Lessons

Yesterday we had our weekly tutoring sessions after camp. I spent the hour or so teaching two of our boys about improper and mixed fractions, as well as giving them pointers on long division. They were attentive and I thought it went pretty well. We finished up a little early and had five minutes or so to hang out before take homes on the bus.

Earlier that day during program, we had done egg drops as a science activity when all of our kids were finished with their homework. We divided the kids up into teams and gave each team an egg and some cardboard, tape, and plastic with the instructions to create a container such that the egg, when dropped from the ceiling, would not break. It's a fairly standard science project. Our kids got really into it, and as it turned out, with three teams, it took two drops per team for just one of the teams' eggs to break. Apparently the older class, which was doing the same thing also experienced a great deal of success with their egg holders. In conclusion, after camp was over we had four or five kids running around with hitherto unbroken raw eggs.

Stevie and his cousin Rich had done really well in tutoring that day, so I told Stevie that if he wanted to, he could crack his egg over the sink provided that we cleaned up afterwards. He happily agreed to these conditions, and we did so (I am not sure why it is so entertaining to crack an egg; perhaps a number of our kids will go on to find their true vocation as world-famous breakfast chefs). As we were washing out the sink, Angelina, who had been working on reading came in and, seeing the yolk running down the drain, pulled out her own egg and cocked her arm to chuck it at the wall, the obvious and most sensible response to such a sight.

"Angelina," I said warningly, until I got her to make eye contact with me. "Do not throw the egg against the wall."

Angelina lowered her arm thoughtfully and then just as quickly raised it again, a smile coming over her face.

"Angelina," I said, "do not throw that egg."

Angelina pulled her arm back and cocked her wrist, her eyes still staring straight into my own.

"Angelina," I said, desperately, "do not throw that egg!"

Angelina finished her windup and then, still staring directly into my eyes, laughed and hurled the egg. I shot out my arm and managed to deflect the egg, which smashed against my palm before splattering behind me.

I lost it. Without actually shouting, I informed Angelina that what she had done was not ok, that I had told her directly not to throw the egg, that she had done so anyway, and that she should not be still laughing, as she was. By the time I was done, she was no longer smiling and I was beginning to regret the anger which was dripping from my voice. Fortunately, another intern came in, saw what was going on, and proceeded to talk Angelina through why what she had done was wrong and how we couldn't accept it because we cared about her and wanted to see her do well.

Angelina nodded and ran off to play catch. I later apologized to her for losing my temper. The reality is that these kids get yelled at all the time and my little episode was probably pretty forgettable. But it was still wrong of me to react that way and the anger that was pulsing through me was not acceptable. We try to create an environment where our kids are affirmed into respectful and thoughtful action, and I had failed to seize an opportunity to do that. It is regrettable, but more than that, it is a personal challenge; not just to have the patience to deal with misbehavior or disrespect, but the humility and creativity to see the agents of it as Christ does, and to use each moment of conflict as an opportunity to build them up as young adults. Fortunately, if there's one thing that I'm sure of, it's that our kids will give me plenty of opportunities to continue to try to develop my patience and affirmative correction.