LOVE BOMB!

Prior to our first born son's birth my family hosted a baby shower for us. In the midst of  Goodnight Moon and hand crocheted blankets was a time capsule. The time capsule actually looked like one of those big, tin, popcorn containers. Inside was a memory book that you could fill out and document the music, history, fads, and prices of the day. The main accessory of the capsule was stationary.  The idea was that we would ask all of our friends and family to write letters to Levi, sharing their feelings about his birth and their hopes for his future.  We collected them all and then "sealed" it away for some future reveal. 

Love Bomb (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yesterday was that future day. On his 16th birthday we unearthed the canister from the depths of my closet (more hidden and forgotten than any underground treasure chest) and presented it to him.  We cheated a little. Right before his birthday we invited others, who didn't know us or him at the time he was born, to also write letters. Friends for whom he now babysits, a third grade teacher, friends from our old church and neighbors all joined in and shared their wisdom, admiration, and love.  As the day came closer to present it to him, I started feeling like I was preparing a LOVE BOMB.

As he opened the container and saw the newspapers from the week he was born and the book of memories (gas cost a $1.39!) he was excited and curious. Then he picked up the pile of letters. It was thick. He was speechless. He picked up one from a neighbor, and then from a good family friend and then from the friends who he also serves as babysitter.  He saw that there were two letters from his great grandmothers, both now deceased.  It started sinking in. "Oh my gosh, this is the most awesome present ever!"

At 16 he's looking at colleges that will take him away from his home base. He's figuring out how to break away from us, his parents, on a daily basis. He's working out the parts of us he'll keep and the new ideas and experiences he wants to pursue. It felt like the perfect time to remind him of the deep pool of love that he comes from and that he can access.

I recommend  LOVE BOMBS for everyone. 

Time is Flying

When I first started writing here, I began by reflecting on this early memory of my son helping his dad.  I talked about how we have to create ways to engage our kids and let them act big and important.  It was such a super cute moment, little boy with his little brush, and one super ugly, blank canvass to attack.  Whatever strokes he laid down on that garage door were going to help and the only thing that could really go wrong could be fixed with soap and water.  I miss those days.

Lately, I realize that I am more and more hesitant to encourage that former two year old's independence.  I'm spending more time thinking about all the messes that might happen if my sons "pick up the brush".  Bullying, random violence, troubled or stressed out friends, and just garden variety school pressure occupy my thoughts.  And more and more, I feel like all I can really do is worry.  I've checked, and I'm not allowed to lock them up until it's safe outside.  More and more, I feel emotionally torn between keeping them from the world and losing them to the world.  Choosing to either stunt their self-confidence and autonomy or release them to the possibility of real dangers.  Have I mentioned that I miss the toddler years?

I want to protect them from the friends that are cutting, desperately wishing that the depths of human pain won't be witnessed quite so soon.  I want to shelter them from the gangbangers looking to fulfill their twisted initiation rite - physical violence to another person, any person, as they wait at the bus stop.  I want to teleport them to a time past high school where their own ideas for themselves can be realized instead of the forced constructs of standardized tests telling them what is possible.  I could shelter them from the world, drive them everywhere, allow visits with friends only in our own home, and provide private tutors instead of public schooling.  They'd be safe(r).  The only problem with that scenario is that with that level of life experience, I envision them still living in our home, with me doing everything for them, well into their thirties.

So, instead I have this reality.  My son is still helping fix the garage except higher up and using power tools.  Just like here, I'm out of the picture but waiting down below, out of sight, picking up pieces of debris. Loving other people is gut wrenching.  Loving children is heartbreak, in all the good and bad ways you can imagine.

Turning Point - Trail Blazer Camps

Appalachian Mountains (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I've written about a couple of the turning point moments in my boys' lives in the posts Give Me Twenty and Uno. As summer approaches and the temperatures spike I tend to daydream about the five summers that I spent as a camp counselor at Trail Blazer Camps.  The camp's current mission: "Through outdoor experiential environmental education, we strive to facilitate the development of values and life skills essential for productive citizenship in young people."  They take kids from New York City and invite them to live in the woods, in teepees, hogans, and Conestoga wagons. There were no log cabin dorms, air conditioning or in ground pool. The dining hall was the only building with a an actual roof that campers used.  Canvass was the norm and if your lodging was a little swankier, you had a wood platform floor.

