There was a new guy, a boy in his early teens with thick brown hair and big teeth. Like a lot of teenagers, he had a short attention span and flitted from one person to another, starting stories but never finishing them.
“Where are the kids?” he said. I looked around to see many of my fellow volunteers, other people in their 20s and 30s, but not many other teens. Youth group in the summer is unpredictable. Sometimes, a couple dozen kids show up. Other times we’re lucky to get 10.
“We are the kids,” I said.
He thought I was trying to make a fool of him, but I wasn’t. When I hang out with these teenagers, stuffing popcorn and red vines into my mouth, telling silly stories and laughing at stupid jokes, I feel like the biggest kid of them all.