I'm almost through my first week at camp with actual campers, and to say it has been exciting would be the understatement of the century. This couldn't have been a better group to start my summer off with; while there will always be those occasional moments of misbehavior (which is inevitable among six-year-olds), they are an inquisitive, friendly, and passionate bunch. Beyond that, they provide a great analysis for social behaviors. (This is the psych major talking).
Six-year-olds both directly and indirectly provide startling insights into human nature. Take the love triangle that is blossoming between three of my campers as the week progresses. Two boys, both trying to get the attention of one little girl. They utilize various methods to garner said attention. My personal favorites include their Star Wars battles with frequent glances at her reactions, or one of the boys chasing her around at the marsh with a huge fiddler crab in his hand yelling, "He's gonna eaaaaaat youuuuu!" The more she laughed, the more he did it. As we were walking in line back to the camp classroom awhile later, the girl exclaimed to me with a look of amused exasperation on her face, "Maria, these boys are KILLING me!" It was absolutely precious. Kid, wish I could tell you that it gets better. (Although I think some of us would agree that their courting methods involving Star Wars and fiddler crabs are far more charming than some of the sketchiness we've endured. But I digress).
Since the little girl was amused and not annoyed or upset, I gave her a piece of wisdom. "Hun, sometimes when boys want to be friends with you, they do crazy things that they think will make you like them. Silly, huh?" She laughed. And who says girl bonding can't cross age barriers?
What else do I love about six-year-olds? They are so willing to give love. I can't count how many times I've heard, "You're the best teacher and I love you!" this week. From kids that were too shy to even look at me the first day. And then those "will you hold my hand?" moments. Little kids, boys and girls, always want to hold your hand. Yes, you can hold my hand while we walk.
It's too bad that in a few years, that won't be cool anymore.
But want to know what IS cool? The acts of kindness I watched unfold before my very eyes. We hear so much about bullying and torment, but kids can also be full of innocent compassion. Take one boy who was in tears today about his sore wiggly tooth. Almost immediately, several kids were sitting in a circle on the floor with him, relating their own dramatic wiggly tooth experiences. "My big brother said if you wiggle your tooth 100 times, it will fall out!" one girl offered. And soon the crying boy was laughing as they all counted to 100 with him. The tooth still didn't come out, but he had supporters.
Keep being the awesome kids you are, my little six-year-olds. I'm taking notes.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
The Next Best Thing to Getting a Hogwarts Letter
It has recently come to my attention that I never wrote about my trip to the Harry Potter set in London! Eek! I can't pass up the opportunity to achieve another level of nerd status (but the best kind of nerdiness possible).
The trip in itself was kind of a hike. You have to take the London overground to a suburb, and the whole ride is pushing fifty minutes or so. THEN we took the "Knight Bus" from the station to the actual set. Yes, it was actually a double-decker painted purple.
Walking in, the entire wall of the lobby contains huge portraits of the cast like the ones below. They made me teary!
The amazing part? Walking through the authentic sets, exactly where and as they were during filming! The door to the Great Hall...
And the Great Hall itself!
And Dumbledore's office!
And of course, I had to sample the famous (albeit expensive) Butterbeer. It was actually some of the best stuff I've ever tasted. Probably because it's magical.
Recognize this?
I feel like graphic artists, set decorators, etc. never get enough credit. Visiting the sets and seeing the props up close demonstrated the unparalleled talents of so many. Each of the hundreds of Weasley joke shop products, for example, had authentic labels with pretend ingredients. The Daily Prophet up close read like a real newspaper (they even had advertisements!) Even though such props are on camera for only about half a second (and at a distance), the crew made sure that every last detail of every prop and every costume and every set held unique authenticity.
Definitely an experience I'll never forget! This trip, for me, gives the books and movies a whole new meaning.
The trip in itself was kind of a hike. You have to take the London overground to a suburb, and the whole ride is pushing fifty minutes or so. THEN we took the "Knight Bus" from the station to the actual set. Yes, it was actually a double-decker painted purple.
Walking in, the entire wall of the lobby contains huge portraits of the cast like the ones below. They made me teary!
The amazing part? Walking through the authentic sets, exactly where and as they were during filming! The door to the Great Hall...
And the Great Hall itself!
 |
| Clock |
And Dumbledore's office!
And of course, I had to sample the famous (albeit expensive) Butterbeer. It was actually some of the best stuff I've ever tasted. Probably because it's magical.
Recognize this?
 |
| It's Number Four, Privet Drive! |
 |
| House where Voldemort killed the Potters |
 |
| Beautiful covered bridge from the third movie! This was the only actual part of the structure. The rest of the bridge was visual effects. |
 |
| Weasley joke shop |
 |
| Amazing...this Hogwarts model used for wide shots took a crew of engineers and designers over a year (I think even quite a bit longer) to construct. |
Definitely an experience I'll never forget! This trip, for me, gives the books and movies a whole new meaning.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Summer Snapshots
If my calculations are correct (and they may very well not be), I've been home for about six weeks now. And how much has happened. So many milestones in the lives of so many people that I love. This post is not only about those milestones, but also about the everyday moments. Because while graduations and weddings and birthdays are certainly memorable, it's those snapshots of time in between that define life in a way.
