September 4. Trying.

This week was one of my hardest yet, even including last fall.
Everything fell apart.
Everyone had a bad day.
No one could do anything right, especially according to W.
We played a candy game. Roll the dice. If they're doubles, you get a candy. Everyone rolls again and again and every time you get doubles, you get candy, even if you already have a bag of Skittles or both the Snickers bars. W screams and screams and throws the dice across the table. N smiles, even when she doesn't get doubles. J tries a different trick every time- and gets four of the seven candy choices in the middle. T never gets anything, but encourages the others the whole time. L cries silently and refuses to roll and, therefore, gets no candy.
This lasts for what seems like ages until all the candy's gone. Then the game switches. We roll as usual, but now if you get doubles you get to steal someone else's candy. W flies off the handle, cursing and yelling and slamming the table. He throws his KitKat at T from across the room.
I tried to step in. He hates me, he says. Shut up, he says. You're stupid, he says.
Who knew an eleven-year-old very sad, very angry boy could make me feel so worthless.
K, the leader, spoke to the kids afterward about the game and its purpose. She asked them how they felt- helpless? Out of control? Frustrated? Kind of how you feel when you get taken from your parents and you're in a new place and you can't see your family or friends? Yep.
W gets even more upset. K proposes the idea that maybe we can control some things, like how we react. A bold move. You may now share if you'd like.
And, after fifteen minutes of stinginess and tension and pleading,
they all shared.
Then we went in the big room, and they shared with the little kids too. Until it was all gone. They were given the option of saving their candy in the kitchen, but every last Skittle was distributed.
Amazing.
Later that night, W screamed at me again, "You're just a volunteer! You don't know anything! You can't tell me to do anything!" and again made me feel two feet tall. I just loved him- loved him like I loved any other kid there. Screaming back won't work, getting offended won't work, and ignoring him won't work. I told him,"I WANT to be here. I don't have to be here, I want to."
He calmed down.
The night ended with two-year-old M crying as I put her in bed. She was petrified because someone knocked on her window the night before. A group of people jumped the fence and knocked on a two-year-old's window. How horrible can a person be? This little girl is now afraid to go to sleep because she doesn't know who's outside her room.
I cried silently as I rocked her and told her she was safe.