Thanks ----- Original Message ----- From: "Frances Vitulla" <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Tuesday, September 22, 2009 12:42 AM Subject: [RecipesAndMore] Re: The Boy Under The Tree
> > Hello, Steve, this is beautiful. You just never know. Thanks for > sharing. > Original message: >> The Boy Under The Tree >> In the summer recess between freshman and sophomore years in college, I >> was invited to be an instructor at a high school leadership camp hosted >> by a college in Michigan. I was already highly involved in most campus >> activities, and I jumped at the opportunity. >> About an hour into the first day of camp, amid the frenzy of >> icebreakers and forced interactions, I first noticed the boy under the >> tree. He was small and skinny, and his obvious discomfort and shyness >> made him appear frail and fragile. Only 50 feet away, 200 eager campers >> were bumping bodies, playing, joking and meeting each other, but the >> boy under the tree seemed to want to be anywhere other than where he >> was. The desperate loneliness he radiated almost stopped me from >> approaching him, but I remembered the instructions from the senior >> staff to stay alert for campers who might feel left out. >> As I walked toward him I said, "Hi, my name is Kevin and I'm one of the >> counselors. It's nice to meet you. How are you?" In a shaky, sheepish >> voice he reluctantly answered, "Okay, I guess." I calmly asked him if >> he wanted to join the activities and meet some new people. He quietly >> replied, "No, this is not really my thing." >> I could sense that he was in a new world, that this whole experience >> was foreign to him. But I somehow knew it wouldn't be right to push >> him, either. He didn't need a pep talk, he needed a friend. After >> several silent moments, my first interaction with the boy under the >> tree was over. >> At lunch the next day, I found myself leading camp songs at the top of >> my lungs for 200 of my new friends. The campers were eagerly >> participating. My gaze wandered over the mass of noise and movement and >> was caught by the image of the boy from under the tree, sitting alone, >> staring out the window. I nearly forgot the words to the song I was >> supposed to be leading. At my first opportunity, I tried again, with >> the same questions as before: "How are you doing? Are you okay?" To >> which he again replied, "Yeah, I'm alright. I just don't really get >> into this stuff." As I left the cafeteria, I too realized this was >> going to take more time and effort than I had thought - if it was even >> possible to get through to him at all. >> That evening at our nightly staff meeting, I made my concerns about him >> known. I explained to my fellow staff members my impression of him and >> asked them to pay special attention and spend time with him when they >> could. >> The days I spend at camp each year fly by faster than any others I have >> known. Thus, before I knew it, mid-week had dissolved into the final >> night of camp and I was chaperoning the last dance. The students were >> doing all they could to savor every last moment with their new best >> friends, friends they would probably never see again. >> As I watched the campers share their parting moments, I suddenly saw >> what would be one of the most vivid memories of my life. The boy from >> under the tree, who stared blankly out the kitchen window, was now a >> shirtless dancing wonder. He owned the dance floor as he and two girls >> proceeded to cut up a rug. I watched as he shared meaningful, intimate >> time with people at whom he couldn't even look just days earlier. I >> couldn't believe it was him. >> In October of my sophomore year, a late-night phone call pulled me away >> from my chemistry book. A soft-spoken, unfamiliar voice asked politely, >> "Is Kevin there?" >> "You're talking to him. Who's this?" >> "This is Tom Johnson's mom. Do you remember Tommy from leadership camp? >> The boy under the tree. How could I not remember? >> "Yes, I do," I said. "He's a very nice young man. How is he?" >> An abnormally long pause followed, then Mrs. Johnson said, "My Tommy >> was walking home from school this week when he was hit by a car and >> killed." Shocked, I offered my condolences. >> "I just wanted to call you," she said, "because Tommy mentioned you so >> many times. I wanted you to know that he went back to school this fall >> with confidence. He made new friends. His grades went up. And he even >> went out on a few dates. I just wanted to thank you for making a >> difference for Tom. The last few months were the best few months of his >> life." >> In that instant, I realized how easy it is to give a bit of yourself >> every day. You may never know how much each gesture may mean to someone >> else. I tell this story as often as I can, and when I do, I urge others >> to look out for their own "boy under the tree." > >> > -- > Email services provided by the System Access Mobile Network. Visit > www.serotek.com to learn more about accessibility anywhere. > > > --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ Access the Recipes And More list archives at: http://www.mail-archive.com/recipesandmore%40googlegroups.com/ Visit the group home page at: http://groups.google.com/group/RecipesAndMore -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
