I used to work at Camp New Hope

as a teenager.  It is a camp environment for kids and adults with physical or mental differences and it was such a giant learning ground for me.  It taught me so many things about others, about life, about myself.  It also provided me with 2 life lessons that I have carried with me far beyond the length of a job.  2 is really short changing the lessons I learned there, but 2 stick out more boldly than others.  The campers changed weekly and while you truly shouldn't have favorites, I couldn't always help myself.  I fell hard and fast for a child about 8 who was wheelchair bound.  His name is imprinted on my heart and has been since the moment I held him while we swam.  He had severe brain damage and I assumed it was some form of cerebral palsy.  One day while working with him one on one another counselor came in and asked if I knew his diagnosis.  It was a pretty popular game at camp, and over time I became pretty good at it.  I offered my guess and the other counselor shook her head.  I made a couple more half hearted attempts at guessing but I couldn't figure it out.  After a few minutes she said "He's a shaken baby" in that exact moment I experienced a heart break that I had never felt before.  By this point I had lost my Dad and knew what loss was, but I had never mourned the loss of potential.  The loss of what was to be because of another.  My Dad died of a heart attack, not at the hands of someone else.  That loss was hard to endure and sad but this baby was 'normal' (i loathe that word).  Somebody he trusted got frustrated that he wouldn't quiet and shook him, until his brain would be forever damaged and his life forever changed.  That child is the reason I don't do crying babies.  That boy is a huge reason I parent the way I do.  I saw a glimpse of what unchecked rage can do. An instant can impact forever.


Now the 2nd lesson is not quite as dramatic.  One week I had 2 sisters who were hearing impaired in my group.  We signed and they signed and it was a thing of beauty.  I love sign language and am so geeked to get to start a class tomorrow to truly learn how to sign. This story though isn't about being heard, it's about being dismissed & shut down.  They asked to swim, it wasn't our turn.  They asked for crafts, it wasn't quite time.  They got frustrated with me and I was signing and trying to figure out what we could do that would make them less frustrated.  And then.  The moment that is seared in my mind.  They looked at me and widened their eyes so I would notice them and then with deliberate direct eye contact they both slowly closed their eyes.  They didn't close their eyes tightly it was gentle and a passerby would have thought they were just taking an extended blink.  I knew better.  I was shut down.  In a way that I had never been before.  You can talk louder if a child covers their ears.  You can keep talking if they look away and refuse to engage, knowing that they still hear you.  A deaf kids closes their eyes and that's all she wrote folks!  There is NO way to counter that.  That is the feeling that makes me crazy.  It is that feeling that makes me shut down in relationships that should feel safe.  I feel the deliberate gaze of people in my life and then they simply close their eyes.  Sometimes they shut them about all things and I am left trying to figure out how our friendship has taken such a turn and why I wasn't aware of it.  Sometimes they shut them on certain topics and I am left trying to figure out what is allowed to be discussed and what is not. I would far prefer direct dialogue.  Tell me why you are whatever you are.  Are you angry? why?  Are you disappointed? why?  Speak it.  Don't close your eyes and just refuse to acknowledge the source of whatever it is that has you closing your eyes in the first place.  It's probably why I over think, over talk, invest way too deeply in the ramifications of words and actions.  But just like a deaf kid with eyes closed there is no way in.  No way for me to rectify the relationship or fix the issues.  It  leaves me wondering if I should step in or step out.  And that is where I am.