In 1985 I traveled to Montague, NJ, near the Delaware Water Gap, inside the Appalachian Mountains, to work at Trail Blazers Camp (TBC).  Flying into New York City and then finding my way to the Port Authority bus terminal, and at last meeting my ride for the final bit of travel to the camp entrance was a true journey.  We arrived late at night and the rolling hills were dark, barely populated with homes set back in the forest.  As I laid down to sleep in the small cot of my temporary home I knew that I was changing.  I could actually feel it happening.  In a 12 hour period I had taken my first plane ride, navigated NYC (I am a directionally challenged person), and plopped myself into a job commitment that was going to require my terribly introverted self (like too scared to order pizza over the phone type shy) to lead groups of children through life in the woods for 30 days at a time!

There's so much that I learned at the camp, about nature and about myself. There is one moment though that shifted my perspective permanently.  I was participating in the two week training program with the other counselors.  Essentially, older wiser counselors, former camp directors, and seasoned trainers used their summer vacation to play in the woods and teach young and very green people like me how to feel confident in the woods, leading decentralized programming, under formidable and primitive living conditions, while singing songs and playing games.  There was a lot to learn. Red efts, lashing our shelters together, cooking outdoors, tool safety, group motivation, and pyscho social needs of our at risk youth, who would be in our care for a month, all needed to be absorbed in 10 days.  One evening after dinner every single counselor came for a talent show of sorts.  The talents were fun games or sing-a-longs that would be good to use when the campers came.  Everyone was supposed to get up and share something, in front of 30 other staff members. I had been a part of some great one-on-one conversations but the whole group? Heart racing. Gulp. Sweat. Yikes!

When it was my turn to share something, I dug deep.  Somewhere in my past Girl Scouting history I'd seen a kooky dance/song that was an excuse for absurdity and silliness.  It was so far out of my comfort zone but it was the only thing I could think of to do.  I stood up, beet red, nervous,and without any introduction or explanation and shouted in a military cadence type chant:

"LET ME SEE YOU SHOOT THE MOON!
(shout back to me, "What's that you say?")
"I SAID LET ME SEE YOU SHOOT THE MOON!
(What's that you say?")
"I SAID LET ME SEE YOU SHOOT THE MOON!  OOH AH AH  (pointing gun fingers up at the moon)AH OOH AH AH (more gun fingers and quick spins like I'm in a gun fight) AH OOH AH AH AH OOH!"

Resume normal posture and begin again, "LET ME SEE YOU COCK A ROACH!" What's that you say?
"I SAID LET ME SEE YOU COCK A ROACH!" What's that you say?  "I SAID LET ME SEE YOU COCK A ROACH!"
Drop to ground laying on my back, hands and feet in the air, like a large roach turned over on it's back side and wiggling. "OOH AH AH AH OOH AH AH AH OOH AH AH AH OOH!"  There were about three other verses but you get the idea.

teepee & kerosene lanterns

I wish I could find a You Tube video of this chant because it doesn't get  it's just presentation here in print.  I wish I could also have a picture of the group of counselors and trainers that were staring back at me that night.  They were smiling and laughing but also stunned.  Where was the quiet, unassuming, responsible, and probably too serious newbie?  Where indeed.  I learned a lot that summer but mostly I learned that I was very capable, good at motivating others, and a leader.  I was pushed to do stuff that I wouldn't have done or even thought to do on my own.  The pushing allowed me to learn about myself and my capacity.  There was something about being so vulnerable, physically outside, that pulled out this courage and confidence in me. Lake Mashipacong, The Lodge, Awanasa and Fernhill Farm campsites, the Dining Hall lawn overlooking the garden and the mountains, these are the places where my hardest and best summers took place. These are the places where I started to discover my current self.

Happy Summer!