Realistic Idealism  

I went into City Year thinking I could save the world.  I came out of it knowing that I hadn’t and feeling perfectly fine about that.  City Year, similar to many other like-minded organizations, isn’t about saving the world; it’s about changing the world.  It’s about making kids smile and giving people hope. It’s about teaching my generation how to care enough about the world to want to make it better, and then giving them the opportunity and the power to do that.  As City Year corps members, we knew that, regardless of all our efforts, there would always be more problems to solve and more needs to meet. To avoid depression and to maintain sanity, we simply had to resign ourselves to the fact that we couldn’t save every child, and to focus on the ones that we could make a difference for.  We came to realize that some kids will only open up to certain people in certain situations.  Though I’d like to think that I have affected the lives of all the children that I have encountered through service, I know that I haven’t.  Our spring session of Camp City Year was a poignant example of this. 

            Even for those of us who had spent the last six or seven months of our lives working fulltime with kids, Camp City Year was still a test of our energy and of our ability to cope with crazy situations.  As City Year corps members, we had devoted half a year to tutoring and mentoring, teaching a wide range of curriculums, and leading physical service projects.  But even that couldn’t fully prepare us for the amount of exhaustion and stress brought about by the day camps that we ran during winter and spring school vacations.  The rule of thumb was to expect the unexpected, take each thing as it came, and always, always be happy and high energy.

            My day began at 5:00 when I rolled out of bed, into my clothes, and out the door to make the hour long commute to my service site on the other side of Boston. I was still yawning when my first camper, Patrick, came running excitedly into the gymnasium on Monday morning, the first day of camp.  He stood still long enough for me to take his coat and lunch and give him his name tag, then he was up and running again.  He didn’t strike me as the type of kid that would be amused by coloring sheets and word searches, so swallowed my impulse to call him back to our area and instead watched him as he ran from one side of the gym to another, hoping that he would work out some of his extra energy.  Still watching him out of the corner of my eye, I redirected my attention to the door where more and more campers were swarming in by the minute, each of them clutching little pieces of paper on which were written the names of their groups.  On the wall behind me hung a sign that said GALAPAGOS TORTOISE, and had a picture of our group mascot.  One by one my campers wandered over to me, matching the name on their paper with the name on the poster.  It wasn’t long before they had all arrived and settled into a circle on the floor to color and draw.  There was quiet and awkward Samantha, whiney Vasthy, overly affectionate William, sunny Estrella, Evelyn the angel, and Brandon who was good natured but, unfortunately, very easily influenced.

            Michael was the last to arrive and the least happy to be there.  He perked up, however, when we started a game of Red Light, Green Light – especially when I chose him to be “it” first.  Half an hour later, though, during our morning exercise and announcement time, he refused to participate and without a word to me, went and sat down against the wall with a frown on.  His mood swings, as I would soon find out, were a force to be reckoned with.    

While I was busy trying to keep Michael happy and Patrick contained, another corps member was having difficulties of her own.  One of her campers had recently immigrated from Argentina and didn’t speak, or understand, more than a few words of English.  “You speak Spanish, right?” she asked me, while our groups were engaged in a game of freeze tag during the Sports and Games rotation.  She explained her situation to me and pointed out Lucia who, not having understood any of the directions, didn’t know that she had to stay still when she was tagged and didn’t understand why the other kids were yelling at her for moving.  “Do you think we could switch her into your group?”  I thought about this. Obviously the kid would be miserable if she had to go through all of camp never quite knowing what was going on, and not being able to participate very much. On the other hand though, I already had my hands full, a fact which was verified when I looked over to the other side of the room and saw that Michael was pouting in the corner again and Patrick was arguing with one of the game leaders.  I couldn’t take on the added responsibility of being a translator without getting rid of one of my other high maintenance kids.  So I called Patrick over.

Although trading Patrick for Lucia had seemed like the only reasonable solution at the time, I soon regretted my decision immensely.  I had done my best to help Patrick understand why he had to switch groups, and he had actually swallowed my reasoning more than I had expected him to.  However, it wasn’t long before he was begging to be back in our group.  He soon made it clear that he was going to continue nagging me and leaving his group to come visit ours, unless I let him switch back over.  Eventually I realized that having him in our group would be easier than trying to keep him out, so I gave in.  Now I had keep to Michael happy and Patrick contained, all the while punctuating everything that was said and done with a translation for Lucia.

