Of Stubborn Boys and Rook-Shaped Toys

I’ve been having trouble reaching one 10 year-old-boy at the Fairview Camp Fire program ever since I began working there. He snaps at me if I ask him how his day went citing that that’s “his business” and only his “family needs to know,” never tries any of the non-sports related activities I bring and frequently questions my authority. Generally speaking, this little guy is a decent kid: he always keeps an eye out for his younger cousins and follows most program rules on his own. However, he’s the only kid in the entire program that I haven’t connected with and that frustrates me. The other staff members also feel the disconnection but I feel that I’ve failed the most, namely, because I’ve tried the most.

One Wednesday, I went to program planning to run Theatre Club, but a gym game won the activity popularity contest which meant no kids for Theatre Club. The boy couldn’t participate in the game due to a recent foot injury, so I approached him, once again, to attempt some semblance of engagement. He murmured something about wanting to play chess and I quickly jumped up to grab a board and some pieces.

Now, I have a basic understanding of what chess is and where the pieces can and can’t move, but I’ve never really learned how to incorporate strategy and genius into my play. In fact, my only real connections to chess are a fond affection for the movie Searching for Bobby Fischer and a one-time opportunity to act as a pawn in a game of Human Chess at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. That and I think the pieces are pretty. Especially the ones carved from marble. But, again, I’ve never had the patience to actually learn how to use those pieces.

On that day, I made room for the student to become the teacher—an experiement I've undertaken before with hard-to-reach kids—and this disconnected boy finally invited me inside his world. I learned how to set up the board and confirmed which way the pretty pieces could travel and how they could “kill.” But more importantly, we had our first friendly conversation. I learned that my new friend had been playing chess ever since he was 3 and he shared how he usually carries out his strategy. I still didn’t have any kind of handle on that whole strategy piece, but I didn’t care; I didn’t care about winning (which is huge for me). I cared about this kid, this beautiful kid that I had been pushing and pushing…when all I had to do was sit back, listen, and play chess.

All the Hemispheres

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season

Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.

Make a new water-mark on your excitement

And love.

Like a blooming night flower,

Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving

Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence

Lie beside an equator

In your heart.

Greet Yourself

In your thousand other forms

As you mount the hidden tide and travel

Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven

Are sitting around a fire

Chatting

While stitching themselves together

Into the Great Circle inside of

You.

-Hafiz

From: 'The Subject Tonight is Love'

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Gestalt Switch

And now I see things differently.

Continuing Discernment

If my AmeriCorps journey were a story map I would, at present, be in the "falling action" section. The main story of my stay with Camp Fire, the rural program, is over and the rest of my stay will include office work and a general push of the daily grind. I have managed to find refuge and community in an Episcopal Church, a Reformed Jewish Synagogue, long rides on the People Mover bus system, and local theatre. As always, I'm continuing to discern future possibilities which is, oftentimes, a murky business as there are so many possibilities that make me come alive. The call to ministry is crystal clear but the means with which I will carry out that ministry is full of muck. Ultimately, the realization that I can still go in so many directions makes this discernment "thing" all the more difficult.

The other day I asked my mom if I could be Tina Fey AND Barbara Brown Taylor at the same time. We both laughed. Of course, I have finally come to terms with the nature of my own character: I am not one to travel in anyone else's footsteps but my own. A friend and priest has euphemized what I call "stubbornness" with "strong will." But I think I’m a mixture of both.

The AmeriCorps experience has bestowed upon me a brand of resilience that I never had as a child or even as young adult. And this resilience—this burgeoning energetic force that rumbles within me-has only intensified my tendency to dream big and set lofty world-changing goals. Sure, I miss home on those long nights and weekends when I don't have any plans...and I still have yet to make friends my own age, but I am getting very good at finding community far from the familiar.

Yet. I still must come to terms with this fork in the road ahead of me. I know that I don't desire to stay here. However do I return to Central Pennsylvania, a place of familiarity and consistency that I will always call my first home, or do I forge my way back to New York City, the home of my childhood dreams, the home where I have always felt the most alive? Or how about another city abounding with many more potential connections than the Alabama that center of my home state can sometimes be?

As of now? Only time will tell. Feel free to offer suggestions. The final decision, of course, will fall hard upon my shoulders.

Leaving Home.

An always-welcome reversion.

From an e-mail I sent to Mother while in the bush.


Here's the thing:

We don't have running water in Stebbins. What does this entail, you from the worldly World ask? Toilets, my friend. Toilets need the running water that Stebbins does not have. This, mind you, is not to say that Stebbins does not have toilets. Because Stebbins indeed has toilets. They are few but these few are so very thirsty as we have just learned that Stebbins does not have running water.

So. If we were to foray into the world of symbolism, Stebbins' thirsty toilets would symbolize what? Can you guess? The correct answer would be hope, dear pupil: hope. For Stebbins has hope that one day, the Man might grant Stebbins the funds to run make their water run run run at lightning speed, but as we all know, the Man does not live in Stebbins (and never will) so Stebbins does not have running water.

But, teacher, what do you DO with the toilets? Where do you...well, where do you pee? Oh, teacher and where do you...where do you...you know....

