleading, can you believe it!?”

Riley and I had briefly talked about theater as an extracurricular pursuit, but it ultimately wasn’t for her. I said as much to the mom, then mentally kicked myself for it.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly doleful. “Sounds like she’s still our little introvert, isn’t she? You know what? It’s going to be fine. You shouldn’t worry. A lot of kids grow out of it.”

That’s when I had to suddenly use every ounce of maturity I had to excuse myself politely. It wasn’t just that her tone was condescending and offensive. It was that it was laced with the arsenic glaze of “Thank God my kid isn’t like your kid.”

Thanks for that, but I like my kid just fine, fuck you very much.

Dad and daughter — different teen spirits

I was also an introverted teen. It took me a while to come out of what I perceived at the time as my “shell.” I was shy, awkward and pretty unsocialized. (And, as it turned out, deeply, deeply closeted. But that’s a whole other bunch of blog posts.) I never stopped being weird in my own ways, but I did discover a few social skills and ended up making valuable friends, many of whom are still in my life today. I tapped into some dormant extrovert traits around my junior year. I discovered confidence through my school’s fine arts programs, learned the fine art of partying from my more rebellious friends, and found ways to connect with people from different social circles. As a result, I have deeply fond memories of high school.

But when I became a parent, I firmly told myself that when my daughter became a teenager, I wouldn’t use my own experience as a barometer for what was and wasn’t right for her — a common parenting mistake.

This is good because while my high school experience was about friends, school activities, and sneaking out to late-night parties, my teen daughter is not.

Her high school experience has been different. She has a couple of friends, but very rarely does she have anyone over after school to study or hang out. She’s involved in a couple of afterschool activities, but nothing that has enlarged her social sphere. She doesn’t party. She spends most weekends at home with us and seems content with that. She’s a straight-laced, good kid.

Yes, my daughter is an introverted teen.

Neither she nor I need a Myers-Briggs test to tell us that. I see it in her behavior, and I recently came to appreciate it more than I used to.

Why do people worry about introverted teens or introversion in kids in general?

Because introversion so often runs against what we’re told are valuable skills: sociability, confidence in large groups, and the overall ability to be the life of the party. It’s the stuff of popularity and acceptance. The stuff we see in the kid Most Likely To Do Everything Impressive After Graduation.

In our cultural context, despite what people claim to understand today about the range of personality types, and the values that come with being both an extrovert and an introvert … the extrovert still always seems to win.

Introverted teen at her best

What does life with my introverted teen daughter look like?

• She is smart and funny, yet has limited energy to sustain it with others.
• She likes being around people and has fun in social settings, as long as she can retreat for short breaks to re-energize.
• She likes parties as long as she has an exit strategy available to her. She doesn’t like the feeling of being trapped someplace where there are tons of people. (You know what? Me neither.)
• She likes attention, but only when she knows to expect it, and only in measured doses. In other words, she wouldn’t like having friends throw her a huge surprise birthday party. She does, however, like getting together with a few friends at a time to hang out.
• She has friends but prefers them at arm’s length much of the time. She doesn’t do the deep sharing thing easily with others. The close friends she does have, she cares for deeply.
• She’s a good listener with tremendous intuitive skills. She pays attention. Nothing gets by her. When I’m feeling sad or upset, she will notice and ask what’s wrong. And because she’s so intuitive, I can’t get away with the classic parental deflection answer: “Oh, I’m just a little tired.” She sees right through that.
• She enjoys her own company and is almost completely immune to peer pressure. No one will ever pressure her into doing something she doesn’t want to do.
• She spends her free time diving deep into her own artistic creativity, drawing, sketching and manifesting a world around her that’s more colorful than the one others see.
• She solves problems and addresses challenges by talking them out to herself, rather than looking for others to serve as a sounding board. This means she’s got resilience, resourcefulness, and the ability to think critically on her own.

I do believe that there’s a healthy middle ground between extroversion and introversion, of course. The ability to draw energy both from being with others and from taking time alone? That sounds great. Do you know anyone who has that particular yin-yang balancing act down?

My daughter still has growing to do. As always, I look forward to seeing how she’ll evolve as adulthood approaches. But do I want her introversion to end up being just a phase? Do I want my wonderfully strange, creative, thoughtful girl to “grow out of it?”

