Last year, around this time, I was beginning a summer camp for mentally disabled kids. I didn't really know what I was doing, I was 23, barely one year out of college, and scared out of my mind.
Only about 2 months or so before that time I had been sparked with the idea to start the camp by my father. He mentioned it as a joke- I took him seriously. Not many people knew that I actually started this camp. I was the owner, manager and lead instructor. I bought an LLC, researched insurance, created consent forms, hired an employee, and spent weeks preparing. Very few knew these things. I don't like to brag, and hate attention. (Though by writing this blog, I realize I am going against these very words. I need to talk about them though, that is how I understand my world and what I am feeling. Only by talking about things, expressing how I feel, am I able to see and grasp an understanding of my world, my goals, and the reality of the situation outside my head.)
Yet, when my former employee who took over the camp from me this summer announced that she had been given a $500 donation, I felt a pang of jealousy. Then I saw a comment later how we had started the camp. I was raised to not be prideful, but I found myself puffing up in pride anyways, wanting to yell at her. It was not the two of us who put forth hundreds of dollars to create the camp. It was not the two of us who worked one-on-one with the principal to make the camp happen. It was not the two of us who had spent weeks preparing lessons and activity ideas for the future students. And for her to say it was, hurt and offended me. She hadn't meant harm by her comment, so I couldn't be angry at her. I still was though. My father helped remind me that I, my students, and the parents will always know the truth- that should be enough for me. So, knowing my Dad was right, I did my best to let it go.
Then, I saw my former employee post another status recently. A reporter had heard about the camp. She is planning to interview my former employee about it. I felt a stab of jealousy strike me again. Attention, bragging, and being the center of attention are things I despise and feel anxiety over. I would hate having to talk to a reporter. I would feel horrid nervousness and dislike it, wishing it on anyone else except me.
But that doesn't mean that I wouldn't want to share with the world what the camp was about, who these kids were, make sure she had a real understanding for the intentions in creating the camp. It doesn't mean that I don't wish it wasn't me talking to her, instead of her. It doesn't mean that I don't want her to hear the story from my lips.
It's not that my former employee, and now owner of the camp, is bad. She is a lovely, kind and very sweet girl. She is just oblivious sometimes, lack in her attention to detail, and flighty. I worry about my kids under her care honestly, and don't trust her to always watch them as carefully as she should or tell the reporter how the camp really came to be. Admittedly, I am overprotective and worry unnecessarily about the kids, but for good reason. There is no one in this world I am more fiercely protective of than my kids who are disabled and my family. No one.
I sent my father an email telling him of the newest news with the camp. He said he already knew, and my parents had disagreed over whether to share the news with me. While I felt sad and hurt that I couldn't be there, I am still happy. The camp, kids and school are getting the attention they need and deserve. The camp was made for them, no one else. If anybody should have the spotlight, it's these kids.
This may sound like a trivial problem and concern, but living abroad allows me the distance and time to work on aspects of my personality that I long to change. Sort of like fine tuning a dance move. This is a part of my personality that I know could be better. Being able to let go of worldly pride and be content in the simple knowledge that I have done something. That should be enough for me, and one day will.
Love,
Rita
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