So here is my summer so far in pictures. And some explanation where needed. :)
Recently, I've been making sure to capture some moments with Robbie and Joey (when we can all get in one place!) Something clicked in my brain when they visited me in Italy in April. I don't know what it was, but I realized that they're really growing up. Maybe it was watching Joey meet Lucia, the teacher I worked with in Perugia, and observing him give her a firm handshake while looking her straight in the eyes. The way an adult would. Maybe it was just seeing the boys out of context that made me truly appreciate just how uniquely kind and fun they are. Are sibling relationships perfect 24/7? Of course not. Definitely not. But I've been pretty lucky.
Take Robbie, for example. I remember looking at him a few years ago and thinking that I could never imagine him looking any older. Kind of how I think of Joey now. But Joey's voice will probably drop this year, and he'll be a foot taller next summer. That's what happened to Robbie, anyway...
Robbie and his friend Mads met each other in diapers. Watching these two and his other childhood friends graduate felt almost more surreal than my own graduation three years ago. Maybe it's because I actually remember babysitting them, or that I can still hear their high-pitched toddler screams. Or maybe it's just the fact that their graduation means that I'm getting older, too. For these reasons and others, the picture below actually makes me cry. I'm just so proud of them.
Some more from graduation:
Robbie's not the only one who is living the good life. Having celebrated my 21st on June 4th, I am pretty pumped to be legal in every country now. (Added bonus: I like my license picture now way more than the last. Rain combined with my long, thick hair didn't work out too well five years ago).
My birthday was unfortunately on a Monday, which made celebrating with friends difficult. But no matter, that just means we have all summer!
Or not. I work around 50 hours a week now. But I'm loving my second summer teaching at camp in Wellfleet! More to come when we actually start receiving campers next week. :)
So here is my summer so far in pictures. And some explanation where needed. :)
Recently, I've been making sure to capture some moments with Robbie and Joey (when we can all get in one place!) Something clicked in my brain when they visited me in Italy in April. I don't know what it was, but I realized that they're really growing up. Maybe it was watching Joey meet Lucia, the teacher I worked with in Perugia, and observing him give her a firm handshake while looking her straight in the eyes. The way an adult would. Maybe it was just seeing the boys out of context that made me truly appreciate just how uniquely kind and fun they are. Are sibling relationships perfect 24/7? Of course not. Definitely not. But I've been pretty lucky.
 |
| We were recruited to paint our new fence. |
 |
| Joey's piano recital last week |
 |
| Oh yeah, and his travel soccer team won the huge regional Memorial Day soccer tournament, too. Tough life he has. |
Take Robbie, for example. I remember looking at him a few years ago and thinking that I could never imagine him looking any older. Kind of how I think of Joey now. But Joey's voice will probably drop this year, and he'll be a foot taller next summer. That's what happened to Robbie, anyway...
Robbie and his friend Mads met each other in diapers. Watching these two and his other childhood friends graduate felt almost more surreal than my own graduation three years ago. Maybe it's because I actually remember babysitting them, or that I can still hear their high-pitched toddler screams. Or maybe it's just the fact that their graduation means that I'm getting older, too. For these reasons and others, the picture below actually makes me cry. I'm just so proud of them.
Some more from graduation:
Robbie's not the only one who is living the good life. Having celebrated my 21st on June 4th, I am pretty pumped to be legal in every country now. (Added bonus: I like my license picture now way more than the last. Rain combined with my long, thick hair didn't work out too well five years ago).
 |
| Any excuse for ice cream cake. My favorite! |
 |
| Some orange/pineapple deliciousness |
My birthday was unfortunately on a Monday, which made celebrating with friends difficult. But no matter, that just means we have all summer!
Or not. I work around 50 hours a week now. But I'm loving my second summer teaching at camp in Wellfleet! More to come when we actually start receiving campers next week. :)
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
What Happened to the Treehouse?
The other night, I had a headache. My worst one in awhile. Trying to hold off on medication for as long as humanly possible (I have this weird fear of damaging my liver) I decided to distract myself with a movie. I randomly stumbled upon Bridge to Terabithia. Remembering how much I loved the book as a kid (but remembering very little about the actual story), I turned it on. And it all came flooding back. All of the reasons I fell in love with it.
Long story short, a preteen boy with a difficult family life befriends his new neighbor, a girl with a vivid imagination and passion for living. Together, they find a rope swing hanging over a creek in the woods, and create an imaginary world called Terabithia with the creek acting as a sort of portal into it. (Side note: The setting is supposed to be Virginia, but I guess the movie was actually filmed in New Zealand for whatever reason. But it makes for stunning scenery that adds overwhelming beauty. Makes me want to go!) The story takes a tragic turn on several different levels, and is truly a masterpiece. I encourage you all to watch it (it's on Youtube) because I believe that adults have so much to learn from such a story.
I swear I'm not getting paid to promote this movie. But it really had me thinking back to my imagination as a kid. In fact, make-believe fueled the majority of my childhood fun.
Although I am obviously quite young, I feel like I still grew up before the majority of today's major technologies took off. Kids didn't have cell phones when I was little. Black and white Gameboys and N64 were essentially the only major video game systems. We didn't have a single computer in the house until I was in junior high school. The June I turned six, our television broke. Rather than go buy a new one, my parents decided that this would be the "Summer of No TV" in the Papapietro household. I only cared for the first few mornings when I couldn't get my Sesame Street or Winnie the Pooh fix (no Disney Channel for us back then). After that very quick adjustment, I honestly forgot about it. Looking back, I'm glad I didn't have these distractions; the neighborhood kids and I made our own fun.
