To Earth

Ouch!

Damn!

Summer jobs. An odd thing to think about with subzero temperatures and snow squall warnings. But I thought of one of my summer jobs today. Probably because I slipped an fell on my way out of the car and into the house. I hit a slick patch and in an instant I was down.

Later, sitting on the couch rubbing my hip, I realized that falling is a state of transition - a fluid state - a state with a definate beginning and a definate end. Falling was like life.

Wheeeeeeeee - thud.

You're done. Cooked.

Death. It's headed for me at breakneck speed.

You too.

Then I thought of a summer job I had in Trail, British Columbia. I was working with "emotionally disturbed" children. That was the label. But what they were was something different. Unloved kids. Unbright kids. Unwanted, unsuccessful, unlikely to succeed. What a mob. They resented being together - being seen with one another - but the escape from boredom into activity was too big of a draw.

I got to like them. They were actually kind of fun. And beyond the bravado, cool. Once I stopped being afraid of them - expecting failure - summer started to be fun.

What surprised me is that one by one, they talked to me. I had no healing agenda, the Mental Health Clinic just wanted activities for these problem kids. I was to provide those activities. And I did. Planned them, organized them, got help when needed - did it all. I don't remember the exact number of kids but there were 8 or 9. To one. Me.

One day I had arranged for a trip to a horse ranch where they were going to go on a trail ride. I'd cleared with the ranch who the kids were and who I was. No way I was going to put my butt into a saddle. I'd bring them, wait for them, take them home. During the hour that they'd be on the horses I would organize a couple details for upcoming activities.

But a problem occurred. One of the kids, Bryne, had never seen a horse up close. He was terrified. He didn't want to show it, he didn't want the other boys to know that he was afraid, couldn't let his guard down. But I saw it - luckily before they did.

"Swear at me," I whispered to him.

He looked at me, shocked at the request.

"Come on swear at me," suddenly he understood.

"You fat asshole, why the fuck did you bring us up here with these stupid fucking cowboys?"

I turned to the head horse guy - who had gone ashen and looked like he wanted to hang Bryne high, and said, "This one will stay here with me."

Then I turned to the kid, "Get your butt over to the car and wait there." He marched to the car muttering and cursing under his breath.

When they were all gone I got him out of the car, got my lunch bucket out of the trunk and we sat on a couple of large rocks and looked out over the ranch.

"Thanks," he said. I thought he was going to cry.

"When I told you to swear at me, I didn't expect you to be so good at it."

He grinned, "Sorry."

So we talked. First he wanted to know if I thought he was 'sissy' for not wanting to ride the horse. Nope. Did it mean he was weak. Nope. That he wasn't a man like the rest of them. Nope.

That done. We talked.

In that moment, I knew he trusted me. He told me that one day he wanted to fly in a plane. That it must be so cool to be so high that you can see the whole world. I'd been on many a plane by then and didn't tell him about the small windows and the uncomfortable seats. Instead I told him about the first time that I saw a cloud from overhead. About what it looked like - how it made me feel. His eyes glistened.

"Well, I hope I get to ride in a plane before I die," he said. A 10 year old talking about his demise worried that life wouldn't grant him his wish. A 10 year old used to life not granting wishes. A 10 year old who only had a tiny bit of hope left - having used up most of it just to get this far.

And today, years later, I wondered. That poor kid, from a life of poverty, did he take that plane ride?

I sat on the couch and it really mattered to me at that moment. It really mattered to me that that kid with the big wet eyes, the tiny shoulders with the big chip on them, the swagger that didn't quite work - it mattered to me that he got on a plane and saw a cloud from the other side. But I'll never know.

This week I got an email from a woman I work with. She wrote to me about a man who had a special event planned for a significant birthday. A dream and a wish that he'd had for years. It had been promised to him - and suddenly because of someone's concern, someone's interfering disagreement, it looked like it wasn't going to happen.

With a passion that sprang from a source I didn't understand, I emailed back. A flurry of email's later, it was going to happen.

Good.

We get to do that.

Facilitate dreams.

Like plane rides.

For little boys.

Before the fall ends.

Thud.