in the fury of the moment

Jeeps, mosquitoes, and traditions

Whenever I put the top on my Jeep, I am reminded of family camping trips and the silly little pop-up trailer we had. Much to the delight of the hungry local mosquitoes, I just spent about 10 minutes outside, negotiating zippers and snaps and little rubber pieces that I'm sure have some technical name (they're the ones that slip under the metal overhang thingies that go around the frame). The weather forecast for tomorrow says thunderstorms, and I'd rather not have to drain out the Jeep again (as much fun as it was when I had the pleasure of doing it about two weeks ago).

So, tonight, as the mosquitoes dined on my flesh and my dogs frolicked around the Jeep, I held a Mag lite in my mouth and - with each snap and zipper I snapped and zipped - I was flooded with memories of family and tradition. It was more common than not for us to arrive at the campground when it was already dark outside, so we got to be quite skilled at either putting up the trailer in the dark or sleeping in the minivan until the morning when we would then put up the trailer.

I remember other things about those trips, like roasting marshmallows around a campfire, and struggling to sleep at night on the stiff camper bed, kept awake by a sunburn earned by spending all day at the beach. I remember sneaking out of the camper at night to walk through the woods, guided only by the light of the moon, and coming out to an open space with my mouth wide open as I gazed up a star-filled sky. I also remember getting into trouble when I got back to the camper to find my mom awake and awaiting my return.

For several of my adult years, I looked back on those "camping" trips with a type of arrogant disdain, taking the lofty stance that we weren't really camping and that somehow those trips didn't really deserve to be all that memorable. Real camping would not involve flushing toilets within walking distance, or coin-operated showers. In the wilderness, you can't run an extension cord to power a transistor radio or tiny refrigerator.

But it seems that lately I am constantly reminded that memories are not so much about what you actually do, as who you do it with ... or even if you do it at all. The kids with whom I work, and today's generation in general, seem to lack the concept of tradition in their lives. One of the things that appealed most to me about my current position is that I have the opportunity to be a constant in the world in which these kids live, a world full of change and transition.

Even now as I write this, the trunk of my car is occupied with three Rubbermaid totes and a duffel bag, the evidence of one 13-year-old boy's most recent change and transition. While the traditions of my childhood involved pop-up trailers and Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, this young man endures traditions of being moved from one institution to another, in the hopes that possibly he will stay long enough in one place to create happy memories. I wish somehow that I could buy a huge RV and gather up all these children (or at least my seven clients), feed them Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, and take them on star-gazing walks. I want so badly to help to create traditions and memories in their lives.

Part of me is stirred with sadness when I think about my own childhood, almost as if I would go back to those restless, sunburned nights if I could. But a bigger part of me is filled with hope: the hope that I am now in a position to teach others how to build their own traditions. I am doing it now myself, in small, seemingly insignificant ways. I get up early every morning and run alongside the lake as it reflects the first glimmers and hues of a new day. I sit on my deck and read every day, as I eat oatmeal with fruit and drink coffee. I still make it a point to meet someone new each day, and to be a part of impacting someone's life in a positive way. I eat pancakes on Sundays (today I had whole wheat chocolate chip pancakes with fresh blackberries on tops) and go for long walks in the afternoons (today's was TWO AND A HALF hours long). At night I sit in bed and write about the day and think about what I will do differently tomorrow. Life should be characterized by change and improvement, but there should also be a steady rhythm which drives it all. My role right now is to help create this rhythm in the lives of these children. I still sometimes wonder how I got to be the one to do this, but I am so glad I did ...

posted by Krista @ 10:22 PM