Bikes often played a huge role in this fun. When I was ten and my next-door neighbor was twelve, our parents decided that we were at an acceptable age to start riding our bikes around our very small neighborhood unsupervised (provided of course that we stuck together and told them where we were going). This opened up a whole new world for us. We could explore.
On one of these early biking days, Erin and I came across a mysterious dirt road off of one of the neighborhood streets. We had never seen it when we were walking with our families; it quite literally almost seemed to have appeared out of thin air. It was like a different world, maybe something out of the Wizard of Oz. A few small cottages with green thatched rooves dotted the woodsy road. Erin and I concluded that witches lived in these strange houses. We proceeded to venture back daily for a few weeks, leaving small rocks as "traps" in the middle of the street. If the rock was even slightly turned or moved upon our return, we assumed that a witch did it. Case closed. This wasn't the only mysterious new path we came across. We also discovered one a few doors down from my house that led straight to the nearby farm. (Although we stopped using this path when the two reclusive teenage boys down the street condescendingly offered us pot in the woods one afternoon. To which I replied, "Oh, a pot? What are you cooking?").
My cousins and I utilized a similar "trapping" tactic whenever they visited. Kara, Julie and I were downright convinced that a secret underground network of robbers existed underneath my house. Naturally. (This may have stemmed from my love of Nancy Drew books). How did we catch those robbers? By leaving quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies on my bedroom floor! What robber could resist fifty-seven cents in change? We would then hide in the closet and wait for the robber to walk into our midst. A coin was missing? We proved the robber's existence! Years later, my cousins and I jokingly confessed to moving the coins various times when the others weren't looking. We really wanted to keep our game going, and our imaginations alive. That was the point of it all, anyway.
And then, there was the clubhouse. The summer before kindergarten, my dad built my brother and I a clubhouse in a small clearing in our backyard. This clubhouse saw years of pattering feet and splattered Freeze-Pops. It transformed from a pirate ship to a jungle fortress to a mountaintop. It served as "base" for countless games of tag, as we shimmed up the ladder to escape our pursuer.
Over time, the wood darkened. Our growing limbs made scurrying up the narrow ladder increasingly difficult. Our bums no longer fit in the tiny wooden treehouse chairs. I would soon grow as tall as the clubhouse itself, my forehead touching the raised floor if I was standing on the ground beside it. This changed my perspective both literally and figuratively. But the clubhouse still stood.
Until one day when I was fourteen.
On this particular early summer afternoon, Joey and one of his friends were playing in the clubhouse; at six, it still loomed in their eyes. Joey got up from a clubhouse chair and walked across the floor. CRACK. One second, Joey was standing tall. The next, he was crumpled on the ground under the treehouse, staring up at the sky through a hole about as wide as his tiny body.
This whole story is actually amusing, because besides a small scrape, Joey was not hurt. The clubhouse saw far more damage than he did. But what followed was less than funny.
As I stepped onto the back porch after coming off the bus the next afternoon, I noticed something immediately. I let out a gasp.
The treehouse was gone.
I knew immediately what had happened. I sprinted up the stairs, calmly closed my bedroom door, and started to cry. Small, heaving sobs. At fourteen, I was surprised by my reaction. I hadn't spent a substantial amount of time in the clubhouse in at least two years. Why did I care so deeply?
After about fifteen minutes, I composed myself and went down to the kitchen, where my parents had been sitting. I unsuccessfully tried to hide the fact that I had been crying moments before (though my eyes were bloodshot and still brimming with tears) while I asked them where the treehouse was.
My dad spoke first. "I had to take it down, Maria. It was becoming too old and dangerous for everyone."
I lost it again. "But. we. could. have. saveddddddd itttttt!!!!!"
Looking back, it wasn't so much the clubhouse that had me so upset. The dismantling of the clubhouse only symbolized a period of drastic transition that I was already a part of. I would be starting high school in the fall. I was spending less time outside running around and exploring. Why did everything have to change? Why did so many parts of my childhood have to go? (The swing set also broke that summer). Why was everyone becoming less interested in make-believe?
I wonder....at what age does imagination take the back seat?
Or does it? I read constantly, and reading takes me to another world. I may not explore the neighborhood woods with the awe that filled my seven-year-old heart during such pursuits, but exploring the streets of medieval Italian hill towns certainly had a similar effect. Imagination does not have to end. It just goes through a period of transformation.
But on the eve of a year of major transitions and decision-making, I sometimes find myself longing for my clubhouse, searching for my own "Terabithia."
Long story short, a preteen boy with a difficult family life befriends his new neighbor, a girl with a vivid imagination and passion for living. Together, they find a rope swing hanging over a creek in the woods, and create an imaginary world called Terabithia with the creek acting as a sort of portal into it. (Side note: The setting is supposed to be Virginia, but I guess the movie was actually filmed in New Zealand for whatever reason. But it makes for stunning scenery that adds overwhelming beauty. Makes me want to go!) The story takes a tragic turn on several different levels, and is truly a masterpiece. I encourage you all to watch it (it's on Youtube) because I believe that adults have so much to learn from such a story.