Not even a little bit.

Introverted teen photo by Igor Cancarevic on Unsplash

You know Chad. Every business in America has one.

Chad is the nice-looking, smiley, firm-hand-shaking, future C-level executive-to-be at your office. Chad is smart, but more than that, he has that “it” factor that propels him to the front of any promotion process. When you think about Chad, he seems more accomplished than pragmatically productive.

I am no Chad. I tried but have fallen short. I’m OK with it, mostly because after my wife and I started having kids, I realized I could set out to provide some lucky corporation a future Chad of my making. Yes, I’d raise my kids to be witty, quick, effective communicators who weren’t afraid of the big stage or bright lights. They would be built to dazzle any high powered, future boardroom – just like Chad.

Fifteen years into this parenting thing, though, my kids are no Chads.

Not only are my kids are not exuding the skills required, COVID-related changes to corporate America have me thinking that the Chad I knew in my young career will require a makeover to sustain his seat at the top.

The company I work for, like many, has been closed its offices to in-person working since mid-March 2020. Working remotely has ushered in a different skill set required to collaborate. While I talk to communication with colleagues via the phone, email and daily Zoom meetings, we are far more isolated than before. I had better get used to the isolation as many workplaces may have employees permanently work remotely as they harvest the productivity gains of employees’ evergreen availability and the savings on office space costs.

While I enjoy this new work-from-anywhere phenomenon, Chads may not. After all, there are no golf outings for them to rub shoulders with other C-level guys. Fewer opportunities exist for them to deliver a rousing lecture about next quarter’s sales outlook. Gone is their chance to leverage their off-the-charts charisma to make an executive-level first physical impression for new employees. Corporate Chads have been relegated to working in the connected-but-disconnected world where, to my chagrin, my kids feel most comfortable.

Will a nerd rule in a remote work culture?

Chads might find it strange that my kids:

• Rarely communicate with friends outside of group chats
• Only try to impress each other by shooting meaningless selfies back-and-forth via SnapChat
• Find normal curiosity – like asking a teacher for clarity after class — a waste of their time
• Would rather perform a Google search than ask another human for assistance
• “Socialize” in the isolation of their rooms via gaming consoles with (mostly) strangers
• Place far more value on the result (i.e., the letter grade) than the process (learning a concept by understanding test materials)
• Have no idea of that the “it” factor is — only surmising that “it” must involve the number of followers one has on Instagram

Instead of lamenting my inability to mold my children into a Chad, maybe their nerd view of the world, way of communicating, and flexibility in handling a global pandemic will redefine the successful professional of the future.

Might this be a real life “Revenge of the Nerds”?

If there is existential risk for the traditional Chad, should parents stop badgering our kids about their lack of social skills? In a world that requires more technical prowess than intrapersonal skill, should we care about kids’ communicating via choppy texts, selfies and cartoon emojis?

While I see the balance of technical and social skills to be shifting, I’m not ready to write Chad’s eulogy just yet. I still place value on my kids’ ability to have healthy relationships with people around them. We shouldn’t take for granted that our kids know how to foster traditional friendships. They are not around each other much anymore. More than ever, I’m pushing hard for my children to stay involved in activities outside of school. After all, activities are the only time our children are without a connected device during their waking hours from middle school on.

I’m learning to turn my attention from building Chads to re-emphasizing the importance of befriending humans in the world of IBM Watson. I struggle, though, with helping provide appropriate balance between technology and social skills.

I want my kids to have good, deep friendships with people around them. I want my kids to navigate rooms of strangers. I want my kids to use technology to bring this vast world closer. I want them to be as happy in public arenas as in their bedroom sniping strangers on Fortnite.

I’ve come to the realization that my kids won’t be Chads. That might not be such a bad thing.

Maybe kids, in general, are nerdier now. That said, I’ll stop short of saying that nerd qualities – like perceived social isolation and lack of charisma – will prevent them from becoming a solid contributor in their chosen field of work. Our kids may be successful because of (not despite) the things we worry most about: lack of face-to-face connection, inability to speak publicly, and more interest in virtual relationships.

