In less than a week, I will hug my parents, brother, and dogs goodbye, get in my car, and drive about 7 hours to Elbert, Colorado, where I will be living for over two months. No, I'm not headed there to take summer classes or to visit family; I'm going to be working at camp.
To some, the thought of spending nine or ten weeks surrounded by young children virtually 24/7 sounds like hell, but personally, I am very excited. I believe everyone has at least one thing they are great at, something that is their true passion in life, and over the past several years, I have realized that mine is working with children. (This is why I recently changed my major to elementary education, something I had been considering for quite awhile.) You see, the task of coaxing twenty 7-year-olds into making a circle doesn't phase me, and I can be asked the same question by the same child ten times in a ten minute period without losing my temper. As my friend said when we were discussing my move to the elementary education major, "Sarah, you are good with kids. Not many people are good with kids, so people who are good with kids should work with kids."
So, while many of my peers will spend their summer answering phones, making copies, and going on daily coffee runs for the office, I'll be running around all day with my cabin of 8-10 girls. Over the course of each day, I'll serve as a surrogate mother, nurse (There are real nurses on site, too!), entertainment director, referee, cheerleader, mentor, team captain, therapist, and tour guide. I'll make sure each camper brushes her teeth and puts on sunscreen in the morning, and I'll be there to mediate when they have an argument with another camper. I'll be the one to clean and put a Band-Aid on a minor cut, and I'll be sitting with them in the nurse's office if they get an injury I am not trained to handle by myself. I'll rock climb and horseback ride right along with them and will teach them lots of new goofy games. I'll wear many hats and will undoubtably be exhausted at the end of each day, but I can't think of a better way to spend a summer than at camp, working with other Jewish young adults and playing with kids all day.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Walmart: A 6-year-old's "home away from home"
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Bullying in our own Backyard
A national crisis. An epidemic. Taking lives at an alarming rate. No, I'm not talking about some new virus going around. I'm talking about bullying.
Bullying has made headlines quite a bit lately with the release of the new documentary, Bully. The film follows the lives of several bullied teens throughout the course of an entire school year. While I have yet to see the film, my point is that it has brought a lot of media attention to the issue of bullying.
As a kid, I was a head taller than almost every classmate, and I was pretty bright. While I wasn't all that different from the other kids, being so tall and often the first to understand concepts in class made me just enough of an oddball to be a victim of bullying. In 1st grade, one little boy had a "clubhouse" at recess, and I was not invited to join. In 2nd grade, a girl pushed me around daily while everyone was hanging up their backpacks in the classroom. In 4th grade, a couple of boys called me "smart one". In 6th grade, I had some leather shoes that I liked to wear and was called "moo shoes". These are just a few examples, and they were not isolated incidences; they happened daily for several months if not the whole school year.
I'm not trying to start a pity party here. At 20 years of age, I have some great friends and, perhaps more importantly, the freedom to avoid people who are mean. But looking back at my childhood, I can see an obvious pattern of being the victim of bullying. We learned about bullying at school, but it never occurred to me until I was older that what happened to me was bullying.
Despite being a victim of bullying, I never realized that what was happening to me was bullying, because bullying is taught to kids as something that happens to other people. "Kids, we're learning about this so that if you ever see it happening, you'll know how to respond." Are you kidding me? I have yet to see a school, youth group, sports team, Girl Scout/Boy Scout troop… you name it, that is truly free of bullying.
Kids are mean sometimes. It's how they are, but that does not mean that bullying is "just part of being a kid". The actual content of what we teach kids about bullying is fine, but we must adapt a "when you see it happening" attitude when we teach kids how to respond to bullying.
Let's stop looking at this issue as something that happens in other groups, other schools. Teachers, coaches, child care workers, youth leaders, camp counselors, please don't ignore it when a kid is obviously being singled out. And, speaking of obvious, bullying is often far from it. It's the way kids stand in a circle talking and won't let another child join in the group. It's the stepping on another child's heels while walking in line when the adult is at the front. It's the absence of passing to one particular team member. The response cannot be, "now, now, little Jimmy, let's be nice please". It must be a firm conversation with the bully, involving the bully's parents if necessary, that lets everyone know that bullying will not be tolerated under your supervision.
Accept it. Bullying is happening in every community. Posting on Facebook about how we want to end the national bullying crisis is lovely, but until each person takes some responsibility for this issue, things are not going to change.
