Memories might “fall” away in this Autumn season. But then, some seem to surface as if to re-teach me what I need to learn. I just found this journal entry about my experience as a camp counselor at a unique weeklong away-from-home program for at-risk kids ages six to ten. Little was I prepared for the fact that I would be the one changed, challenged, and ultimately consecrated in my belief that youth hold the key to our future.

"Even before the children arrived, my preconceived notions were turned upside down in the meeting of other adult counselors and teen volunteers. Among them were former gang members, a Canadian social worker, music therapist, oncologist, Hollywood producer, a graffiti artist, a volleyball captain, South American refugees, and more. The outfits ranged from low rider pants and pierced belly buttons to NYU sweatshirts and over-sized, lace-less tennis shoes.  In the course of a week, I watched this crazy collection teach and love and play and control with a 24-hour diligence and compassion that DID accomplish its mission: to help kids feel supported by caring adults and discover how to create a community where you can have conflict without violence.

My seven, ten-year-old campers named themselves, “Princesses in Training”. That made me Queen-for-a-Week in a less-than-palatial San Bernardino mountain cabin where “turning neighbors into friends” was the motto of the Global Children’s Organization. Our faces told the story of age and origin: Hispanic, Korean, African, Russian, and Irish.

I surrendered my desire for Pennsylvania Dutch order and discovered that control works best if you present two equally acceptable choices. I learned repeat songs, link tag, and the precious value of waking everyone with a gentle voice and a back rub. My emotions ran from enthusiasm to despair, from excitement to anger, from obligatory concern to downright motherly love. In the absence of a clear-cut structure, the clarity of our intention created an amazing outcome. I re-wrote Dr. Seuss, got chased out of a building by a bear cub, thrilled at the tattoo on my arm (ok—magic marker but—hey!) and wept deeply with my kids when we parted seven days later."

Can a week make a difference? If anchored in emotion—most definitely. A mountain is worn down by drops of water. I was privileged to be one of the many drops.

P.S. I made my girls official “Princesses” on the last day. And the duty of a princess which they solemnly accepted: to care for her people. Now, years later, I hope they remember that duty.