So I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life and I’ve come to one conclusion: I want to help people. I not completely sure why, but it’s always something I’ve always wanted to do. Maybe it’s the pride I have knowing that I’ve done something good for other people. That sounds pretty selfish though. I mean, really? I’m helping people because I like the way I feel? Does it get more selfish than that? Maybe it’s some paternal instinct I have for people that makes me want to make sure everyone’s okay. Seems pretty logical I guess, but it’s not really a satisfying answer. It’s not really a good answer because there’s no real source. It’s like the Big Bang, it’s not really an answer because, if that’s where the universe came from, where did the giant mass of matter come from? It’s an answer, but not a solution.
Maybe I’ll never know why I like to help people, but I know when I first realized I enjoyed it. It was when my grandfather, we call him Papa, asked me if I wanted to be a counselor at a camp he worked at called Camp Caring Love. I had no idea what it was other than Papa told me I would be taking care of mentally handicapped adults. At the time, I had no idea what to think of that, so I said sure.
It was a huge shock at first. I was literally taking care of seven campers, most of whom couldn’t speak and literally needed me to help them with a lot of their daily activities like shaving and bathing and eating. I remember the first morning I woke up at camp, I woke up to one of the camper banging on our bedroom door at 5:30 a.m. (I was in a cabin with Papa). The guy couldn’t speak, but he could moan, very loudly. I was terrified, at first because the guy scared me banging on the door, then because I had no idea what he wanted, and there was seemingly no way to figure it out. The guy couldn’t tell me, how was I going to figure it out? Plus I was essentially still in shell shock from all the new information and new experiences coming at me so fast the night before. So I laid there. I pretended I was still asleep. I figured Papa could get it, he’s been here before. Papa told me later that he wets the bed every night, and somewhere between 5:00-6:00 he comes banging on our door wanting someone to change his sheets. Needless to say, I played opossum every morning that week.
But having to take care of the guys wasn’t what actually shocked me. It was the fact that I didn’t mind doing all of it. It never seemed odd or annoying or cumbersome. It actually felt good. I enjoyed doing it. Every year after that, until the group was disbanded after 2006’s camp due to an unfortunate and unforeseeable series of events, I looked forward to camp. It became the most exciting part of my summers because I looked forward to working with the people and helping them.
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