Summer Epilogue V: It’s All Greek To Me

According to Aristotle, a change must occur in something for its potentiality to become an actuality.

I think that’s what we here in 2007 AD call “walking the talk.” Or maybe “getting off your ass and doing something.”

The point of our Monday ventures into the great outdoors is not only to show the hoodlings that such non-street related places do, in fact, exist, but to also give them the opportunity to partake in things that 1) they’d never considered doing before, 2) they’d never believe they COULD do before, and 3) they’d be able to file away for future use as means to motivate or inspire them to meet the hurdles of their everyday lives.

And also have fun.

Basically, we are hoping these experiences will be useful to some of them in other capacities down the road… tools to help fuel that “change.”

All idealism aside, however, from the moment I read Co-Workerette’s planned outings a couple months back, this one stood out as particularly… incomprehensible.

Kayaking on the Potomac.

KAYAKING. On a VERY LARGE, DANGEROUS RIVER. With a huge group of inner-city teenagers, most of whom CAN’T SWIM, let alone ever been that close to a RAGING BODY OF WATER. IN BOATS DESIGNED TO FLIP OVER. WITH TOTALLY INADEQUATE SUPERVISION.

But would you believe it — this actually turned out to be my favorite day of camp so far. Remarkably stress-free. A few very capable “counselors” from Georgetown taught our shockingly rapt group exactly how to balance in the double-seated kayaks and the correct way to paddle and turn and all that good stuff. I think sheer terror kept them in line more than anything else.

Despite all my promulgating about expanding horizons, we don’t “force” them to participate in things like this. Early on, those who wanted to kayak headed over by the pile of life preservers, and those who didn’t moved off to the opposite side. I was pleasantly surprised to see that a large majority of the group was feeling brave. Not as surprising were those in the latter group — among them, Red and Cupcake.

Soup still wasn’t physically allowed to participate, so he just sort of sat there. Music Guru went along with the kayakers, and I volunteered to stay behind and keep the non-participants from drowning/ditching us for the nearest bus/hijacking any abandoned sailboats. My plans almost changed, though, when Pixel approached me wearing the universal mixed expression of terror, excitement and uncertainty. Very endearing.

“You gonna go?” I asked.

“I’on’ know.”

“You should! Is [Tyson] going? You can be partners.”

Shrug. “Why can’t you go with me?”

These are the times I can’t believe I’m the same person as nine months ago who had to resort to practically doing Tapas’ project for her just to engage in some kind of half-meaningful interaction.

“If you want to go, I’ll go with you,” I assured her.

But Tyson, fickle as a Midwestern spring, suddenly materialized, wanting to go. I made sure Pixel felt comfortable enough to go with him, and thankfully Tyson put on his tough guy act and assured her they’d be fine. I was off the hook.

I think it would have been a lot of fun to go along, but spending time relaxing in the shade also seemed like a decent way to spend the afternoon, too. First, though, came the matter of putting out the Dimples-ignited fire. Dimples’ boatmate wanted no part of being stuck in a precariously-balanced floating object with him. And who could blame her. But there was a numbers problem, and the two were forced to go together.

Everyone else was already downriver, positioned around the head counselor’s kayak as he presumably went through more instructions and rules. I let out a sigh — watching Dimples and his partner, just off the dock, literally paddle around in a circle and yell at each other.

I helped them get straightened out, and even managed to (slightly) control their yelling for a few minutes. But after their eighth crash into shore, I not-so-regretfully pulled the plug on Dimples’ first aquatic adventure. A previously sidelined hoodling volunteered to take his place, and Dimples’ poor former partner was finally kayaking in the correct direction. And I was stuck dealing with him for the rest of the afternoon. Lovely.

Dimples plopped down in the nearest lawn chair as Red and I watched our friends move further down the Potomac towards the Watergate and Kennedy Center until they were finally out of sight. The dock was located in Georgetown, almost directly in the shadow of the Key Bridge. The humidity, coupled with the trees surrounding us almost gave it a bayou-like feel. Not surprising, considering DC was built on a swamp. I’ve heard that’s a myth, though. But there were certainly “swampy areas” back then. Nevermind.

Anyway, Dimples was thankfully well-behaved, and along with Red and Cupcake, we chatted throughout the afternoon about catfish and nature and photography and some additional topics that I tried hard not to get involved in. I took a lot of pictures, both for camp project purposes, and for me, because I love this stuff.

Click here to see a bunch of my photos. Same username and password apply. (Email me if you need it — I don’t want the google spiders to index hoodling photos.)

Sometime during the course of the day, Red asked me what some of our other Monday trips were. She looked dejected when I told her that coming up, we’d be going biking.

“You don’t like riding bikes?”

“I don’ know how,” she answered. “Never done it.”

I’ve seen plenty of kids ride bikes in the hood, but I wasn’t really that surprised at Red’s admittance. If I’ve learned anything during my time in the hood, it’s that what one may consider to be ubiquitous traditions or rites of passages for “other” Americans don’t always apply here.

