Sunday, July 31, 2005

Neon plastic cord

O.D. is when you look after the sleeping children while your co-councillor enjoys an evening of sanity elsewhere. What it basically amounts too is, your left sitting outside in the dark for three hours just in case a cabin wakes up for an impromptu sumo match. This is not as bad as it sounds, after spending a day with children round you every second, shouting, teasing, cajoling, moaning, laughing, negotiating, and whining, you learn to appreciate the peace.

Not that there is quiet, at the moment I can hear; a barrage of squick squick sounds that the consensus agree are insects (although I think they sound a little like magpies that live in my loft back home), the hum of the light above the steps, the collective sound of thirty boys sleeping and the lake lapping at the rocks

I am both amazed and cynically unsurprised that a group of growns complete lack of ability too get on when put in a confined space. I am starting to feel like a freak because I like and get on everyone here (and am well liked if people are to be believed). *sigh* maybe I should pick a fight too fit in? Nah fitting in was never really my style. I like everyone and if they don't like that, screw em,

sidenote; The Steves have gone and I miss them


Today I stopped an eight year old from hanging herself, she had tied on end of a skipping rope to the monkey bars and the other round her neck announcing to a gathering crowd that she was sick of people picking on her. Now I'm pretty sure it was just an extravagant gesture, more for the crowds' benefit. My mind cant help fast forward to the possible future where she trips and I am too late. I have the image stuck in my head of her struggling at the tightening neon cord. Why would an eight-year-old do that? Afterwards she clung to my leg and sobbed, shaking like a beaten dog, pleading not to be sent home scared of being with her mom, I'll say that again scared of being with her mom.

Sometimes in this job you have to go out of sight of the kids so they cant see you cry, I am aware that this may seem a little melodramatic but fuck you.


In other news, I got called "the best international male councillor we've ever had" the other day and I am staggered by the compliment especially as I comes from a lady I respect so much. I though I was doing just an ok job nothing more but I suppose sometimes ok is a lot to expect.


I have finally started to bond with the kids of this session; it started when doing their laundry (one of the five fucking thousand jobs I do per day). I looked at their little shorts and tiny socks and forgot about their big mouths and bigger attitude and realise how fragile these kids actually are, despite there egos and front. Its hard to stay mad at a child for being silly at dinner when you remember he is a ten year old in Power Ranger underwear and being silly at dinner is in his job description.


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