I swear I'm not getting paid to promote this movie. But it really had me thinking back to my imagination as a kid. In fact, make-believe fueled the majority of my childhood fun.
Although I am obviously quite young, I feel like I still grew up before the majority of today's major technologies took off. Kids didn't have cell phones when I was little. Black and white Gameboys and N64 were essentially the only major video game systems. We didn't have a single computer in the house until I was in junior high school. The June I turned six, our television broke. Rather than go buy a new one, my parents decided that this would be the "Summer of No TV" in the Papapietro household. I only cared for the first few mornings when I couldn't get my Sesame Street or Winnie the Pooh fix (no Disney Channel for us back then). After that very quick adjustment, I honestly forgot about it. Looking back, I'm glad I didn't have these distractions; the neighborhood kids and I made our own fun.
Bikes often played a huge role in this fun. When I was ten and my next-door neighbor was twelve, our parents decided that we were at an acceptable age to start riding our bikes around our very small neighborhood unsupervised (provided of course that we stuck together and told them where we were going). This opened up a whole new world for us. We could explore.
On one of these early biking days, Erin and I came across a mysterious dirt road off of one of the neighborhood streets. We had never seen it when we were walking with our families; it quite literally almost seemed to have appeared out of thin air. It was like a different world, maybe something out of the Wizard of Oz. A few small cottages with green thatched rooves dotted the woodsy road. Erin and I concluded that witches lived in these strange houses. We proceeded to venture back daily for a few weeks, leaving small rocks as "traps" in the middle of the street. If the rock was even slightly turned or moved upon our return, we assumed that a witch did it. Case closed. This wasn't the only mysterious new path we came across. We also discovered one a few doors down from my house that led straight to the nearby farm. (Although we stopped using this path when the two reclusive teenage boys down the street condescendingly offered us pot in the woods one afternoon. To which I replied, "Oh, a pot? What are you cooking?").
My cousins and I utilized a similar "trapping" tactic whenever they visited. Kara, Julie and I were downright convinced that a secret underground network of robbers existed underneath my house. Naturally. (This may have stemmed from my love of Nancy Drew books). How did we catch those robbers? By leaving quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies on my bedroom floor! What robber could resist fifty-seven cents in change? We would then hide in the closet and wait for the robber to walk into our midst. A coin was missing? We proved the robber's existence! Years later, my cousins and I jokingly confessed to moving the coins various times when the others weren't looking. We really wanted to keep our game going, and our imaginations alive. That was the point of it all, anyway.
 |
| We dressed like princesses, too. |
Over time, the wood darkened. Our growing limbs made scurrying up the narrow ladder increasingly difficult. Our bums no longer fit in the tiny wooden treehouse chairs. I would soon grow as tall as the clubhouse itself, my forehead touching the raised floor if I was standing on the ground beside it. This changed my perspective both literally and figuratively. But the clubhouse still stood.
Until one day when I was fourteen.
On this particular early summer afternoon, Joey and one of his friends were playing in the clubhouse; at six, it still loomed in their eyes. Joey got up from a clubhouse chair and walked across the floor. CRACK. One second, Joey was standing tall. The next, he was crumpled on the ground under the treehouse, staring up at the sky through a hole about as wide as his tiny body.
This whole story is actually amusing, because besides a small scrape, Joey was not hurt. The clubhouse saw far more damage than he did. But what followed was less than funny.
As I stepped onto the back porch after coming off the bus the next afternoon, I noticed something immediately. I let out a gasp.
The treehouse was gone.
I knew immediately what had happened. I sprinted up the stairs, calmly closed my bedroom door, and started to cry. Small, heaving sobs. At fourteen, I was surprised by my reaction. I hadn't spent a substantial amount of time in the clubhouse in at least two years. Why did I care so deeply?
After about fifteen minutes, I composed myself and went down to the kitchen, where my parents had been sitting. I unsuccessfully tried to hide the fact that I had been crying moments before (though my eyes were bloodshot and still brimming with tears) while I asked them where the treehouse was.
My dad spoke first. "I had to take it down, Maria. It was becoming too old and dangerous for everyone."
I lost it again. "But. we. could. have. saveddddddd itttttt!!!!!"
Looking back, it wasn't so much the clubhouse that had me so upset. The dismantling of the clubhouse only symbolized a period of drastic transition that I was already a part of. I would be starting high school in the fall. I was spending less time outside running around and exploring. Why did everything have to change? Why did so many parts of my childhood have to go? (The swing set also broke that summer). Why was everyone becoming less interested in make-believe?
I wonder....at what age does imagination take the back seat?
Or does it? I read constantly, and reading takes me to another world. I may not explore the neighborhood woods with the awe that filled my seven-year-old heart during such pursuits, but exploring the streets of medieval Italian hill towns certainly had a similar effect. Imagination does not have to end. It just goes through a period of transformation.
But on the eve of a year of major transitions and decision-making, I sometimes find myself longing for my clubhouse, searching for my own "Terabithia."
Friday, June 8, 2012
One in Seven
One in seven children will lose a parent or sibling before age twenty. I was talking about this fact quite a bit last week before I headed to Comfort Zone Camp (see my previous posts for an overview of this amazing organization!). I guess I just found it difficult to believe. Those numbers seem overwhelming. So much grief. However, my being a part of that statistic makes it almost easier to believe in a way.
