My days quickly blend together, but the faces stay clear. It is the people you meet that make a difference, and I am beginning to wonder if anything in my life has ever moved forward outside of relationships. I passed the 1,000 friends mark on Facebook without noticing it.
First camp was H. My camper from last year. He came back this year a different person. That is amazing—to see lasting changes. He was a leader. He dropped the f-bomb. He still has issues. But he is alive and working and changing and growing. Second camp was A., who turned to his teammate who had tears streaming down his face because he was so scared, and said “No Regrets!” And helped him finish climbing the wall.
Perhaps it is my co-workers, who inspire me and challenge me and are from all over the world with all over the board experiences. They rock. This camp it was Chin. Chin is all eyeballs and glasses and teeth awkwardness and I love him for it. He is huge hot pink sneakers that dwarf his body. He is constantly making trouble and on edge. But he is the one who cleans up everyone’s dishes at the end of the meal. Who wants to make a difference in the world. Chin is left handed.
I ate dinner with Chin and his team before the Rejecter. “The Rejecter” is powerful piece, set up carefully to give the children an experience of receiving a rejection (piece of paper) in front of the whole group. Rejections can be anything from “I reject you for wearing glasses” to “I reject you for being Asian.” It is carefully orchestrated so the kids can see the importance of properly handling rejection—not accepting it, and not becoming a Rejecter themselves.
The first time I saw this piece I cried. Because it is true—everyone will be rejected in their lives. For something—spoken or unspoken. And the pain—so much pain. And you look around the room at all those beautiful children and you think of all the pain that will be felt. It isn’t fair. But having the tools, knowing that I am me, and I don’t need to accept that rejection (that piece of paper being handed to me) or in turn reject someone else (throw it back to the “Rejecter”), can set them up for success in that pain.
And I want to empower these kids. I NEED to empower my kids. But to play the role of “Rejecter” is hard. You do it, because you know that this experience can save them pain and heartache, but you don’t know if they will understand that. There is no promise. I knew if I was ever going to show this to my kids in Brazil and explain what bullying does in a tangible way—I had to step up. I had to know I could do it and control my state, not knowing the outcomes.
My co-worker did it with me. Together, we passed out rejections and pointed and laughed at students. Called them fat. Called them a liar. Rejected them for their clothes, their looks, their race, and their religion.
The acting part went fine. But I didn’t count on how hard it would be to take off my costume and then sit in front of them. Most of them smiled at me. They understood. But it was strained, broken. The easy first impressionable friendship was gone forever. They looked at me differently, their 12 year old minds trying to understand how I could be this smiley girl after I had been that rejecter person. Trying to understand what it all meant. What life held for them.
Chin came up to me afterwards with big accusing eyes: “You rejected me for being left-handed! You found out about that at dinner!” It was true. Because I love being left handed. I love finding others who are as well. I had rejected most of the students for the very thing I admired most in them. Because those were the things that made them unique, and those were the things that called attention to them. Those are things this world laughs at, because it is where greatness lies. And greatness is scary.
I apologized to Chin—will you forgive me? “No!” He said emphatically, and walked away. I tried not to let it get to me. He was just a child—he would learn in time that I only did it to help him learn. But tonight, for us both, it only hurt.
The rest of the evening and the next morning felt different. The kids put on happy faces, but strained. Luckily, they forgive quickly. Before lunch the next day normal was restored, and they remembered I loved them and life was good. I tried to look for ways to let Chin know I thought he was great left-handed stuff. By the last evening, he came up to me with a big hug…and he said “I wrote you a note in your box.”
We each have a “love note” box, and where he had before placed a rejection slip into mine, he put a 12 year old grammatically correct note: “Rachel: you are so kind and thanks for taught me about writing. I’m proud to be a left-handed, be a special. Are you?”
Yes, Chin, I am proud to be a left-handed—a special. And I am so glad you know you are too. Never forget that—no matter what you are rejected for.
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