Meanwhile the rest of my group was vying for their own share of my attention, and I was doing my best to give it to them in between everything else.  It was during one of these times when my attention was focused on the other kids in my group that Patrick decided he was being neglected and took it into his own hands to turn the situation around.  We were in our Education rotation, learning about and drawing pictures of different environments, when Patrick announced that he was bored, and then proceeded to get out of his seat and leave the room.  I followed him out, hoping to turn him around, but instead of letting me talk him back into a good mood he decided to take off down the hallway.  Brandon and Michael, who had seen all of this happen through the open door, decided that running around was much more fun than drawing pictures, and bolted out into the hallway with Patrick.  I was soon chasing them frantically around the corridors and threatening that, if they didn’t come back, they might have to be sent home.  I don’t remember how it was that I finally got them to listen to me, but, when they did, I took Michael and Patrick by the hands, and, ordering Brandon to follow us, marched them over to the person in charge of time out.  I explained what had happened and then, leaving the boys in the hands of the disciplinarian, I returned to my group. 

The outcome of all this was that Brandon had to be switched into another group. They reasoned that without the bad influence of the other two, he would be fine.  Patrick and Michael were warned that if they didn’t behave in the future, they would be sent home.  The remainder of the day was fairly uneventful.  My two trouble makers, subdued by timeout and scared off by their warning, were only mildly disobedient the rest of the afternoon.  I mistakenly took this to mean that the worst had past. 

The second day was doomed from the beginning.  I don’t even remember very much of it.  All I can recall is that everything seemed to be going wrong, especially concerning Michael who was even moodier than he had been on the previous day.  By the time our Service rotation rolled around that afternoon I was about ready to break down and cry.  Just when I thought that things couldn’t get worse, Michael ran away.

We were making recycling signs to hang up around the school, and Michael had refused to participate right from the start, so he was off to one side watching us unhappily.  I gave him awhile and then I went over to try to talk to him and get him to join us.  We actually had a decent conversation in which it was revealed that he didn’t really like Camp City Year.  I told him that that was okay and that we didn’t want to make him come if it wasn’t something that he enjoyed, since the whole point was for kids to have fun.  “I want to go home.” He said.  I told him that, if that was really what he wanted to do, I could bring him over to the camp director and she could call his parents.  So, after telling the rest of the group that I would be right back, Michael and I went to go find the director.  Unfortunately she was in the next building over, and as soon we stepped outside the door and began to cross the courtyard, Michael hightailed it for the street.  The only thing I could do was chase after him, so I did.  Four blocks later (Thank God there were no cars) I finally caught up to him.

In light of the situation I didn’t think that City Year’s policies prohibiting physical contact with the kids applied, but restraining him with force still felt like a bad idea.  I held my arm lightly behind his back and tried to talk to him into cooling down. Without warning though, he took off around another corner.  When I caught up to him again he was sitting calmly on a doorstep and this time he listened to what I had to say and followed me back to the camp.  When we arrived there, his parents were called immediately and he was told he would spend the rest of the afternoon with the camp director and would be asked not to return the next day.  After talking briefly with him, explaining how disappointed I was but also how sad I was that he wouldn’t be with us, I returned to my group, shaken and on the verge of tears.

I blamed myself for the fact that Michael ran away, and I felt awful about the fact that he had to be kicked out.  But, though I hated to admit it, it was the best thing that could have happened for the rest of the group.  With him out of the picture I could now give them the attention they deserved.  Samantha was drawn out of her shell, and opened up to myself and the other campers.  Lucia was included in every single activity and even started speaking a few words of English.  Evelyn, Vasthy, William, Estrella – they all had more fun.  Even Patrick chilled out a little and made it through the rest of the session in good spirits.  In fact, it was Patrick who almost brought me to tears on the last day when he cried because he didn’t want to go home and leave all the City Year people.

I still feel bad that Brandon had to be switched out of my group and that I couldn’t control the situation with Michael, but I understand now that I can’t fix every problem or help every kid.  Everyday I encounter needs that aren’t being met – at home, in schools, on the news – and, invariably, they overwhelm me and make me feel out of control and helpless.  Service is what enables me to combat that helplessness and to realize that it’s okay that there are problems in the world, just as long as there are people out there doing something to solve them.