You never think it will happen to you. Even young children have this feeling. This happens to OTHER children. Other teenagers. Not me.
It took me this long to process my camp experience properly. Actually, I'm still processing. It's hard to put something so moving into words. But I'll try.
When the children first started coming in on Friday afternoon, I was almost surprised by how normal they seemed. Some laughing, some visibly anxious. A few energetic boys had started a soccer game before their parents could even wave goodbye. Kids being kids.
Kids being kids. But these kids don't have it easy. I started tearing up as it all hit me: Every child that I am looking at right now, all 60+ of them, has suffered an extreme loss. I won't see this anywhere else. Every child on this field, whether laughing and playing, nervous and unsure....each and every child relates to the others in such a profound way.
Soon after, I met my Little. Because of confidentiality, I cannot say a whole lot about her. But here's what's important: she was a beautiful, incredibly wise ten-year-old with a devastatingly heartbreaking story of loss. A story that could honestly be a movie. I wish it was a movie, and not real life. Not a real life that a child has to live.
But children grieve in spurts. The staff knows this. That's why the camp weekend combines silly games, screaming chants, challenge course, and other exciting, upbeat activities with "healing circle." The campers and their big buddies (like me) are divided into small groups by age, and these small support groups, headed by a grief counselor, meet throughout the weekend. During healing circle, the children can share their stories, pictures of their deceased loved ones, and feel validated.
I was blessed to witness so many miraculous moments throughout the weekend. I honestly can't count them all. Where to start. Watching a quiet girl from my healing circle walk up to the front of the room by herself during Sunday's memorial service and read a letter to her dad. Witnessing cheers of support from a group of children, coaching another child up the rock wall. Watching children who are bullied and left out at school because of their losses finally find a place where they belong.
Support is key. During healing circle, the children had the chance to give pins to another person who they felt did something positive, from being brave in sharing their stories to helping comfort another child. This is a beautiful technique, as it builds up the confidence of the recipient in a way, and allows the children to focus on small victories. I cried when my Little gave me a pin on our first night, telling me that I was an "amazing Big" and that she loved how we became friends in such a short time. You could tell from the smiles just how much the pins meant to each child.
But, as I'm now realizing, it wasn't the pins. It was the feelings of validation. The feeling of looking around the room and realizing that "these kids know what I'm saying." Don't get me wrong, each child came with very different sets of feelings, drastically contrasting stories of loss and loss types, opposing home environments. But they will always hold a common thread. And that, to a grieving adolescent, is priceless.
All I wanted was to be understood. I am so thankful that the kids have the chance to feel that. A substantial portion of the staff has suffered similar losses at a young age, so those feelings of "belonging" extended to us as well. I could talk about the other volunteers forever. We had a staff meeting each day, and I have never witnessed such a positive, upbeat group of people. People with no agendas other than to change children's lives. People with unbelievable passion. They lifted me up in ways I cannot explain. The definition of a community.
And now, as I lie in bed, I find my thoughts drifting to last Saturday night, as I dozed off in a cabin to giggling little girls with high-pitched voices, gossiping about Justin Bieber and crushes at school. One girl laughed and hugged her teddy that held a recording of her Daddy's voice. Little girls not acting like adults, but like little girls. While the other big buddies in the cabin and I jokingly scolded them to "go to sleep," I still found myself smiling as I put my head on my pillow.
How I would love to be surrounded by their laughter tonight. The sounds of angels, the loved ones with wings, who are channeling these little girls with spirit, always shining down on them with love.
You never think it will happen to you. Even young children have this feeling. This happens to OTHER children. Other teenagers. Not me.
It took me this long to process my camp experience properly. Actually, I'm still processing. It's hard to put something so moving into words. But I'll try.
When the children first started coming in on Friday afternoon, I was almost surprised by how normal they seemed. Some laughing, some visibly anxious. A few energetic boys had started a soccer game before their parents could even wave goodbye. Kids being kids.
Kids being kids. But these kids don't have it easy. I started tearing up as it all hit me: Every child that I am looking at right now, all 60+ of them, has suffered an extreme loss. I won't see this anywhere else. Every child on this field, whether laughing and playing, nervous and unsure....each and every child relates to the others in such a profound way.
Soon after, I met my Little. Because of confidentiality, I cannot say a whole lot about her. But here's what's important: she was a beautiful, incredibly wise ten-year-old with a devastatingly heartbreaking story of loss. A story that could honestly be a movie. I wish it was a movie, and not real life. Not a real life that a child has to live.
But children grieve in spurts. The staff knows this. That's why the camp weekend combines silly games, screaming chants, challenge course, and other exciting, upbeat activities with "healing circle." The campers and their big buddies (like me) are divided into small groups by age, and these small support groups, headed by a grief counselor, meet throughout the weekend. During healing circle, the children can share their stories, pictures of their deceased loved ones, and feel validated.
I was blessed to witness so many miraculous moments throughout the weekend. I honestly can't count them all. Where to start. Watching a quiet girl from my healing circle walk up to the front of the room by herself during Sunday's memorial service and read a letter to her dad. Witnessing cheers of support from a group of children, coaching another child up the rock wall. Watching children who are bullied and left out at school because of their losses finally find a place where they belong.
