When Jamal jumped off the summer camp roof, I breathed a sigh of relief.
At just 7 years old, he was a terror to deal with. His Grandma dropped him off the week before with a few words about Jamal’s tough background and a kiss on his cheek.
He instantly sparked a resounding sense of empathy in me. Perhaps I saw myself in him, and wished for a safe space too.
The summer camp attracted kids who didn’t fit into a “regular” place. Some were trouble, some couldn’t pay, and others needed the casual environment we had.
Jamal fit all 3.
It was a small camp, with 14 children between the ages of 4 and 10. Jamal stood out for his independent spirit and fear of connection to the other kids. He’d bounce in at 9 am with a frown on his face and go hide in the garage. When I’d go looking for him, he would run off, weaving between cars in back alleyways, refusing to come back.
I struggled daily to reign him in while doing my best to stay positive. I assigned him the post of assistant counselor so he’d feel included, served him lunch after he missed each meal, and reminded him again and again that in this camp, we don’t throw rocks at kids.
But when Jamal jumped off the 1-story roof, I reached my limit.
I told his grandma he couldn’t come back for a week. While I felt guilty sending him back to his unstable home, he was putting himself in danger.
I was 14 years old and managing 13 other kids; I hardly fit into this adult role.
The next Monday, Jamal walked in like usual. Frown on his face, he ran to the garage to hide. I stood by the door, told him how happy I was to see him, and invited him in for a craft.
We repeated the cycle daily - the more love I poured into him, the deeper in his shell he went.
Nothing changed.
Until one day, I heard a knock on the window. Jamal was asking me to go outside. He led me to the side of the building and looked at me, expectantly.
Along the entire wall, Jamal had colored in chalk:
“Ms. Yehudis, can you hug me?”
Good thing my sunglasses were on.
Reigning in my emotions, I gently hugged Jamal and asked him if he’d like to join us inside. Hesitating, he glanced at the door and followed me in.
Things changed…slowly. Jamal started opening up; I even caught a smile or two. He hung around the campers a few hours at a time, watching games and constructing his own crafts in the corner. A few times a week, he sat at the edge of the kitchen bench, face bent into his food, laughing at the campers’ jokes.
By the time summer was up, he completely stopped running away.
Jamal taught me the lesson of my life. Give enough love, and healing will happen.
Another beautiful pearl <3
Such a memorable story for such an important lesson, loved it Yehudis!