We are living in a “Revenge of the Nerds” re-boot – one making today’s nerd tomorrow’s Chad.

Nerd photo: © chomplearn_2001  / Adobe Stock.

How is it that I get on my own nerves?

In my case, I’m socially awkward. As a child, I’d always be the quiet one, not sure how or when to interact with others. Seventy percent of my interactions with people were, to my estimation, “weird.” Then, I’d spend the day or week thinking of how I could have been wittier, or more responsive. Better listener, responder, etc. I have these memories going back to elementary school.

It took me many years to come to grips with this and accept I had a closed personality. Many more years to learn compensating techniques. And awkwardness is still prevalent when I am not confident of my role in a social situation.

If we’re meeting for social purposes, it’s OK. However, if it’s professional, I need to know what it is. If it’s a brief, chance interaction, I’ve developed enough “small talk” to get me through a few minutes. If it’s a blend of fun and professional, or small talk lasts more than those few minutes, or none of the above, I’m lost. I’m awkward. I usually shut down, not knowing what to do.

Introvert or awkward?

Basically, if I have an interaction I’m not mentally prepared for, and I “botch” it — like shaking someone’s hand while I’m sitting down when I knew I should always stand, or saying the wrong thing — I’ll replay it in my head repeatedly and plan how to be better next time. I’m always striving for continual improvement in life, to figure out how can I win at everything all the time. (Side note: This mindset leads to a lot of disappointment and feelings of loss, as you may expect. Try it at your own mental health risk. But for some reason, it doesn’t stop me from trying.).

My fear is that my son may be following my footsteps. He’s quite intelligent, capable, learns easily, active, good-natured, loves to ride his bike and laugh. However, he seems to like to take his time and assess situations before he opens up. Similar to me.

Being a part of the Anchorage Dads Group, going to our events and seeing everyone else’s kids immediately running and playing while I’m holding my kid until he gets the lay of the land is sometimes worrisome.

Why isn’t he doing the same? Why does he need to be held for 20 minutes first? What am I doing wrong to socialize him? Am I unwittingly damaging him through my awkward parenting style and personal deficiencies? The self-doubt runs rampant in my head as I’m hanging out with the guys who’s kids are having the time of their lives.

However, a watershed moment happened the other day.

Our group went to meet at a playground, like we usually do on Mondays. My son is in my arms, watching everyone else. We go to the woods that surround the playground to get a stick, suddenly, he practically jumps down and starts running around the trails and trees having fun. Then other kids go into the woods and he’s leading some other kids on a “trail run.” WOW!

Child finds his own path

It dawned on my cloudy mind that maybe I’ve falsely thinking that my son needs to be like everyone else. Maybe my kid just doesn’t like the playground? Hahahaha – such a relief.

My wife and I take him to the woods and trails about five times a week. Playing in the trees, running the trails, bushwhacking, mountain biking, throwing rocks into the creek, playing stickball with sticks and rocks. We’ve been taking him on walks through the forest since he was born, telling him that the woods are a place to recharge, breathe the clean air, look at the trees, listen to the wind. The forest is his home away from home. He’s just more than comfortable in the wild.

Maybe the playground to him is like swimming to me or after-work softball to my wife? People love swimming and softball, but we have minimal interest in the respective activities. I’d be more than happy to go hang out with people and socialize, but I’m not going in the water above my mid-thigh. My wife will play softball if she absolutely has to, but is extremely pleased to not have to participate.

Why did I write this giant explanation of myself to come to the realization that my “awkward” kid just doesn’t like the playground and he might be like me?

The thought process.

The journey of discovery.

The mountain I made of a molehill. The highs and lows of parenting and worry for the child. He’s 3 and doesn’t really know the words to articulate, “While I don’t dislike the playground, I’d prefer if we did something else. I might play with the others, I may not. I would rather just go to hang out and see the other kids.”

While talking through this issue with another member of our dads group, he said something to the effect of “I don’t think anything will cause deeper personal introspection than parenting.”

What if my son does turn out like me and is somewhat socially awkward? Lucky for him, his mother and I are there to coach him through these things. Probably half the world is in the same boat.

My lesson learned from all this? RELAX! He’ll be fine. Unbelievable how many times I need to relearn the same thing.

