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I've mentioned on here multiple times that I recently lived in the woods for almost a year at a wilderness juvenile justice camp counseling adjudicated teenagers. It was the toughest and most amazing time in my life by far. Hardly a day goes by that I don't talk about or think about my experience and my kids.
When I say "my kids", I mean it literally. I had these kids 5 24-hour days a week. I woke them up in the morning, tucked them and read stories or sang songs to them at night, dried their tears, hugged them when they needed it (or when I did...), and confronted them when they were struggling. I loved...correction...love these kids with all my heart. I wasn't with them very long - I was at each camp for about 5 months each - but I can't help but think about them and hope that they're doing well and how much I miss (most of) them.
In the woods, we were all we had. There were about 12 kids at a time, and one or two adults (they called us "Chiefs"). We had master counselors and directors and all, but when it came down to it, we were a giant, odd, somewhat dysfunctional family. Kids would holler and scream at each other, and then they'd be best friends two days later. We would get upset at each other and talk it through, and we really tried to make the best of it.
The kids were tough. Oh they were tough. In one of my groups, I had twelve boys aged 12-17. None of them had fathers - they were all dead, in jail, or they had no idea who they were. Some of them didn't have contact with their moms either - they had been taken away due to abuse or neglect or various other reasons. These kids (the boys and girls both) had been abused, forgotten, and essentially destined to fail from day one. I had a 12-year old who would roam the streets "packing heat" (carrying a gun). His best friend died in his arms after being shot by what they think was a gang. I had kids who HAD kids. Kids who had been raped, abused, on drugs, seen their parents on drugs, been mistreated, abandoned, and forced to grow up all too quickly.
I get mad...no, I get angry when I hear people talk about "juvenile delinquents" and things that should be done to them or hear them stereotyped as "bad kids". There aren't bad kids. These kids are good kids who got caught up in bad circumstances or bad situations...often due to circumstances beyond their control. These kids don't come from functioning families for the most part. You can't choose your family. NOW...they have a choice in their actions, but we had to teach them that. We taught them that choices carry the burden of consequences, and you have to be willing to accept the consequences that come with your choices. But it doesn't make it the kids' fault that no one ever taught them that.
These kids are funny. They're beautiful, smart, insightful, empathetic, well-spoken, and strong. When you peel back the hardened layers and look past the broken hearts, they're kids.
We played football. LOTS of football (the girls!). We climbed trees. We swung on vines over ravines, did really fast ring-around-the-rosy until we all literally fell down on top of each other laughing, and spontaneously ambushed each other with water balloons and buckets of water. We painted pictures, built forts out of leaves and sticks while waiting for someone to calm down enough to talk through a problem, and sang some of the most ridiculous songs to get us through a work project or just be silly.
This is much longer than I planned on it being, but this was all sparked by a message I got on myspace today from one of "my" kids who finished the program. Due to HIPAA I have to be vague, but she's a tough kid...a tough kid. She's young, 14, and really troubled. She just doesn't know what to do with herself....she doesn't have appropriate social and coping skills. We tried to teach her, but you can't fix them all...y'know?
She's a sweet kid. She's a kid that no matter how much of a brat she was during the day and how mad we were at her would come up and give you a hug and say "goodnight Chief...I love you" at night. She WANTS to do well, she just doesn't know how. She got herself into some trouble, and she came to me. I've been gone from camp for 4 months, and she knows that. I think she sees me as a safe person to go to because she doesn't want to disappoint camp, but it's a cry for help. She's scared because she's going to another program and she knows it won't be like camp was. By reaching out to me, she can get some of that camp back...and I'm absolutely going to give it to her. I didn't realize at the time how much I love these kids...and how much I would miss their hugs or them hollering "Chief!!!" when they needed something or their insane antics...
I guess I'm kind of nostalgic tonight, but I really miss my kids.
When I say "my kids", I mean it literally. I had these kids 5 24-hour days a week. I woke them up in the morning, tucked them and read stories or sang songs to them at night, dried their tears, hugged them when they needed it (or when I did...), and confronted them when they were struggling. I loved...correction...love these kids with all my heart. I wasn't with them very long - I was at each camp for about 5 months each - but I can't help but think about them and hope that they're doing well and how much I miss (most of) them.
In the woods, we were all we had. There were about 12 kids at a time, and one or two adults (they called us "Chiefs"). We had master counselors and directors and all, but when it came down to it, we were a giant, odd, somewhat dysfunctional family. Kids would holler and scream at each other, and then they'd be best friends two days later. We would get upset at each other and talk it through, and we really tried to make the best of it.
The kids were tough. Oh they were tough. In one of my groups, I had twelve boys aged 12-17. None of them had fathers - they were all dead, in jail, or they had no idea who they were. Some of them didn't have contact with their moms either - they had been taken away due to abuse or neglect or various other reasons. These kids (the boys and girls both) had been abused, forgotten, and essentially destined to fail from day one. I had a 12-year old who would roam the streets "packing heat" (carrying a gun). His best friend died in his arms after being shot by what they think was a gang. I had kids who HAD kids. Kids who had been raped, abused, on drugs, seen their parents on drugs, been mistreated, abandoned, and forced to grow up all too quickly.
I get mad...no, I get angry when I hear people talk about "juvenile delinquents" and things that should be done to them or hear them stereotyped as "bad kids". There aren't bad kids. These kids are good kids who got caught up in bad circumstances or bad situations...often due to circumstances beyond their control. These kids don't come from functioning families for the most part. You can't choose your family. NOW...they have a choice in their actions, but we had to teach them that. We taught them that choices carry the burden of consequences, and you have to be willing to accept the consequences that come with your choices. But it doesn't make it the kids' fault that no one ever taught them that.
These kids are funny. They're beautiful, smart, insightful, empathetic, well-spoken, and strong. When you peel back the hardened layers and look past the broken hearts, they're kids.
We played football. LOTS of football (the girls!). We climbed trees. We swung on vines over ravines, did really fast ring-around-the-rosy until we all literally fell down on top of each other laughing, and spontaneously ambushed each other with water balloons and buckets of water. We painted pictures, built forts out of leaves and sticks while waiting for someone to calm down enough to talk through a problem, and sang some of the most ridiculous songs to get us through a work project or just be silly.
This is much longer than I planned on it being, but this was all sparked by a message I got on myspace today from one of "my" kids who finished the program. Due to HIPAA I have to be vague, but she's a tough kid...a tough kid. She's young, 14, and really troubled. She just doesn't know what to do with herself....she doesn't have appropriate social and coping skills. We tried to teach her, but you can't fix them all...y'know?
She's a sweet kid. She's a kid that no matter how much of a brat she was during the day and how mad we were at her would come up and give you a hug and say "goodnight Chief...I love you" at night. She WANTS to do well, she just doesn't know how. She got herself into some trouble, and she came to me. I've been gone from camp for 4 months, and she knows that. I think she sees me as a safe person to go to because she doesn't want to disappoint camp, but it's a cry for help. She's scared because she's going to another program and she knows it won't be like camp was. By reaching out to me, she can get some of that camp back...and I'm absolutely going to give it to her. I didn't realize at the time how much I love these kids...and how much I would miss their hugs or them hollering "Chief!!!" when they needed something or their insane antics...
I guess I'm kind of nostalgic tonight, but I really miss my kids.