Bullying has made headlines quite a bit lately with the release of the new documentary, Bully. The film follows the lives of several bullied teens throughout the course of an entire school year. While I have yet to see the film, my point is that it has brought a lot of media attention to the issue of bullying.
As a kid, I was a head taller than almost every classmate, and I was pretty bright. While I wasn't all that different from the other kids, being so tall and often the first to understand concepts in class made me just enough of an oddball to be a victim of bullying. In 1st grade, one little boy had a "clubhouse" at recess, and I was not invited to join. In 2nd grade, a girl pushed me around daily while everyone was hanging up their backpacks in the classroom. In 4th grade, a couple of boys called me "smart one". In 6th grade, I had some leather shoes that I liked to wear and was called "moo shoes". These are just a few examples, and they were not isolated incidences; they happened daily for several months if not the whole school year.
I'm not trying to start a pity party here. At 20 years of age, I have some great friends and, perhaps more importantly, the freedom to avoid people who are mean. But looking back at my childhood, I can see an obvious pattern of being the victim of bullying. We learned about bullying at school, but it never occurred to me until I was older that what happened to me was bullying.
Despite being a victim of bullying, I never realized that what was happening to me was bullying, because bullying is taught to kids as something that happens to other people. "Kids, we're learning about this so that if you ever see it happening, you'll know how to respond." Are you kidding me? I have yet to see a school, youth group, sports team, Girl Scout/Boy Scout troop… you name it, that is truly free of bullying.
Kids are mean sometimes. It's how they are, but that does not mean that bullying is "just part of being a kid". The actual content of what we teach kids about bullying is fine, but we must adapt a "when you see it happening" attitude when we teach kids how to respond to bullying.
Let's stop looking at this issue as something that happens in other groups, other schools. Teachers, coaches, child care workers, youth leaders, camp counselors, please don't ignore it when a kid is obviously being singled out. And, speaking of obvious, bullying is often far from it. It's the way kids stand in a circle talking and won't let another child join in the group. It's the stepping on another child's heels while walking in line when the adult is at the front. It's the absence of passing to one particular team member. The response cannot be, "now, now, little Jimmy, let's be nice please". It must be a firm conversation with the bully, involving the bully's parents if necessary, that lets everyone know that bullying will not be tolerated under your supervision.
Accept it. Bullying is happening in every community. Posting on Facebook about how we want to end the national bullying crisis is lovely, but until each person takes some responsibility for this issue, things are not going to change.
Friday, April 13, 2012
You know you're a camp counselor when...
I got my first summer job at the age of 16 when I was hired as a camp counselor at the day camp I had attended as a camper and then CIT (counselor-in-training) almost every summer for the 7 years prior. This summer will be my fifth working with children and my fourth specifically as a camp counselor. I also volunteered as a religious school aide for five years during middle school and high school and, since August 2010, have been teaching the 1st/2nd grade religious school class. I have come to realize over these past several years that working with kids is absolutely my passion, even my "calling", if you will.
Kids are funny, and working with them makes you a little goofy as well. Following the trend of lists titled "you know you're _____ when…", this is my list for being a camp counselor.
You know you're a camp counselor when…
You can think of more than three name games off the top of your head and could effectively lead one with no prior notice.
You regularly refer to your campers/students as "my kids" and people give you strange looks, sometimes even asking in disbelief if you really do have children of your own.
Your best stories involve something funny a kid said or did.
You can turn any activity into a game on the spot.
You take great pride in watching your campers/students accomplish something that you helped them achieve.
You have no shame in screaming silly songs at the top of your lungs.
During your hour off (overnight camp) or when you get home from work (day camp), you lie down and immediately pass out from exhaustion.
You would rather spend the day corralling 20 nine-year-olds than have to deal with one angry parent.
You know how to play more than two variations of dodgeball.
You realize all the other competitors are under the age of 10, but still, winning a game gives you a boost of self-confidence.
You are a pro at coming up with cheers for your group.
You have been asked the exact same question by more than three different children over the course of an hour.
The only time you go to the amusement park is on field trips with camp.
You have seen a child limp around all day, but when it is time for a fun game, they forget about their "injury" and go play.
Any injury that cannot be fixed with an ice pack, Band-Aid, and/or trip to the water fountain is probably a medical emergency.
You have told a child that you will not talk to them until they are wearing clothes.