“I’ll teach you,” I promised.

“Really?” She sounded more skeptical than excited.

“Sure. I don’t want you missing out.”

It didn’t take long. After the kayaking kiddies got back, and everyone was milling around waiting for the bus, I asked one of the Georgetown counselors if I could borrow her bike to teach Red.

I can’t begin to articulate what it felt like, other than maybe this is what parents experience all the time — striving to be simultaneously reassuring and supportive and all-knowing… all the while wishing their kid to have the best time and to be a complete success at trying something new.

And so there, on a street divested of traffic underneath the main thruway to downtown, I held onto the back of the seat as she slowly pedaled along, the handlebars just as predictably wobbly as her Grade-A, Red-like wailing — one part excitement, one part hysteria. After some muttered encouragement, I warned her that I was going to let go — to which she pleaded the opposite position. Finally, like it was straight out of an episode of Full House, I let go and she solo-coasted down the street like a pro.

All it needed was Chariots of Fire playing in the background.

Then, like the aforementioned proud parent, I whipped out the camera and made her do it again.

So here it is. I’m running after her, trying not to laugh. The shaky camera can attest to that. The woman who runs by yelling encouragement is the Georgetown counselor. Red is beside herself with giddiness. Because of the echoing of being under the Whitehurst Freeway, it’s hard to hear, but let me translate –

“I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT,” said Red. “I DID IT!”

Click here for a little video of that second riding attempt.

I don’t know why that was so exhilarating. But I know it’s going to be among the fondest memories I have of my time here.

It really had been a fantastic afternoon. Probably because it was the first time during the camp that I was simply hanging out with my peeps and not nagging the new workers about stuff they shouldn’t be doing. It just felt like a normal, relaxing outing with friends — the kind of day they should be able to experience whenever they want, not just when a camp arranges it. Plus, those who went kayaking, including Pixel, returned with a kind of enthusiasm, confidence and just happiness that I haven’t seen in a long time. It was almost enough to make me forget that we had to pile back on the bus and drive across town to the Real DC.

So of course my proverbial bubble was burst on our way out, when I was thanking one of the other guides. She had a strange name and a stranger accent. We started small-talking and I discovered she was from Greece and this was her first day on the job in DC. She complimented the behavior of our brood (apocalypse now?) and was very curious about them.

“Are you from school?” she asked.

“Sort of. We’re a summer camp,” I tried to explain.

“Did they not know we going in water?”

She was referring to the fact that most of them showed up for a 100+ degree day on the river in 5 layers of denim.

“They knew,” I said, “but most of them have never done something like this. They didn’t really know how to prepare for it. We tried telling them to wear certain things, but it’s hard for them to understand.”

She just sort of stared at me, not entirely understanding, herself.

“A lot of them have never been to the river,” I tried again.

She was positively gobsmacked.

“In America?”

“Well, they– er… um, they all don’t live around here–” I struggled pathetically. “They aren’t exposed to these kinds of things in the inner city. It’s– uh, segregated– uh, there are bad areas–”

“They live in bad like TV?”

“Um… sort of.”

“I did not know that real.”

“Well, it’s– uh…” I was getting nowhere.

“I did not expect…” she grasped for the English translation. “I… why are they all one color?”

Wow.

Hmm.

Great question. How does one explain the nuances of racism, poverty, socioeconomics, and just plain facts of life to a poor English speaker when I can hardly put it in English myself?

I wanted to say, “hey — you’re Greek. You remember what your home dawg Aristotle said about a thing with potential? Something’s gotta change for it to become an actuality. Well, see, this country has a lot of potential. Always has, in fact, ever since the first smallpox blanket was gifted to those pesky Indians. Uh. But over the last couple hundred years, it just seemed a lot easier to leave a huge portion of that potential untapped. Sure, there were a few misguided souls who tried to realize the words of the founders, right — Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, We’re All Equal, Land of Opportunity… you know, that drivel. But here, in 2007, those of us fortunate enough to attend the Clermont County Fair can buy things like this and have a constant reminder of our nation’s fortune cookie pluralism hanging over the kitchen sink. We like to be politically correct about diversity and opportunity, but it’s mostly talk. And sometimes, not even that. Ya see, as long as those with the power and the access are fine and dandy, everyone else is just S-O-L. Including those darling children you’ve just spent the day with. Recognizing the potential in others and possessing the ability to enact change so we can “ALL” be fully-participating members of this great society… who needs that crap. Which is why I just taught a 16-year-old how to ride a bike for the first time. Whether she’d never done so due to poverty of money or poverty of parenting or poverty of life circumstance… that’s unclear. Whatever the reason, it remains symbolic of a nation driven by hypocrisy, delusion and selfishness. And so, in conclusion… all one color. Get it?”

Instead, all I could tell her was “I don’t know.”