She's Your Child . . .
When I began the World Race I didn't think I was going to be working with so many kids. I've spent the last 8 years as a middle school teacher and when I decided to take a year off I thought I was getting a break from that. I thought I'd be spending the majority of my time working with women in need, helping them to rebuild their broken lives. But each new month has brought new kids to my lap, and although I enjoy children, I wanted a break. Not long ago I was lamenting about this to a friend who quickly responded, "Jenn, you have a gift with children. Just embrace it." I never saw myself as being gifted with kids (or anything else for that matter) but her encouragement came at just the right time as November brought me to South Africa where a plethora of needy children awaited my arrival. Volunteer South Africa, the organization with which I was working for the month, runs surf and soccer programs as a way to build relationships with the kids, feed them, and get them into school (If they want to learn to surf or play soccer they must go to school), all in hopes of helping them to build better lives for themselves. The first day I went to the soccer field I was sitting on a blanket, minding my own business, taking in the surroundings, wondering what the day might hold. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something flash like pink lightening. When I turned for a closer look I saw a very fast moving object, about 300 yards away coming right toward me. Between her and I was the soccer field so I kept right on doing what I was doing, assuming she'd stop when she hit her target. My assumption was correct. However, the soccer field was not her target. I was. This 6 year old bundle of energy came barrelling full force out of the township, across the soccer field, and tackled me flat before I even had the chance to consider what was happening. This little gypsy soul with braided hair, cockeyed teeth, and dirty feet didn't leave my side the rest of the day. Eileen and I didn't play soccer. Instead we played Jungle Jenn. Apparently I make a great climbing, flipping, tossing, playing, jungle gym sort of device. I Can't say that I mind. I had just as much fun as she and her friends did. However, when I set down ground rules like, 1. Do not use your fingernails to get my attention, and 2. Only one child swinging per arm, and 3. You must ask permission before you jump on me, and 4. You may not knock another child off my back onto the ground she got very irritated and barred her teeth at me like an angry dog. Just then I turned around to hear a few of my teammates giggling – "She's your child," they said. When I looked at them quizzically one explained, "I feel like if you ever have a daughter she will look and act just like that." Great . . . Why do I always get those kinds of musings from my friends? When my niece lets her red-headed attitude out of the bag my sister tells me she gets it from me. When another niece wants to wear her pajamas to school my sister in law says she must be my child, and when a friend's daughter wants to eat ice cream sandwiches for breakfast she blames me. I used to get a little offended by these statements but now I'm proud of them. Kids love life. They have a sense of adventure that would put any survivor-man to shame. They take advantage of every moment. They are unpretentious, unbridled, and unburdened by the weight of the world. That's what I love about kids. I do. I love it. I love them. And if the people closest to me think that my children will act this way then they must also think that I have a propensity to act this way. I'm not sure I could receive a better complement than that. As I continue on my quest for identity I am constantly analyzing realizations such as this to see what other hidden treasures I might glean. Not only did I learn something about myself – I am adventurous and enjoy experiencing new things – I also learned that I enjoy that same quality in other people, specifically children. But my education didn't end there. I also learned something much bigger, something about relationships. Living in community and building relationships isn't easy for me. In fact, sometimes I think relationships are downright annoying, irritating, and tiring . . . But processing this little incident helped me to see that I don't feel that way about kids. My nieces and nephews are my favorite people in the world, and when I think about my relationships with them they are always easy. There's no tension. It's completely free. Why is that? I think it's because they're more carefree. It's easy for them to love and trust someone, and that's affirming – at least for me – it builds me up, makes me feel good about myself, makes me want to spend more time with them . . . OK, so maybe every human being is just an overgrown child . . . I think there is some truth to this idea. Everyone wants to be carefree, to get rid of the baggage that weighs them down. Everyone wants a clean slate. Everyone wants a chance to tell their story and everyone deserves someone who will listen to that story. That's what I want to do. I want to give everyone a chance to tell their story and affirm that whatever it is, it's a beautiful story, worth being told. I don't simply want to care for children. I want to care for the child within. The part of every human being that desperately wants to be loved. That part that longs to tell their story – if only we can get to the point where we lay down our baggage, our insecurities and become so carefree that we will tell anyone who will listen.
Eileen and I making necklaces out if string & Me trying to get Eileen to sit still long enough to clean and
seashells from the beach in Muizenberg polish her nails . . .