You can often be seen walking around holding a giggling child upside down or on your shoulders.
You can make a crying child start laughing within minutes.
You can usually accurately guess the age of a child you have never seen before.
You have no problem wearing a weird hat, crazy hairstyle, or inside out and backwards clothing for a whole day.
You can be dressed and ready to go after swimming in under five minutes.
You can put sunscreen on twenty kids in a matter of minutes.
You have ever been given a presentation by an insurance company representative or watched a DVD provided by an insurance company outlining ridiculous things not to do with your children that someone has actually done before.
You can carry on a non-child appropriate conversation with another adult in such a way that no kids pick up on what you are actually talking about.
You have ever laid on the floor during group time and conducted a "contest" with your co to see which kid could give the best back massages.
You have ever repeatedly announced a group bathroom break only to have a kid come tell you they need to go to the bathroom the second you return.
You have a plethora of staff shirts that you rarely wear but refuse to donate or throw away.
You have never had to sign up for a CPR/first aid class because you get re-certified every year during staff week.
You have learned that regardless of what you say around middle schoolers, they will find a way to turn it into something dirty.
Kids are funny, and working with them makes you a little goofy as well. Following the trend of lists titled "you know you're _____ when…", this is my list for being a camp counselor.
You know you're a camp counselor when…
You can think of more than three name games off the top of your head and could effectively lead one with no prior notice.
You regularly refer to your campers/students as "my kids" and people give you strange looks, sometimes even asking in disbelief if you really do have children of your own.
Your best stories involve something funny a kid said or did.
You can turn any activity into a game on the spot.
You take great pride in watching your campers/students accomplish something that you helped them achieve.
You have no shame in screaming silly songs at the top of your lungs.
During your hour off (overnight camp) or when you get home from work (day camp), you lie down and immediately pass out from exhaustion.
You would rather spend the day corralling 20 nine-year-olds than have to deal with one angry parent.
You know how to play more than two variations of dodgeball.
You realize all the other competitors are under the age of 10, but still, winning a game gives you a boost of self-confidence.
You are a pro at coming up with cheers for your group.
You have been asked the exact same question by more than three different children over the course of an hour.
The only time you go to the amusement park is on field trips with camp.
You have seen a child limp around all day, but when it is time for a fun game, they forget about their "injury" and go play.
Any injury that cannot be fixed with an ice pack, Band-Aid, and/or trip to the water fountain is probably a medical emergency.
.jpg) |
| image from www.gymnasticsnevada.com |
You can often be seen walking around holding a giggling child upside down or on your shoulders.
You can make a crying child start laughing within minutes.
You can usually accurately guess the age of a child you have never seen before.
You have no problem wearing a weird hat, crazy hairstyle, or inside out and backwards clothing for a whole day.
You can be dressed and ready to go after swimming in under five minutes.
You can put sunscreen on twenty kids in a matter of minutes.
You have ever been given a presentation by an insurance company representative or watched a DVD provided by an insurance company outlining ridiculous things not to do with your children that someone has actually done before.
You can carry on a non-child appropriate conversation with another adult in such a way that no kids pick up on what you are actually talking about.
You have ever laid on the floor during group time and conducted a "contest" with your co to see which kid could give the best back massages.
You have ever repeatedly announced a group bathroom break only to have a kid come tell you they need to go to the bathroom the second you return.
You have a plethora of staff shirts that you rarely wear but refuse to donate or throw away.
You have never had to sign up for a CPR/first aid class because you get re-certified every year during staff week.
You have learned that regardless of what you say around middle schoolers, they will find a way to turn it into something dirty.
Friday, February 17, 2012
David
It was the very beginning of spring semester 2011, so either January or February. A career fair was happening over a two-day period at the newly finished convention center, and my English teacher was offering extra credit for going. Naturally, I decided to stop by. I planned to just grab a handout to prove that I was there, and maybe walk around for a few minutes, but I ended up doing something there that really changed my life.
All throughout my life, I had been actively involved in volunteer work and community service. When I was little, I mostly tagged along with my mom to various volunteer projects she was doing. As I got older, I started my own volunteering, and as I teen, my main volunteer job was being an aide in my temple's religious school. For five years in middle and high school, I came almost every Sunday during the school year and worked for two and a half hours. I was in the kindergarten for three years and the third grade for two. However, after I graduated from high school and went away to college, I wasn't involved in volunteer work like I had been all my life.
