Trying to help, but only hurting.
Trying to assist, but only do damage.
Then ask, why I get into arguments.
No one really knows the answer,
Regardless, it’s inevitable.

This summer was my very first
Summer of reality: working as a counselor.
When I walked off the camp bus that day,
The grass was so green,
It reflected the sun’s rays back at me.
I was a nervous and a little anxious,
I wasn’t sure what to fully expect.
The camp was packed with kids, kids of all ages.
I had fifteen kids, ages from three to four.
There was one, named John.
He had brown hair, a hole in his shirt
And his shoes were untied.
He was always lonely and was never happy.
He was always that kid who just sat out
Of normal day activities.
So, one day I approached him, while
The rest of the group was playing tennis.
He seemed apprehensive while he
Saw me walking up to him.
Sitting on the tennis court, all alone,
By himself, in the little corner of the fence.
I asked him if he was okay, he replied
With a meaningless and soft “yeah.”

That same day, John’s parents came into camp,
To observe his activities and behavior.
When the mother saw him not participating,
She was not too happy with us.
She insisted it was our fault that her kid
Was not having any fun in summer camp.
She looked like she just rolled out of bed,
Wearing pajama-like pants
And a raggedy t-shirt.
“Why can’t my kid just have friends?”
I looked up to the parent and said firmly,
I’m sorry; there is nothing I can do. Then
I said, there is nothing I can do to make
Your kid have friends, nothing.

The look on this mothers face
Was the sight of a bomb erupting.
Eyes like a wild animal, her voice like
Gun shots firing off all at once.
She was completely unforgiving.
She started to trash me and scream at me,
Because her kid was not enjoying himself.
I felt bad, but what was I to do?

Hold onto them for as long as you can. Because
One day, you may just have to let go.