The back story

I promised Sunday that I would post the back story behind my Way Back When Post. This is it:

Angel Tree campers come on Sunday on buses, with individuals, etc, and are typically from cities. Most are African American, though there are other races represented (obviously, this shows the race break-down of our prison system). Each girl is given a backpack with a Bible and toiletries for the week. Some of these girls desperately need these items, because they barely have enough clothes to cover them until Wednesday when they go home.

Anyway, the summer I wrote this, I was a unit leader, so I didn't have any campers in my cabin. Instead, I helped out the three cabins in my unit. It wasn't easy by any means. We had night time struggles for sure, and I spent nearly every night sitting in a cabin helping maintain order.

But one camper sticks out in my mind. Nearly four years later, I can't remember her name, but she was in a different unit. This girl was probably 120 pounds. At the time, I was around 150. Keep in mind, we only had girls who were in grades 4-7, so she was considerably younger than me. This girl needed special attention all the time. She couldn't be left alone at all. I spent campfire night (my favorite time!) following her around as she carried my big fire-poking stick. At one point, she was sitting on the camp golf cart, while I surreptitiously removed the key from the ignition. Her taking it was a very real fear.

But the real problems came when it was time to leave. A couple from a church picked up some boys across the road, and then came to get her and a couple other girls. She desperately didn't want to go home, but she didn't want to stay either. I honestly think us loving on her was just as scary (being the unknown) as going home to her situation. Anyway, I wound up wrestling her into the van while she screamed and fought me. It was bad enough that the driver was threatening to not take her. Yeah...not the right thing to say.

But what prompted my post was the feelings that I had toward her. I knew this girl needed love; that was undeniable. I knew she was abused at home. What I wasn't prepared for was the strong desire I had to hit her and tell her to straighten up. I've never wanted to physically hurt someone, but I could have that day. It's not a feeling I had never had before, and I hope to never have again. As the van drove off (with her sitting in the front seat, calm and buckled in!), I broke down. Another counselor came up and hugged me telling me that she understood how hard it was to send them home. That wasn't it for me at all. I was scared of my reaction, relieved that she was gone. I had always wondered how someone could hurt a child. In that instant, I discovered how easy it could be to give in to those feelings. I resisted. Many don't.

One day, I believe I'll end up in a job where I help people who struggle with this kind of stuff. For now though, I'll just remember sitting on a stump by the pool, crying because it's hard.