Ah, yes, my pupils have been asking me that same question for many many years. We use a qerrun or "honey bucket" for all of those "you know" matters. You know? Well, maybe you don't, but I'll certainly tell you. It's a funny story, I do believe.

I'll never forget my first encounter with the good old honey bucket. I was young and very eager. Before arriving in Stebbins--the town with no running water--I did my homework by reasearching the land and culture of my soon-to-be neighbors. But, alas, I never took the time to really study the dissonant intricacies of the honey bucket, a staple of current village life. I knew of the honey bucket thanks to my predecesors but did not think to ask how, in fact, the honey bucket would function as a staple in my own life. I let my mind assume, you see, which is a dark and dangerous freedom to allow yourself when traveling to distant lands.

You see, had I done all of my homework and worked out every vital microscopic detail of my future home to the fullest extent, I would have learned that the honey bucket--not unlike a plastic 10-gallon bucket for paint--comes fully equipped with a honey-bucket lid and honey-bucket seat. Now this honey bucket lid opens and closes like any other lid that I have heretofore encountered. But the uneducated will not typically utilize learned motor skills unless deemed necessary. Am I right?

Now here comes the fun part which I will formulate like a joke: What happens when you mix an Uneducated Visitor, a very full bladder, and--here's the kicker--a motion detection light system that doesn't alway decect motion? Well, you get many things! Most of which are wet and yellow and not where wet and yellow things are typically found. On the other hand--and this is what makes the equation so very complicated--you also get shouts, shouts of embarrassed exposure echoing in your stall, whoa-is-me laughs, and--if you wait a little bit--you come into the possession of a blossoming addition to your field of Knowledge. Now, this plot of Knowledge is neither Good nor Evil; it appears out of nothing and is simply there. This Knowledge erases all previous assumtions and triggers users thenceforth to bring flashlights into those unknown dark places.

And as to that first question: what do we DO with the Toilet of Hope that sits next to us while we make use of our new Knowledge?

Well, we admire its craftswomanship, of course, and welcome the harlequin smile of the U-shaped plumbing piece. I imagine that somewhere in my not-to-distant future of towns filled with running water that we may give its cousin Kenmore a little extra hug with our tush or masage its broad chest with a little extra Comet and love.

I had a summer.

To Begin:

Please forgive my absence in the blogosphere over the summer. It's not that I didn't have access to the internet--for the communities I visited are very connected, it's not that I didn't have time--for I experienced spouts of insomnia every so often because of the light; and it's not that I didn't want to share--for my friends and relations in the Lower 48 were frequently on my mind. I journaled a'plenty over those long Alaskan summer nights but I kept most of my writing private through notebook journaling and e-mails to Mother.

The summer was tough. Hands down. The kids were beautiful, the communities were, for the most part, more than beautiful, and the growth garnered from such an experience will stay with me forever. The journey, however, was a constant go-go, a constant give-give. Even my days off involved some kind of work be it travel from one village to the next or an unexpectedly long exploration expedition.

Ultimately the emotional exhaustion incurred throughout this summer ate a large chunk out of my well-being. For a number of reasons, I have moved a LOT in the last few years. In each new location, however, I am always able to quickly locate a home-base surrounded by people who encourage me, inspire me, and make me feel like I can do anything. These communities brim with strong women, fellow vagabonds, and other fascinating talents who have done things and been places. And most of the people in these circles, like me, fall under the category of "old soul." You can decide for yourself what the italicized phrases means. The term is one of those if you get it, you've got it, if you don't, don't bother kind of mind frames. This summer, however, I had no such community. I had mother via e-mail and occasionally the phone and I had my journal. Those sources, however are not enough when continually faced with a hearty pile of rocks and a never ending variety of hard places.

At times I was my own worst enemy. My ability to read situations truthfully has been a great asset to both my personal and communal life. I am very "in touch" with my own emotions as well as the emotions of others. Sometimes, however, this sixth sense gets me into trouble. For when I see the proverbial "dark" spot on a person's soul my immediate reaction is to fix that person or help that person get better. Alas! I have discovered that many in this world are content to live with all kinds of wounds. Some even cling to their wounds and become one big walking spot of, well, Ugly.

Since gossip is such a gross evil of many of our daily lives, this post will not serve to "name names" or belittle a handful of the summer's difficult relations, but I had to work with a handful of these wounded individuals. At times, I found myself stooping to the level of these unhealthy individuals and fighting back in their style i.e. passive aggression, avoidance, doing everything myself to just get it done. I hearken Eleanor Rooselvelt's saying that "no one can make you feel inferior without your consent," but the adage is easier in saying than in practice. I even threw aa elbow at one point. Well, the act was during a game so I was able to cover it up in competition...but no. I really just wanted a certain someone to get the hell away from a certain me.

But the summer is over and I have returned to my Anchorage community a little wiser and a little more grateful. I guess I always knew that this summer was going to be tough, but I also knew that the experience was vital for my growth as a human being. Introverts have to fight a little harder than extroverts to get along in the United States. So this summer I fought. Sometimes I was foolish and sometimes I was demanding. Often was I sick. But I fought for those beautiful native Alaskan kids and the program we set out to deliver. In the end, each illness was worth the fight.


More to come,
sarah