Support is key. During healing circle, the children had the chance to give pins to another person who they felt did something positive, from being brave in sharing their stories to helping comfort another child. This is a beautiful technique, as it builds up the confidence of the recipient in a way, and allows the children to focus on small victories. I cried when my Little gave me a pin on our first night, telling me that I was an "amazing Big" and that she loved how we became friends in such a short time. You could tell from the smiles just how much the pins meant to each child.
But, as I'm now realizing, it wasn't the pins. It was the feelings of validation. The feeling of looking around the room and realizing that "these kids know what I'm saying." Don't get me wrong, each child came with very different sets of feelings, drastically contrasting stories of loss and loss types, opposing home environments. But they will always hold a common thread. And that, to a grieving adolescent, is priceless.
All I wanted was to be understood. I am so thankful that the kids have the chance to feel that. A substantial portion of the staff has suffered similar losses at a young age, so those feelings of "belonging" extended to us as well. I could talk about the other volunteers forever. We had a staff meeting each day, and I have never witnessed such a positive, upbeat group of people. People with no agendas other than to change children's lives. People with unbelievable passion. They lifted me up in ways I cannot explain. The definition of a community.
And now, as I lie in bed, I find my thoughts drifting to last Saturday night, as I dozed off in a cabin to giggling little girls with high-pitched voices, gossiping about Justin Bieber and crushes at school. One girl laughed and hugged her teddy that held a recording of her Daddy's voice. Little girls not acting like adults, but like little girls. While the other big buddies in the cabin and I jokingly scolded them to "go to sleep," I still found myself smiling as I put my head on my pillow.
How I would love to be surrounded by their laughter tonight. The sounds of angels, the loved ones with wings, who are channeling these little girls with spirit, always shining down on them with love.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
21 in 21
Lessons from my first twenty-one years.
5. That being said, sometimes you just have to go for it. January 5th, 2012. Security checkpoint at Logan Airport. The most important leap I've ever taken. And the most rewarding.
6. When your instincts (or "angel nudges") are telling you that something just isn't quite right, it's probably not. This holds true in almost any situation, from dealing with a questionable stranger to finding yourself in a really sketchy bar abroad (I don't recommend). Or, on a far more serious note, those funny feelings that something is drastically wrong with a friend or loved one (has happened to me more than once). Worst case, you're wrong. Best case, you save your life or someone else's. Your intuition serves a purpose. Listen.
7. Make sure the absorbency of your feminine products corresponds to flow. Sorry, I know that's gross. But I felt really compelled to add this in after remembering a devastatingly embarrassing incident in eighth grade science class. Enough said. Ave, thanks to this day for helping me deal with that.
8. It's never too early to save for the future. Another one from Dad. He was a supervising engineer, and I watched him work his butt off and do it joyfully. He began selling newspapers at age nine to help support his family. He put himself through multiple graduate degrees.The reason my family is okay is directly due to his hard work and planning in making sure that we're all taken care of for life.
9. Blood does not always equal family. When I say this, I mean that people unrelated to you can play just as important of a role in your life. There have been people that I've only known for months that I consider family. I have the best blood family there is, but I've also been blessed to create my own "families" along the way. From a couple of close friends from MA and their families to my Italy family, these are people I've shared experiences with and who always welcome me with open arms.
10. Crying is NOT synonymous with weakness. Sometimes, we're just a little full. Tears let fear and tension out, so that the amazing can start to seep in.
11. Really know the word before you say it. Until I was about fifteen, I thought that the word "matinee" (an afternoon movie) was the same exact word as an ocean creature, the MANATEE. I guess I had just always read the word quickly and not noticed the major spelling differences. Luckily, my mom was able to correct me before I suffered major embarrassment.
12. Manners matter. I probably looked foreign as the kid who was constantly saying "please" and "thank you" before I could say almost anything else. It appeared as if I had old-fashioned Southern manners in Massachusetts (rare). Not to generalize, but sometimes Massachusetts-ers are not always known for their graceful dispositions (just go driving around Boston for twenty minutes). But if you always put your best foot forward, you'll form some positive impressions.
13. Those people that others "write off" are often the most insightful and compassionate. That hyperactive kid with severe ADHD that people deemed "uncontrollable?" I also witnessed him on multiple occasions being the first to console a crying child on the playground. Focus on the good in everyone.
14. On that note, there's almost always a story. I have a sixth sense when it comes to people. I'm always observing. But that doesn't mean that I'm never surprised. Sure, there are those people in your life that you cannot stand. But I try to realize that everyone has a unique story. That obnoxious teenager that always interrupts? Turns out she never receives any attention from her parents. I really don't believe that people are "born" in a particular way. Experiences shape who we become. There's always something going on behind the mask.
15. Miracles are everywhere. So are those moments of grace. I love those "aha" moments. Oh, so THAT'S why that happened. In some circumstances, it may take months or years to know "why." Or I may not know until I'm dead. It's important to ask why, but it's just as important to understand that life works out the way it's supposed to (way easier said than done sometimes!) I've met wonderful friends at the perfect moment. I've escaped a few potentially threatening situations (and probably some I do not even know about to this day). I have to trust that I'm being taken care of. Miracles are a beautiful reminder of that. And they DO happen. Everyday. You just have to look for them!