I was moseying through the fair, glancing at each booth, when one caught my eye: Big Brothers Big Sisters. I had heard of the organization before; I passed a BBBS clothing donation center every day on my drive to and from school. I never gave it much thought, though, because volunteers with this organization have to be at least eighteen. When I saw the BBBS booth at the career fair, it occurred to me that, at nineteen, I was eligible to be a Big in the program. I also realized that I wasn't doing much volunteer work at all anymore. I approached the table and stayed for awhile, learning more about the organization. Before leaving, I signed up to be a volunteer.
The interview and matching process was pretty lengthy. I heard somewhere that the organization spends $500 making each match, which includes interviews with parents, children, and prospective volunteers, and extensive background checks. (I don't know if that figure is accurate, but they are definitely very thorough.) I was interviewed about myself, my past experiences, and my interests to help the match specialist find a kid who would be compatible. I was also fingerprinted (each finger on both hands!) and background checked. Within a few months, I was informed that I passed the background check (shocker) and was going to be accepted as a volunteer. At that point, I was eligible to be matched with a child.
It was several weeks or maybe even over a month before I was matched. I remember the moment very well. I was at the dining hall eating dinner with friends and saw that I had a missed call from BBBS. I got up from the table and returned the call. The voice on the other end told me I was going to be matched with a six-year-old boy named David, and how soon could I meet him. I was so excited! Unfortunately, the end of the semester was quickly approaching, and I would be living at home three hours away for summer break. As much as I wanted to meet my new Little Brother right away, the BBBS staff and I both knew it was in David's best interest not to meet me once and then not see me again for three months.
After a whole summer of anticipation, I finally met David the week I returned to school in August. It was a Friday afternoon, and I got to the office before David and his mom. I was sitting in the main room waiting when in came a little boy. It had been over three months since I found out that I was going to be David's Big Sister, and in that time I had formed a picture of what he would look and act like. He was totally different. We were put in a room together to chat and get to know each other, and he hovered over the little toys he had brought, explaining them to me in such a soft voice, and rarely making eye contact. I had been told that David and I would be a great match because we are both high energy people, so I was confused and a little concerned by this behavior. Nonetheless, David, his mom, the match specialist, and I all signed a lot of paperwork that day, and with that, the match was officially in effect until the following August, when we would reassess and have the option to renew for another year.
I am amazed at how far we have come from that day. I now realize that David was behaving like any typical six-year-old would when put in a room with a total stranger for fifteen minutes. He is now seven, and we are much more comfortable talking to each other and being together. For over six months now, excluding the five or so weeks I was home for winter break, I have spent time with David consistently. We usually spend 2-4 hours together each week. We have done so many different activities together, including cooking, swimming, Zumba, going to the pumpkin patch/corn maze, and attending a September 11 memorial event. Recently, I took David on his first ever hike. It was a little over a mile each way, and we had lunch at the waterfall at the halfway point. On the way back to the car, he told me it was the best day of his life. I have tried, especially lately, to encourage our meetings to include activities David has never done before. I tell him he can go swimming anytime, but he might only get to go hiking with me.
It's pretty cool how big of an impact a small amount of time can have, and I think we have both benefited. I have gained experience interacting with a child, and I get to do activities that I would never do at my age if I wasn't with David. David is learning new skills and trying new activities, and he has an additional adult in his life who cares about him. It has been an almost exclusively positive experience for me, and I hope to continue to be matched with David for the next two and a half years I have left of college. This weekend we are going mini golfing- another new activity for David!
All throughout my life, I had been actively involved in volunteer work and community service. When I was little, I mostly tagged along with my mom to various volunteer projects she was doing. As I got older, I started my own volunteering, and as I teen, my main volunteer job was being an aide in my temple's religious school. For five years in middle and high school, I came almost every Sunday during the school year and worked for two and a half hours. I was in the kindergarten for three years and the third grade for two. However, after I graduated from high school and went away to college, I wasn't involved in volunteer work like I had been all my life.
I was moseying through the fair, glancing at each booth, when one caught my eye: Big Brothers Big Sisters. I had heard of the organization before; I passed a BBBS clothing donation center every day on my drive to and from school. I never gave it much thought, though, because volunteers with this organization have to be at least eighteen. When I saw the BBBS booth at the career fair, it occurred to me that, at nineteen, I was eligible to be a Big in the program. I also realized that I wasn't doing much volunteer work at all anymore. I approached the table and stayed for awhile, learning more about the organization. Before leaving, I signed up to be a volunteer.
