Island

How are you reacting to the heat? Are you increasing your intake of fluids? Spending some time in airconditioning? Limiting the amount of physical activity you do during peak hours of the day?

Or like me, are you going absolutely off your rocker? The crazier I get, the less the heat bothers me. I think. I guess.

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An urban heat island is the phenomenon of hotter temperatures occurring in metropolitan areas, as opposed to rural, due to the high amounts of manufactured, heat-retaining materials present in higher concentration. An urban heat island. That's exactly what I feel like at times--I'm trapped on an island, and I'm starting to crack.

Urban Heat Island, Philadelphia, PA

I spent an hour and some change sitting in my one student's living room today. I was waiting with her and her family to meet a woman who would potentially sponsor her efforts to win the Miss Teen New Jersey Confidence Pageant. This isn't exactly part of my job description, by the way--posted up on a hot suede couch for an hour after work is over, hanging out with one of my students, her mom, her little sister, and her little sister's baby. To be honest though, that's some of the most fun I've had in a long time on this stifling island. Sometimes it doesn't take much to make me happy: a partially frozen bottle of water, a sputtering fan in a tiny window, air so thick you could swim in it, bantering like you're one of the family, feeling accepted, everyone being ignorant and goofy for no reason...all the while watching the latest developments and news team coverage on a nearby Camden tire fire--which is so close you can actually see the dark smoke billowing up across the sky, even smelling the toxic plume waft in every time the wind changes.

12 Alarm Fire, Camden, NJ (6/9/11)

So I guess the question really is, why do I stay on this island? Even Tom Hanks had to bail at some point.

I don't know. I guess I really just love these kids. There was a point when the potential sponsor finally arrived and said that she wanted to see my student's talent portion for the pageant. I couldn't even stifle my cheesy grin as I sat there and watched one of my kids recite a poem that I had helped her re-write before our Open Mic poetry show back in February. Every cue, every nuance that we had worked on, she nailed it. This was also the poem that won her first place in her division for last week's talent show. Just the recollection of how far she has come since I've known her is enough to make me mist over like a big sap...

Yet even still, I really hate this job sometimes. So much that it hurts.

But I can't help but really love these kids sometimes. So much...that it hurts. They're always in my face, always invading our office, always prodding, poking, bumping, and bruising. Trying to get any work done with all of them around is like wading through melted marshmallow.

They're really like crazy glue; they just found us one day, stuck to us, and never let go. Or maybe it's us that never let go of them? Either way, one of us is holding on tight.

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So where am I going with all of this? Everyone has read or heard one of those urban ministry stories where someone, usually someone white, mounts up all their bravery and courage and dares to walk and work amongst those horribly oppressed poor people. They work and they slave, and at the end of it all, there is some dramatic turnaround, some story that's both heart-wrenching and redeeming that just puts wind in our sails and lets us know that everything is gonna be just hunky-dory.

This isn't one of those stories. 

I don't have the strength or desire to tell one of those poor-little-hood-kid stories. What I am willing to tell you, though, is about my family...

I'll tell you about some bad --- kids with hearts of gold and no need for anyone to feel bad for them. We battle, we fight, we yell, we shove, we...love each other to death. Some are pregnant, some are in gangs, some have STDs, some are failing out of school, some...are the future leaders of this next generation. I can tell you for a fact, though, none of them need your sympathy. What most of them do need, actually, is a swift kick in the back pocket. The Bible says in Proverbs 23, and I quote, "Don't fail to discipline your child. They won't die if you spank them." So, who am I to argue with Scripture? 

That's really the beauty of my program: if you don't get enough love at home, we'll love you to pieces. And if you don't get whooped at home, we have a fresh one warming up for you. Just stop by our office.  

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Though I kid, it is truly an insanely potent mixture of emotions that are currently swirling around this island I'm on, especially as I prepare for our last day of programming of the school year tomorrow. Everything and everyone is crazy in my life, and it's hard to hold on what is true, and right, and good. So much so, that this blog post has devolved into something like stream-of-consciousness, writing exactly what I feel as I am trying to make sense of all the thoughts, emotions, and reflections I have regarding this past year of my life in Camden. The journey is no where near over, but I still (for whatever reason) have found myself grasping skyward to see if I can find and take hold of a solid rock to which I can cling.

And as I scroll through what I've written, I guess the best way to sum up all that I have said is to simply say this: 

It's hot out here, and we love these kids like crazy.