This summer I had the opportunity to spend a week with foster kids at a camp called Royal Family Kids Camp. 30+ kids who normally don’t get childhoods were given a week of unconditional love, fun, & hearing about God. This is just one story, of one these kids. The name has been changed to protect his anonymity.
“You’re burning it! Josh you’re BURNING IT! JOSH YOU’RE BURNING IT!!!” Deandre screamed.
The truth is I wasn’t burning the marshmallows, I more had burnt them. Past tense. I’d drifted the marshmallow too close to the fire, then quickly blew the ensuing blaze out, hoping the s’more was still salvageable. Deandre had said he wanted his marshamallow “toasted, not burned.” I was hoping this would be okay.
“JOSH YOU’RE BURNING IT, YOU’RE BURNING IT!!!”
I was in this situation because Daniel, Deandre’s counselor for the week, was taking care of Deandre’s recently-skinned knee. Each kid’s counselor at the camp was making a s’more so I offered to step in. As I brought the s’more back toward the crew of campers sitting in the amphitheater, I assumed Deandre would get over the singed marshmallow and all would be well.
“Why did you do that?!? You BURNED it!!” Deandre yelled. His eyes were brimming with tears, his face angry. This was going south quickly.
I hadn’t expected this at all. I had expected him to be appreciative of me getting him a s’more in the first place. I expected him to remember that I was one of the guys who had played with him in the pool and who had let him look at the soundboard and showed him how it worked. And when he didn’t, I let a little “wait, seriously?” smile creep across my face.
“IT’S NOT FUNNY!!!!!!” Deandre screamed, and then he started sobbing. At this point the other 35 foster kids sitting in the amphitheater were staring as their 20+ counselors pretended not to.
I’d just inadvertently caused the Marsh-pocalypse. Continue reading