The interview and matching process was pretty lengthy. I heard somewhere that the organization spends $500 making each match, which includes interviews with parents, children, and prospective volunteers, and extensive background checks. (I don't know if that figure is accurate, but they are definitely very thorough.) I was interviewed about myself, my past experiences, and my interests to help the match specialist find a kid who would be compatible. I was also fingerprinted (each finger on both hands!) and background checked. Within a few months, I was informed that I passed the background check (shocker) and was going to be accepted as a volunteer. At that point, I was eligible to be matched with a child.
It was several weeks or maybe even over a month before I was matched. I remember the moment very well. I was at the dining hall eating dinner with friends and saw that I had a missed call from BBBS. I got up from the table and returned the call. The voice on the other end told me I was going to be matched with a six-year-old boy named David, and how soon could I meet him. I was so excited! Unfortunately, the end of the semester was quickly approaching, and I would be living at home three hours away for summer break. As much as I wanted to meet my new Little Brother right away, the BBBS staff and I both knew it was in David's best interest not to meet me once and then not see me again for three months.
After a whole summer of anticipation, I finally met David the week I returned to school in August. It was a Friday afternoon, and I got to the office before David and his mom. I was sitting in the main room waiting when in came a little boy. It had been over three months since I found out that I was going to be David's Big Sister, and in that time I had formed a picture of what he would look and act like. He was totally different. We were put in a room together to chat and get to know each other, and he hovered over the little toys he had brought, explaining them to me in such a soft voice, and rarely making eye contact. I had been told that David and I would be a great match because we are both high energy people, so I was confused and a little concerned by this behavior. Nonetheless, David, his mom, the match specialist, and I all signed a lot of paperwork that day, and with that, the match was officially in effect until the following August, when we would reassess and have the option to renew for another year.
I am amazed at how far we have come from that day. I now realize that David was behaving like any typical six-year-old would when put in a room with a total stranger for fifteen minutes. He is now seven, and we are much more comfortable talking to each other and being together. For over six months now, excluding the five or so weeks I was home for winter break, I have spent time with David consistently. We usually spend 2-4 hours together each week. We have done so many different activities together, including cooking, swimming, Zumba, going to the pumpkin patch/corn maze, and attending a September 11 memorial event. Recently, I took David on his first ever hike. It was a little over a mile each way, and we had lunch at the waterfall at the halfway point. On the way back to the car, he told me it was the best day of his life. I have tried, especially lately, to encourage our meetings to include activities David has never done before. I tell him he can go swimming anytime, but he might only get to go hiking with me.
It's pretty cool how big of an impact a small amount of time can have, and I think we have both benefited. I have gained experience interacting with a child, and I get to do activities that I would never do at my age if I wasn't with David. David is learning new skills and trying new activities, and he has an additional adult in his life who cares about him. It has been an almost exclusively positive experience for me, and I hope to continue to be matched with David for the next two and a half years I have left of college. This weekend we are going mini golfing- another new activity for David!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Mali at 12
Last month, our nearly 12-year-old dog Mali was diagnosed with Cushing's Disease. We learned that it is a fairly common condition in small older dogs and is caused by a tumor growing in the brain. This was incredibly scary news, but we also learned that with proper treatment, Mali can live about three more years. Realizing that Mali is going to die all too soon is really my first experience with death as an adult. I have heard it said that mortality gives us perspective in life; we appreciate every moment because we know it won't last forever.
It was just an average day in November 2000, and my brother Greg and I were in the mini van with our dad when we stopped at Bill's Lock and Key to get a key made. I was eight and Greg had just turned six. We walked in with our dad and as he approached the counter, a 10-month-old puppy came running out to greet us. Greg and I immediately sat down on the floor and began to play with her.
My dad got the key made and then shifted his attention to the dog. We were told she belonged to the key shop owner's daughter, Colleen, who was working that day. Colleen saw how happy Greg and I were with the dog, and before he knew it, my dad was being asked if we would like to be the dog's new owners. Colleen told us that she was moving into a new living space and would not be able to keep the dog. For the two or so years prior, our family had not had a dog. A day later, after getting Mom's approval, we went back to the key shop and took Mali home.