Awkward reflection Photo: © Kirill Grekov / Adobe Stock.

On a hot summer morning, I walk stealthily from my car to the covered pavilion in between two rows of tennis courts at the front of the park.

I make sure to approach from a particular direction, keeping the small trees and bushes between me and the courts so I remain unnoticed. I sit on a weathered green bench attached to a picnic table. I disrupt a squirrel’s meal and, startled, it scampers away to safety.

I’ve given up some things to be a stay-at-home parent — career, money, a large swath of my sanity — but moments like this make the sacrifice worth it. Quiet moments of secretive observation like this are why I am most grateful for my life choices and the privilege that allows me to make those choices.

This is when I stop thinking about all things I could be doing and appreciate what I am doing. I’m experiencing my children’s childhood and that matters.

My two sons, ages 5 and 7, go to tennis camp during the summer at the county park just around the corner from our house. Tennis has been an important part of my life since I started playing when I was 7. My interest and commitment have ebbed and flowed over the years, but it remains a part of who I am. As sports go, it was unique enough that I took it on as part of my personality when I was growing up. Plenty of kids played baseball or basketball, but I played tennis! And as I grew into an adult, as my life changed and took me in different directions, tennis remained my touchstone. A link to my past and something I could rely on to be there in my future.

However, while tennis is an important part of my life, my children are my world. I love watching them do anything. Well, almost anything. I don’t particularly enjoy watching them watch people playing Minecraft on YouTube, even though they wish I did. I love watching them on the playground or playing soccer. I love seeing them test their limits and exist in a world that’s not controlled by me.

As parents, we can cast a long shadow on our children’s lives. That’s why I love observing my children when I’m not in charge. When I’m not expected to play along. When they don’t even know I’m there. Like today.

My 7-year-old appears to be carrying on a continuous running commentary as he and the three other children on his court retrieve orange-and-yellow tennis balls from the cart, drop them, and then hit erratic forehands that fly in all directions. I can’t help but chuckle because he is so different from me in some ways and I love it. I worry about my children inheriting my anxieties and shyness, so I’m always pleased when they show signs of having more outgoing personalities.

Two courts over, my 5-year-old is playing a slightly unusual game with the three other children in his group. He is holding a circular white laundry basket while his partner, a blonde-haired boy with knee-high socks, drops and hits oversized red-and-yellow tennis balls for him to catch. As the balls fly wildly through the air or bump along the ground, he scampers in every direction with his laundry basket in tow. He is determined, energetic, eager and, perhaps most importantly, very ready to take on some light laundry duties at home.

I, like many other moms and dads, often get lost in the weeds when parenting. We spend our days struggling to keep our children fed and cleaned and mentally stimulated (but not overstimulated!) and physically active and happy and on and on. Meanwhile, we often forget to step back to get a broader view.

I often wonder, “How are my children really doing?” Sure, we get the report cards and messages from teachers, the odd tidbit from an acquaintance or friend. That helps us ascertain some of what goes on when we’re not around. But what’s the real story of their everyday lives?

So I’m lucky when I get to spend a few minutes each week, silently and covertly, watching my children play the sport I love. It might not seem like much, but it’s just what I need to keep me focused on what really matters. I spend a lot of time worrying about what I’m not doing, like making money or policing my kids’ screen-time effectively or making my kids eat enough vegetables. I’m not doing so many things, but all it takes is a few minutes of quiet observation for me to remember that I must be doing some things right.

My children have unique personalities that are constantly evolving. They are happy and loved. And by the looks of things, at least one of them is going to be helping out with the laundry very soon. But best of all, I get a front-row seat to watch it all happen. Even if that seat is sometimes hidden behind tree branches.

Photo: © HBS / Adobe Stock.

I’m always looking for fun activities to do with the kids after school and on weekends. It can be difficult, though, because it’s hard to come up with things a 1-, 3-, and 6-year-old will all enjoy.

My wife was out of town for a few days recently and, suddenly, the need for fun (time-killing) activities felt even more urgent. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been a stay-at-home father for more than six years so I’m as equipped as anyone to solo parent for a few days, but really, no one is suitably equipped for this.

