alllllMosssst Time...

when I was younger I worked at a camp for developmentally delayed kids & adults. That job was followed by working in a home setting with some of the same people. It still echoes in my memories, still provides a lot of my mental sound effects. I still can't pass a bottle of yoohoo or think the time for something is approaching without hearing the voice of one of the campers singing out. Sometimes when I declare something to be true or just or simply fact without back up I will give it more weight by adding "the schmidt has spoken!" which sadly doesnt even translate into my current set of friends. When I am shortchanged at the store my internal dialogue is typically an instant "oh my word hun that b!&#* stole my dollar!" (which was exclaimed for the original time in the middle of church following a misunderstanding about offering). When I am out shopping and hear an exuberant sneeze it always makes me want to check under the rack to see if, perhaps, dentures have used it as a means of escape. More than once while listening to kids sing 'row row row your boat' in my head I've subbed in a hearty 'throw the nurse overboard and listen to her scream' while everyone else went merrily merrily merrily along. When I see a rousing game of get your nose (when you but your thumb into your fist and steal their nose) I remember a Dad having to drive back down the road to pick up the nose of his young son after that game fell flat on their drive to camp.

It taught me compassion and patience. It gave me the opportunity to realize different wasnt all that different after all. I love that it was such a learning ground for me. It taught me even long after I stopped working there. When my babies were little and would cry without end and I would start to feel the frazzle of it all, I remembered the first camper I fell in love with. He didnt fit into any of the standard categories of our campers and my leader told me once that he was a shaken baby. It still breaks my heart. It taught me to always look people in the eyes and smile. To not stare. To not do things for people simply because it might take less time. That laughter translates across the gaps. It was supposed to be a job, it turned into an education that still teaches me.