After learning more about Mali's history, we realized she was meant to be our dog. At the time, my grandparents had a springer spaniel named Molly. Not only did our new dog have the same name, but she was a beagle/springer mix. We also learned that her estimated birthday was either my birthday or the day after.
Mali's life started out rough. She was found in the middle of a road at just a few weeks old. The person who found Mali was not able to keep her, so she gave Mali to Colleen. Despite her rough start, Mali was an energetic, cuddly little girl.
On Mali's first night at our house, my parents were going out on a date, so Greg and I had a babysitter. I don't remember why, but for some reason the babysitter and I both thought Mali was going to throw up. The babysitter suggested we put Mali outside so there would be no clean up, but I insisted on keeping her inside with us and promised I would clean up if she threw up. Well, Mali did throw up, and I refused to clean it! Mali slept in a basket bed on her first night, but on her second night, she got out of the bed and came to see us. Thus, she began sleeping in a crate with the door closed for several years, until it was determined that she would be allowed to sleep in my room with me.
When Mali was young, she had a dog toy soccer ball, and I was an avid soccer player. I used to dribble the toy ball around the yard and Mali would chase me and nip at the ball, trying to steal it. I would let her have it sometimes, and she would put it in her mouth and run around the yard while I chased her. I even took a photo of Mali with the soccer ball as if it was her team picture. She also had a toy that I believe came from my grandma called a "Wiggly Giggly". It was a ball that rolled around and made a bunch of noise. Mali and I loved to play with it.
At Mali's dinnertime, I used to take her bowl of food out into the backyard and throw it to her, one piece at a time. Back then Mali had great vision and caught most of the pieces in the air. She found the ones she missed on the ground and left prints of saliva on the deck from picking them up.
When Mali was just a couple years old, I was visiting my grandparents in Kansas City when my mom told me that Mali was having surgery to remove her four top front teeth. They had become rotten. This barely affected her at first except that, while relaxing, her tongue would stick out of the front of her mouth because there were no teeth to hold it back.
One summer Greg and I built a clubhouse in the backyard, and we wanted more than anything for Mali to be part of it. She had other plans. We tried to coax her to sit with us and hang out, but she was much more interested in running around the rest of the yard. Greg and I also learned how to climb the tree around this time, and we begged our mom to let Mali come up into the tree with us. Needless to say, this request was denied.
When Mali was two, she joined us on a family road trip to visit our grandparents in Kansas City. We stayed there two weeks, and among other things, Mali was there for the wedding I planned at age ten for two of my teddy bears.
When Mali was about four, my friend Katie and her mom introduced me to the dog park, and we started taking Mali. My dad would take Greg and Mali and me, and we would throw the football around while Mali socialized. When I was fifteen and had just gotten my provisional license, the first place I drove was with Mali to the dog park.
In 2006, a big change happened for Mali; she was no longer the only dog in the house. We had been talking about getting a second dog for awhile, both to keep Mali company and because Greg and I fought over who got to play with Mali. We welcomed Scout into our home, a young adoptee from Animal Humane. When I first saw Scout and Mali together in the backyard, I cried because I thought this was so terrible for Mali. Although Scout and Mali have their moments, I think she has come to love him. Additionally, his youth has kept her active.
All through high school, Mali was my nap buddy. I was an exhausted teenager who often came home after school and took Mali with me to "nap time". Mali had no problem passing out with me for a couple hours, and I enjoyed her company.
In August 2010, I started college three hours from home, and probably the hardest part was leaving my dogs behind. With my human family, I could communicate via phone and internet, and they knew where I was and what I was doing. I had no way of telling my dogs where I was or when I would be back. In February of my freshman year, my mom and Mali drove down to visit me. Mali was still healthy at this point, except for her eyesight which has been declining since she was only about five. We loved having her, but I don't think she had much fun, as it is hard for a sight-impaired dog to travel somewhere she has never been. Still, I am happy that she has seen where I go to school.
This past summer, Mali stopped jumping onto my bed. This, along with other seemingly unrelated symptoms, was what led the vet to the Cushing's diagnosis. Thanks to her treatments, I am thrilled that she can now jump onto my bed, hesitantly but with strong legs.
Mali is absolutely my childhood dog. I took her to show-and-tell in fourth grade, and next month, I will turn 20 and she will turn 12. She was the first dog I was allowed to take for walks all by myself, the first dog to get to sleep in my room at night, and the first dog to ride in the car with me while I drove. There is no telling what the next few years will bring for her, but I know that she has lived a long, happy life, and has meant more to me than I could express.
