Hopefully the post title will get you thinking enough to realize that I still haven’t posted that 4-parter about my trip to Ethiopia. In my defense, I have been insanely busy, and for the most part, I’ve been crashing pretty early in the evening. I’m still jet-lagging a bit, but I’m getting better every day, even though my job requires me to wrangle children every morning. I’m making it a point to stay up later and later until, ultimately, I forego sleep completely and get over it’s death-grip on me.
Ethiopia, eh? Do inquiring minds want to know? My guess is probably not. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that most of you (I think there are only like 3 or 4 of you anyhow) got the information you wanted when you read that the trip went well, we all are safe, and I did not, in fact, bring home an Ethiopian bride. As a result, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to keep blogging as normal. When I come across a little tidbit of my day that has some tie (whether direct or through some strange convolution in my mind) to my experiences from Ethiopia, I’ll share it. As I was talking with my dad this past weekend, that method seems best. That way, those who don’t care don’t have to worry about wordy descriptions and narrations, and those who do will get all the information they want without the burden of listening (or reading) for ridiculously long periods of time. It’s a win-win.
And now for the substance of tonight’s post, now that I’ve got THAT out of the way: Children.
Yes, children. There are many of them and many different kinds of them, and I have been charged with wrangling them all. You see, I’m a camp counselor, and it is my job to make sure the kids do not a)run off b)hurt themselves c)hurt each other d)use the restroom in inappropriate places e)run off f)die g)everything else. I have great fun doing it though. The children are mostly pretty great. They all call me sir, and they do what I say on the fourth or fifth (counting in thousands) time.
In all seriousness, the kids are great, and I have been having a blast playing along side them in the drama classes, or lego classes, or whatever. I may look rough and gruff, but get me around those darn kids, and I really pretty much melt. (Note to my potential future children, assuming the laptop sitting in my lap doesn’t kill you: I will be a push-over, especially if you are daughter-childs)
Just like the morning we spent in Addis, playing games we couldn’t understand the words to with Ethiopian kids, I get a sense of wonder and, to be honest, jealousy watching the children play, laugh, sing, and do it all without the slightest care who’s watching or what they look like in the process. The kids in Addis, even the 16 and 17 year olds, sang along with Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes were no less happy, no less satisfied with their states of being than the children I saw today at work.
Makes one wonder just where we’ve gone wrong, doesn’t it? I mean, the orphans in Ethiopia, leastwise, the ones that we saw, were happy, content, and seemingly joyful at their situations just like the kids I saw today were. Why is it that they are able to be so contented with the relative nothingness of what they have in comparison to the relative totality of what children in America have? Don’t get me wrong: I’m all for capitalism, and I feel extremely blessed to be in such a successful country, coming from such a successful background, but I wonder what is missing from my own life that makes me unhappy when, say, the air conditioner is on the fritz and it’s a little hot, or I can’t get a certain something I want, when I don’t have to worry about food, water, or shelter. Seems a little vain to me; seems a little shallow.
Why don’t we all, religious affiliation aside, take joy in the successes and extravagances we enjoy, when there are so many who would rather just have a piece of bread. So many both in this very country and out of it. It’s shameful to me to think of all the petty annoyances I have let ruin entire days, when I should just be grateful of the things I always have that others might not.
I saw the difference in attitude first in the kids today at work, then I saw it in myself, and I was truly ashamed.