16. WWJD. What would Jesus do? Love.
17. Younger siblings really do look up to you. Whether you believe it or not. I'll never forget that kitchen table admission from my then fourteen-year-old brother, Robbie: "I want to do good things like you." I never really assumed that he was watching. But now I know that they do watch. I'm sure I've made mistakes. But all I want is for my brothers to remain the uniquely com(passionate) young men that they are. Because older siblings can "look up" to younger ones, too.
18. It's okay to let go. And ask for help. And just admit that "this sucks." Sweet talking through an ugly situation doesn't help anyone, especially yourself. Sometimes, you just have to look towards Heaven and give it up. That being said, there's a huge difference between having a positive attitude and ignoring your true feelings. Hopefulness is important, but it has to be coupled with honesty with oneself. I don't always feel 100% every day of my life. I used to believe that something was "wrong with me" if I felt desperate or confused. But that's normal. And it's okay.
19. The journey is the fun part. This is definitely a lesson that I'm still learning. I become afraid of change. But as I heard recently, the worst that can happen if something doesn't go your way is that you're back at square one, but with more wisdom. In Italy, we often had just as much fun on traveling "adventures" (besides the couple of nights in the airport) as we did at the destination itself. While I understand that traveling is not necessarily comparable to life itself, I'm realizing that sometimes it's fun to break from routine. It might even lead to some unexpected life changer.
20. Education does not just come from books. Pretty self-explanatory. I've always loved learning in any capacity, and school is one of my favorite places. But I've learned just as much about life from traveling, pushing on through tragedy, and watching people I admire. Who are these people? All ages. My age, early thirties, mid-eighties. I love autobiographies. I love stories. More often than not, the life (in progress) stories of people I know have been my greatest "teachers."
21. Inner satisfaction, not attention or praise, is what's important. I really don't like attention at all. I watch shows like The Bachelorette and cringe at the notion of having to charm a roomful of people. Let alone a few! I've always competed with myself, and no one else. I do the best I can in the situation; I get upset when I know I am not at my full potential. That's why I never understood the high school "class rank" battle. Or more like, the one-sided war of the people that actually cared about the performances of others against those who could care less. I could have cared less who was eighth or twenty-sixth. I only cared that I was doing the best I possibly could. I work hard for the purpose of learning, and behave in a way that respects myself and others (even if that means going against the grain). It's worked pretty well so far. Have I slipped up occasionally? Probably. Of course. But when you try your best consistently, no one seems to notice.
22. You're never too old to need your mom. Having celebrated my 21st birthday on Monday, I needed to add an extra lesson for good luck, and honor the woman who gave birth to me, nurtured me from day one, and has been my greatest teacher. (While I was her easiest baby after the fact, the birth part wasn't easy for her. I was breech with a dislocated hip that required a harness for my first six weeks of life). When I think of the perfect role model, he or she doesn't even come close to Jules. I will always go to her for guidance and call her when I'm sick. Age doesn't change our need for those who love us.
This list will always be a work in progress. Because life is all about constant learning and growth.
1. If you can't tip well, you should stay home. This one comes from Dad; he always said that. If you have enough money for a nice dinner, you can leave a decent tip. More often than not, particularly on the Cape or elsewhere, the waiter or waitress is a student who could use it! Oh, and another one from my parents: ALWAYS send thank you notes! They are deeply appreciated.
2. It doesn't take much to make someone's day. Just a smile or a kind word will do. You may look dumb or out of place in a foreign country where strangers don't smile, but smile anyway! I personally enjoy hugs.
3. Let people know how you feel. I recently wrote a note to someone telling her how much I appreciated her presence and occasional fun chats with me throughout a certain period. She wrote back, and a friendship was born. You owe it to someone to let them know if they've taught you something, or bettered your life in a certain way. Otherwise, they'll never know. And how much better it is if they know.
4. It really is possible to adapt to almost anything. New place, new family structure, loss, habits, you name it. That doesn't mean you have to love every new situation immediately, but I've learned that I really am capable of making the most of any event in life, positive or negative, when I have the right attitude.
5. That being said, sometimes you just have to go for it. January 5th, 2012. Security checkpoint at Logan Airport. The most important leap I've ever taken. And the most rewarding.
6. When your instincts (or "angel nudges") are telling you that something just isn't quite right, it's probably not. This holds true in almost any situation, from dealing with a questionable stranger to finding yourself in a really sketchy bar abroad (I don't recommend). Or, on a far more serious note, those funny feelings that something is drastically wrong with a friend or loved one (has happened to me more than once). Worst case, you're wrong. Best case, you save your life or someone else's. Your intuition serves a purpose. Listen.
7. Make sure the absorbency of your feminine products corresponds to flow. Sorry, I know that's gross. But I felt really compelled to add this in after remembering a devastatingly embarrassing incident in eighth grade science class. Enough said. Ave, thanks to this day for helping me deal with that.
8. It's never too early to save for the future. Another one from Dad. He was a supervising engineer, and I watched him work his butt off and do it joyfully. He began selling newspapers at age nine to help support his family. He put himself through multiple graduate degrees.The reason my family is okay is directly due to his hard work and planning in making sure that we're all taken care of for life.