It was just an average day in November 2000, and my brother Greg and I were in the mini van with our dad when we stopped at Bill's Lock and Key to get a key made. I was eight and Greg had just turned six. We walked in with our dad and as he approached the counter, a 10-month-old puppy came running out to greet us. Greg and I immediately sat down on the floor and began to play with her.
My dad got the key made and then shifted his attention to the dog. We were told she belonged to the key shop owner's daughter, Colleen, who was working that day. Colleen saw how happy Greg and I were with the dog, and before he knew it, my dad was being asked if we would like to be the dog's new owners. Colleen told us that she was moving into a new living space and would not be able to keep the dog. For the two or so years prior, our family had not had a dog. A day later, after getting Mom's approval, we went back to the key shop and took Mali home.
After learning more about Mali's history, we realized she was meant to be our dog. At the time, my grandparents had a springer spaniel named Molly. Not only did our new dog have the same name, but she was a beagle/springer mix. We also learned that her estimated birthday was either my birthday or the day after.
Mali's life started out rough. She was found in the middle of a road at just a few weeks old. The person who found Mali was not able to keep her, so she gave Mali to Colleen. Despite her rough start, Mali was an energetic, cuddly little girl.
On Mali's first night at our house, my parents were going out on a date, so Greg and I had a babysitter. I don't remember why, but for some reason the babysitter and I both thought Mali was going to throw up. The babysitter suggested we put Mali outside so there would be no clean up, but I insisted on keeping her inside with us and promised I would clean up if she threw up. Well, Mali did throw up, and I refused to clean it! Mali slept in a basket bed on her first night, but on her second night, she got out of the bed and came to see us. Thus, she began sleeping in a crate with the door closed for several years, until it was determined that she would be allowed to sleep in my room with me.
When Mali was young, she had a dog toy soccer ball, and I was an avid soccer player. I used to dribble the toy ball around the yard and Mali would chase me and nip at the ball, trying to steal it. I would let her have it sometimes, and she would put it in her mouth and run around the yard while I chased her. I even took a photo of Mali with the soccer ball as if it was her team picture. She also had a toy that I believe came from my grandma called a "Wiggly Giggly". It was a ball that rolled around and made a bunch of noise. Mali and I loved to play with it.
At Mali's dinnertime, I used to take her bowl of food out into the backyard and throw it to her, one piece at a time. Back then Mali had great vision and caught most of the pieces in the air. She found the ones she missed on the ground and left prints of saliva on the deck from picking them up.
When Mali was just a couple years old, I was visiting my grandparents in Kansas City when my mom told me that Mali was having surgery to remove her four top front teeth. They had become rotten. This barely affected her at first except that, while relaxing, her tongue would stick out of the front of her mouth because there were no teeth to hold it back.
One summer Greg and I built a clubhouse in the backyard, and we wanted more than anything for Mali to be part of it. She had other plans. We tried to coax her to sit with us and hang out, but she was much more interested in running around the rest of the yard. Greg and I also learned how to climb the tree around this time, and we begged our mom to let Mali come up into the tree with us. Needless to say, this request was denied.
When Mali was two, she joined us on a family road trip to visit our grandparents in Kansas City. We stayed there two weeks, and among other things, Mali was there for the wedding I planned at age ten for two of my teddy bears.
When Mali was about four, my friend Katie and her mom introduced me to the dog park, and we started taking Mali. My dad would take Greg and Mali and me, and we would throw the football around while Mali socialized. When I was fifteen and had just gotten my provisional license, the first place I drove was with Mali to the dog park.
In 2006, a big change happened for Mali; she was no longer the only dog in the house. We had been talking about getting a second dog for awhile, both to keep Mali company and because Greg and I fought over who got to play with Mali. We welcomed Scout into our home, a young adoptee from Animal Humane. When I first saw Scout and Mali together in the backyard, I cried because I thought this was so terrible for Mali. Although Scout and Mali have their moments, I think she has come to love him. Additionally, his youth has kept her active.
All through high school, Mali was my nap buddy. I was an exhausted teenager who often came home after school and took Mali with me to "nap time". Mali had no problem passing out with me for a couple hours, and I enjoyed her company.