To make matters worse, my 6-year-old has gotten really interested in Minecraft lately. I’ve refused to let him get the game on any of our devices at home, but he plays obsessively during our weekly visit to my parents’ house. With no Minecraft at home, he’s taken to watching videos of other people playing it. This is probably worse (all the screen time, none of the creativity), but I’m good at drawing arbitrary lines and standing by them with the relentlessness of a starving wolverine.

There is this one Minecraft YouTube channel called Subzeroextabyte that has a computerized voice. It (he?) opens a lot of his videos by saying something like, “I am Subzeroextabyte and I am having a fantastic day and I hope you are having a fantastic day as well.” To my son, the computer voice guy’s building of Minecraft things like roller coasters and houses is mesmerizing. To me, the computer voice’s stream of consciousness commentary is weirdly mesmerizing. I can only assume this is what the future sounds like.

Loiter like no one’s watching you watch them

Between the 6-year-old’s Subzero obsession and the 1-year-old’s Trolls movie obsession, things have been getting pretty bleak. Desperate times call for desperate measures. To escape YouTube and Netflix, I finally had to embrace my children’s one shared passion: awkwardly loitering around in front of other people’s houses.

The blueprint is a simple one. We wander around our neighborhood until we happen upon any children playing outside their homes. Then, we stand around and look at them, but don’t say anything or interact in any way. My children all love loitering very much.

One day recently, our little expedition of me, the 1-year-old alternatively riding and dragging a red Radio Flyer scooter, the 3-year-old riding a Strider bike (a little balance bike without pedals), and the 6-year-old leading the way on a sleek Ninja Turtles scooter managed to make it off our street and a whole block away to a cluster of houses overrun by children. It probably only took us about 20 minutes to travel the tenth of a mile. Our traveling efficiency has really increased in recent months. We usually only have to stop and turn around to retrace our steps or hop on one foot for some nebulous reason two or three times on each trip now. A marked improvement.

As we approached what we’ll call “the neighborhood kid zone,” the boys were several houses ahead of me and the 1-year-old as we made our way slowly along a long stretch of straight sidewalk. The boys screeched to a halt when they reached the intersection, the rubber of their shoes scraping heavily against the cement to slow their vehicles.

By the time the 1-year-old and I made it onto the scene, the boys were already loitering like all-stars. As I watched them standing there, scuffing their shoes against the pavement, talking to each other in hushed tones, I swelled with pride. They were truly walking (standing) in my footsteps. I don’t remember much from my early childhood, but I do remember middle school, high school, and most of my adult life and, boy, could I loiter with the best of them. My boys were destined for greatness and they seem to know it.

Uh, oh — human interaction

My moment of pride was interrupted when I suddenly noticed another dad standing beside me. I’m not sure how he snuck up on me, but the hood of his nearby minivan was propped open, so he must have been hiding in there.

Despite my surprise, I nodded and said hello, as one does. Then, while keeping an eye on the kids, I started hastily plotting out escape routes in case car talk broke out.

My 6-year-old tugged on my shirt and motioned for me to bend over so he could tell me something.

“I want to go home,” he whispered, “but I want to walk this way [past all the children] and around the long way to our house.”

“Perfect,” I replied.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe how much trouble this carburetor has been giving me?” the dad said. He was talking to me, I guess. He probably didn’t say “carburetor,” but I wasn’t paying attention. I was preoccupied by the sight of a menacing looking small child approaching on a three-wheeler.

I nodded, gave a knowing smile, then looked around awkwardly for a few seconds. My children looked at me with sincere admiration. Master loiterer at work.

We made our way down the street and past the kids at play, stealing glances when we thought no one was looking. When we were clear of the crowd, however, we hit one final snag.

“I want to go back the other way,” my 6-year-old said.

“To play?” I asked.

“No. Just to walk past them one more time.” “Cool,” I said while panicking.

I took a few deep breaths, then I herded everyone back into the gauntlet.

By the grace of some higher power, we made it through the other side again. We were almost home free when the sneaky dad reappeared from the trunk of his minivan.

“Hi again,” he said cheerfully.

I hesitated for a moment before settling on the perfect response.

“Kids, huh?”

We all scurried past and raced down the long sidewalk to the safety of our cul-de-sac. What a great time. I can’t wait to do that all over again tomorrow.