9. Blood does not always equal family. When I say this, I mean that people unrelated to you can play just as important of a role in your life. There have been people that I've only known for months that I consider family. I have the best blood family there is, but I've also been blessed to create my own "families" along the way. From a couple of close friends from MA and their families to my Italy family, these are people I've shared experiences with and who always welcome me with open arms.
10. Crying is NOT synonymous with weakness. Sometimes, we're just a little full. Tears let fear and tension out, so that the amazing can start to seep in.
11. Really know the word before you say it. Until I was about fifteen, I thought that the word "matinee" (an afternoon movie) was the same exact word as an ocean creature, the MANATEE. I guess I had just always read the word quickly and not noticed the major spelling differences. Luckily, my mom was able to correct me before I suffered major embarrassment.
12. Manners matter. I probably looked foreign as the kid who was constantly saying "please" and "thank you" before I could say almost anything else. It appeared as if I had old-fashioned Southern manners in Massachusetts (rare). Not to generalize, but sometimes Massachusetts-ers are not always known for their graceful dispositions (just go driving around Boston for twenty minutes). But if you always put your best foot forward, you'll form some positive impressions.
13. Those people that others "write off" are often the most insightful and compassionate. That hyperactive kid with severe ADHD that people deemed "uncontrollable?" I also witnessed him on multiple occasions being the first to console a crying child on the playground. Focus on the good in everyone.
14. On that note, there's almost always a story. I have a sixth sense when it comes to people. I'm always observing. But that doesn't mean that I'm never surprised. Sure, there are those people in your life that you cannot stand. But I try to realize that everyone has a unique story. That obnoxious teenager that always interrupts? Turns out she never receives any attention from her parents. I really don't believe that people are "born" in a particular way. Experiences shape who we become. There's always something going on behind the mask.
15. Miracles are everywhere. So are those moments of grace. I love those "aha" moments. Oh, so THAT'S why that happened. In some circumstances, it may take months or years to know "why." Or I may not know until I'm dead. It's important to ask why, but it's just as important to understand that life works out the way it's supposed to (way easier said than done sometimes!) I've met wonderful friends at the perfect moment. I've escaped a few potentially threatening situations (and probably some I do not even know about to this day). I have to trust that I'm being taken care of. Miracles are a beautiful reminder of that. And they DO happen. Everyday. You just have to look for them!
16. WWJD. What would Jesus do? Love.
17. Younger siblings really do look up to you. Whether you believe it or not. I'll never forget that kitchen table admission from my then fourteen-year-old brother, Robbie: "I want to do good things like you." I never really assumed that he was watching. But now I know that they do watch. I'm sure I've made mistakes. But all I want is for my brothers to remain the uniquely com(passionate) young men that they are. Because older siblings can "look up" to younger ones, too.
18. It's okay to let go. And ask for help. And just admit that "this sucks." Sweet talking through an ugly situation doesn't help anyone, especially yourself. Sometimes, you just have to look towards Heaven and give it up. That being said, there's a huge difference between having a positive attitude and ignoring your true feelings. Hopefulness is important, but it has to be coupled with honesty with oneself. I don't always feel 100% every day of my life. I used to believe that something was "wrong with me" if I felt desperate or confused. But that's normal. And it's okay.
19. The journey is the fun part. This is definitely a lesson that I'm still learning. I become afraid of change. But as I heard recently, the worst that can happen if something doesn't go your way is that you're back at square one, but with more wisdom. In Italy, we often had just as much fun on traveling "adventures" (besides the couple of nights in the airport) as we did at the destination itself. While I understand that traveling is not necessarily comparable to life itself, I'm realizing that sometimes it's fun to break from routine. It might even lead to some unexpected life changer.
20. Education does not just come from books. Pretty self-explanatory. I've always loved learning in any capacity, and school is one of my favorite places. But I've learned just as much about life from traveling, pushing on through tragedy, and watching people I admire. Who are these people? All ages. My age, early thirties, mid-eighties. I love autobiographies. I love stories. More often than not, the life (in progress) stories of people I know have been my greatest "teachers."
21. Inner satisfaction, not attention or praise, is what's important. I really don't like attention at all. I watch shows like The Bachelorette and cringe at the notion of having to charm a roomful of people. Let alone a few! I've always competed with myself, and no one else. I do the best I can in the situation; I get upset when I know I am not at my full potential. That's why I never understood the high school "class rank" battle. Or more like, the one-sided war of the people that actually cared about the performances of others against those who could care less. I could have cared less who was eighth or twenty-sixth. I only cared that I was doing the best I possibly could. I work hard for the purpose of learning, and behave in a way that respects myself and others (even if that means going against the grain). It's worked pretty well so far. Have I slipped up occasionally? Probably. Of course. But when you try your best consistently, no one seems to notice.
22. You're never too old to need your mom. Having celebrated my 21st birthday on Monday, I needed to add an extra lesson for good luck, and honor the woman who gave birth to me, nurtured me from day one, and has been my greatest teacher. (While I was her easiest baby after the fact, the birth part wasn't easy for her. I was breech with a dislocated hip that required a harness for my first six weeks of life). When I think of the perfect role model, he or she doesn't even come close to Jules. I will always go to her for guidance and call her when I'm sick. Age doesn't change our need for those who love us.
This list will always be a work in progress. Because life is all about constant learning and growth.
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