In August 2010, I started college three hours from home, and probably the hardest part was leaving my dogs behind. With my human family, I could communicate via phone and internet, and they knew where I was and what I was doing. I had no way of telling my dogs where I was or when I would be back. In February of my freshman year, my mom and Mali drove down to visit me. Mali was still healthy at this point, except for her eyesight which has been declining since she was only about five. We loved having her, but I don't think she had much fun, as it is hard for a sight-impaired dog to travel somewhere she has never been. Still, I am happy that she has seen where I go to school.
This past summer, Mali stopped jumping onto my bed. This, along with other seemingly unrelated symptoms, was what led the vet to the Cushing's diagnosis. Thanks to her treatments, I am thrilled that she can now jump onto my bed, hesitantly but with strong legs.
Mali is absolutely my childhood dog. I took her to show-and-tell in fourth grade, and next month, I will turn 20 and she will turn 12. She was the first dog I was allowed to take for walks all by myself, the first dog to get to sleep in my room at night, and the first dog to ride in the car with me while I drove. There is no telling what the next few years will bring for her, but I know that she has lived a long, happy life, and has meant more to me than I could express.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Summer in December?
By the end of winter break, a college student is supposed to have filled out dozens of applications, had an interview or two, and have a great summer job lined up and ready to go come May. Right? Maybe… So here I am, halfway through break, still not quite sure what I want to do this summer. But never fear, I have a few viable options.
Option A) Work at an overnight summer camp. My only experience as an overnight camp counselor was the summer after I graduated high school. I arrived in North Carolina for my first time ever in the south (excluding the Atlanta airport in 2006) and began a wonderful, challenging, exhausting experience at URJ 6 Points Sports Academy, the nation's first overnight Jewish sports camp. Overall it was a good experience, but upon returning home 7 weeks later, I decided that one summer was enough. I thought that I just couldn't handle another summer of working 15 hour days, 7 days a week, surviving on 6-7 hours of sleep a night and a mere hour per day not surrounded by giggling, whining, adorable, loud children. Because of the challenging environment, I grew up a lot that summer, and I think it prepared me well for college. (Going to college and living on my own is much easier than this job was.)
And yet, a year and a half after completing what was arguably the most difficult job of my life, I am considering once again working at a camp. Why? I LOVE working with children. I think most people are good at many things, but have one area in which they are truly excellent. For me, that is working with children.
If I were to work at a camp again, I think I would like to work closer to home. 6 Points was an amazing chance to see a new part of the country, but I was also quite out of my element. Additionally, the humidity was disgusting. (Yes, I am spoiled with such low humidity in New Mexico.) Currently I am looking at Rancho del Chaparral near Cuba, New Mexico and JCC Ranch Camp in Colorado.
Rancho del Chaparral is a camp at which I spent many summers as a kid. It was formerly run by Girl Scouts of Chaparral Council, hence the name. A few years ago, two New Mexico councils merged to form Girl Scouts of New Mexico Trails, so now this new council operates Rancho. I first attended various family sessions at Rancho with my family and other families from our troop, and then attended resident camp by myself for the first time when I was 11. It is absolutely an outdoors camp. Girls (and staff) live in platform tents and other structures with no electricity. There is running water but it is not heated, and the bathrooms are latrines (port-a-potties). The biggest pro about this option is that I loved this camp as a little kid so it would be meaningful to go back as a staff member.
 |
| Rancho del Chaparral near Cuba, New Mexico |
JCC Ranch Camp is about a 6-hour drive from home and is run by JCC Denver. I have never been, but I have heard some about it and have checked them out online. They seem to be an outdoorsy Jewish camp, with 400 acres of land and many outdoor activities like rock climbing, horseback riding, and overnight out-of-camp trips by bike, horse, and foot. They serve both boys and girls from 2nd grade through high school age. The biggest pro about this option is that is that it is a Jewish camp.
 |
| JCC Ranch Camp Elbert, Colorado |
Option B) Get a "real job" in town. The biggest pro to this option would be seeing my home friends who I don't get to see nearly as often now that we are in college. If I work at a camp, I would be gone for 8-10 weeks, a huge chunk of our time off from school. If I did live at home and work, I think I would like to get a job in a field related to what I want to do after college. Right now this is a little bit up in the air, but I think I'd like to go into physical therapy, elementary school PE, personal training, or health promotion. Then again there is the idea of working at a camp as my "real job" after college… we'll see where I end up!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)