A dad pays his son, a teenage introvert, to start conversations with random strangers. Brilliant idea or bankrupt?

+ + +

At any given moment, my son is speaking. He is standing near my desk, riding in the car, or running a trail beside me, the conversation free and flowing.

The topic may be anything: the play-by-play of some random video game or a string of vignettes from his school day tied together by lazy shrugs and honest humor. His delivery is generally thoughtful and deliberate, on point, and with frequent stops for laughter. He is intelligent, funny, kind, and perceptive. His sarcasm game is next level stuff. I could listen to him for hours, and oftentimes I do. In fact, I pay him for it.

Note, the money involved, while more or less speaking fees, isn’t meant to mark a distinction between amateur and professional orator status. Rather, it’s an incentive to work around the obstacles inside him. The thing is, while he may speak to me (or other family and friends) all day, the moment another person enters the conversation he stops suddenly and shrinks like a turtle into the shell of his bright red hoodie. He becomes distant, mumbling, and awkward. He reminds me of Michigan J. Frog, minus the cane and top hat, one moment singing “Hello, my baby!” like the whole world is a stage, the next crawling into a shoebox, nothing left but the croaking. I’m fairly certain he would melt if only science would allow it.

Enriching my teenage introvert

He is a teenage introvert — not exactly shy, but fairly reticent. He’s more than happy to while away the hours sifting through his own thoughts rather than scatter them upon the winds of pointless, albeit polite, conversation. To be fair, his mind is a pretty fantastic place to spend some time. However, lately his aversion to others has gone from mere discomfort to a matter of defiance — an attribute, he believes, to be owned and celebrated. I fear that he is setting himself up for a long road fraught with social difficulties. I hope to help him avoid it.

“How would you like to earn some money?” I asked him as we were sorting through a pile of apples in the produce section of our local grocer.

“Doing what?” he asked, being as savvy as I hoped him to be.

“See that man by the potatoes? Go start a conversation with him.”

“About what?”

“Well, potatoes for starters. There are at least five kinds, talk about that.”

The man, you may have guessed, was a store employee, but truthfully that wouldn’t have mattered. Kids today are raised with “stranger danger” deeply embedded into their psyche. It’s an overreacting export of our fear-based economy and something that fits a little too nicely with our indoor, online culture. The combination has led to the decline of real-world interactions.

Meanwhile, we have been told officially for years that America is safer than it once was. Kids face far more danger from those they know than those they don’t, the facts have shown, yet we keep falling back on the easy scare tactic declaring strangers the enemy. It makes parents feel like we are doing something, I suppose. Which, obviously, is how I found myself standing in a market, paying my teenage introvert to piece together a few syllables about potatoes to help develop his social skills, and maybe toss in some eye contact for effect.

The art of conversation comes at a cost

“How much money?” he asked.

“One dollar per conversation,” I said. “Every time you have a discussion, meaning at least three sentences, of clear, friendly dialogue with an adult you don’t know, I’ll give you a buck. It could add up quickly.”

“Would it be OK if I donated half of it to charity?” He had started a club at his school two years ago to encourage his peers in working for animal and environmental causes — an undertaking that I had hoped would be the cure to his growing social awkwardness, but instead fell apart as one more victim to it — leaving his inspiring passions, much like his wonderful personality, far too secluded from his schoolmates.

“Of course,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment, nodded, and walked away. I pretended to study the Granny Smith in my hand as I watched him chat with the man in the apron. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could hear the laughter, and I saw the smiles as my boy turned back toward me.

“Was that so hard?” I asked.

“No,” he said, as he placed a bag of Yukon Golds in our cart. “I can do it.”

That was two weeks ago, and since then he has earned quite a bit for the charity of his choice, which, it turns out, has been a much bigger factor than lining his own pocket. It has accrued at cash registers, in long lines, and sitting in the cheap seats. It has been part question, part answer, and increasingly without either serving as the prompt.

To be clear, I don’t believe we can, or should, try to “fix” his being an introvert because that’s who he is, and who he is isn’t broken; however, it is nice to know that he is able to go outside his comfort zone and find a bit of comfort there. That is a skill that will serve him well, wherever the words may lead him.

Teenage introvert photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash