losers

The United States went to war. They went to war to stand against an oppressive regime that was committing extremely brutal human rights violations. They fought for 4+ years to bring that regime and its allies down. After much life was lost fighting for this cause, surrender was finally given by this tyrannical state. No longer could this entity whip, burn, hang, torture, eviscerate, shoot, imprison and bind the minorities in their midst- minorities whose only crime against the state was being different. Their flag was stripped and burned by the US government, the leaders of their armies were put on trial and found guilty, and at last a new free, democratic rule was put in the place of this regime.

This is the narrative of World War II. It should be the narrative of the Civil War. We should understand the confederacy in the same way we understand Nazi Germany- a government meant to completely disenfranchise and destroy one people group so that the majority group can have the economic and political power they desire. But instead, the atrocities committed under the slave code were allowed to continue for years, and even now still exist. Not only that, but their actual flag still flies proudly over government buildings. So while most history texts outside of Texas will tell you that the North (the legitimate US Government) won the war, it seems to me more like the South won, for they still feel the same way and fly the same flag. Perhaps Germany should be allowed to fly a swastika in Berlin to “celebrate their heritage” and “honor those who perished under it”. How would our WWII veterans feel about that?

And if you find this comparison repulsive, then show me by your actions that the south has changed- words are far too hollow. If you don’t like being compared to Nazis, then you should stop acting like them. If you are ‘proud to be an American’ then recognize only one country's flag should fly at our governmental buildings. I am sorry if people have co-opted your historical flag and made it into a racist symbol- but it is what it is. No matter how hard you try to yell about how it is not a symbol of hate and racism, the evidence of lynchings, discrimination, intimidation, Klan rallies, redshirts and all the act upon act of racist violence piles up against your argument. If you wrap the bleeding broken bodies of African Americans in your Klan-white bedsheets, I am pretty sure the result would be a confederate flag pattern.

Oh, and stop whining. The confederate flag is not being banned. The Bill of Rights (from the Northern union that preserved it!) guarantees you can treat it with the same dignity as you have been- you can continue to let your daughters wear stars-and-bars tank tops while your over-sized battle flag drags the red clay mud behind your pick-up truck and the one on your barn wall keeps being the perfect backdrop for target practice with all of the scattershot holes in it. The winning side gets to make the rules- and the losers have to suck it. You get to keep your flag in all its many ridiculous iterations on swim trunks and penknives everywhere, but it can no longer fly on public, governmental property. Deal with it and move on. More likely though, I suspect you will resort to your usual habits of playing the victim and intimidating those who dare to resist. Having lived in the south all my life and even attending a university founded in 1861, I know your ways. My family heritage includes southern soldiers and German immigrant Kings grant recipients and slave holding Civil War generals. It goes back in South Carolina before there was a United States. I am almost ashamed to admit that history some days. But I can see the faults in our past, and work to correct them rather than standing on the shifting sand that is false pride. Perhaps you can too? Even so, I don’t trust this area where the current of mob rule runs just below the surface, more threatening than any shark attack in the headlines. I imagine you might send some bullets into my house if I were to put this in the paper or even out on facebook. So I’ll show my own cowardice by posting it here.

A war fought for 4+ years and thousands of lives lost. Just so we can have the same arguments for 150 years. Sigh. I think perhaps it is time I become more proud of my German heritage.

When it all comes true

I have been resisting writing this. Mostly because it would involve fully investigating my feelings about it all. A child was killed last week. At what I considered one of the safest places I have ever known- doing an activity I once led. It hits me on so many levels. A precious girl, Sanders Burney died last week at Camp Cheerio when her zipline tether broke and she fell to the ground.
 I grew up at Camp Cheerio- and it has and remains one of the largest influences on who I am. I started attending as a camper when I was 10 years old. The first summer I attended my counselor christened me with my new identity- I could cease being Laura, number 6 child of a large family and instead be Smitty- a little bit crazy, silly and an independent person. After 5 years as a camper, I worked as a counselor for another 5, and served on program staff for my last two years. One of those last two years I served as the Tower Master- I was in charge of the climbing and ropes program. At that point we had one climbing tower and a very small high ropes course. I helped build a second tower the next year. We were on the cutting edge of climbing and ropes programs in the late 80's. I loved being able to help girls discover that they could do this really cool adventurous outdoorsy thing, and that perhaps they were even better at it than boys since it required balance and leg strength, which girls tend to possess more of than boys- especially as they are growing. I spent a goodly portion of my time setting up the rappels. Each camper was harnessed, and after climbing a wall of holds with a mountain climbing belay, they emerged at the top of the tower, where I would switch them from their safety tether to the rappel rope and they would then descend the 25 feet down a wall with a lower belay. But I was well aware that any slip of attention from my part could be disastrous. And for four hours a day, averaging about 50 kids a day, I would give the instruction, calm the nerves and make the transfers. When I learned that several years after I had graduated they phased out the rappel portion, I was both disappointed and relieved. Every person that works in high ropes and adventure programming will tell you that every transfer point is a potential for mistake- and at 25 feet above the ground, those mistakes can hold fatal consequences. It was possible to get the thrill of climbing and the sense of accomplishment without ever having to make any transfers.
As the years passed, an entire industry rose up around ropes courses- high elements with balance beams, bridges, rope traverses- and zip lines were added. As with most camps, Cheerio stayed at the edge of what was being demanded by parents and campers- more experiences, more adventure, more trips and equipment based activities. Arts and Crafts and dance class were losing out to kayaking and horseback riding. Cheerio made multiple additions- and occasionally removed them- such as a giant swing activity that caused too many concerns. Safety was always a priority. Mulch was laid every year. New ropes and harnesses were bought every year. Training and certification, outside companies with expertise and ability were brought in for construction and inspection. But even so, something went wrong. When I heard about the zipline accident, I immediately knew what the instructor would be feeling. The young man running that activity will never be the same. The weight of that crushing responsibility will never leave him. And if by some horrid turn it is found that he made a mistake that led to this event- well, I fear for him. I lived each day with that possibility- I cannot fathom what it would be like to live that nightmare. So from that perspective- while I don't know what he is going through exactly, I can tell you that it awoke the memory of every almost mistake and nerve wracking 'could have been' moment from 25 years ago.
After serving as a youth minister for several years, I came back to my camping roots and became a camp director of an Episcopal Church camp in Florida. We ran mostly 'basic' camp sessions- with our highest risk activities being swimming in the pool or hiking in snake infested woods. We started a program where we took a group of senior high aged kids to NC for a week of backpacking, caving and such. We contracted with the place I knew would be safest and had such a long record of excellence in adventure programming: Cheerio Adventures. For 3 years we sent kids from Florida to Virginia and NC on charter buses to experience some 'wilderness' adventures. The first year I dropped in on them while they were rock climbing in Virginia- I was 8 months pregnant at the time or I think I would have been on the trip myself. The most danger they were in was from the cows who ate their supplies while they were climbing! One of our campers did have an incident where he became stuck in a cave, and he was unable to continue his forward progress. The Cheerio staff responded and reversed the entire cave with him, physically helping him through many spots until he was safely out. Hearing of the incident later I was relieved knowing he had been in capable hands, but it fed a litany of what-ifs that always seemed to plague me.
 I had a new level of worry as a camp director- everyone who worked in our programs and had contact with our kids was ultimately my responsibility. We had many injuries- and every one made me worry and understand that whatever happened, it came under my responsibility as director. Did I hire quality people? Did I fully investigate my volunteers backgrounds? Did I make sure the facility and equipment were all in order? Did I have medical care close by? What if counselors took too long to respond to a lightning storm? What if a camper was bitten by a poisonous snake? What happens when someone hits their head on the diving board? How would we respond? How do I tell a parent their child is hurt or God forbid has died? For the seven years I was director, I kept these thoughts at bay by drilling my staff, having best practices and policies in place and earned the title "safety nazi". While I loved my job, and missed it as soon as I quit, there was still a relief to be free of that responsibility. So when Sanders died, I could only imaging what the director, who happens to be one of my fellow staff members from years ago, was going through. Holding everyone together- providing leadership- putting the worst case scenario response plans into action. And worst of all calling the parents. That would be the worst of an ever expanding list of tasks- dealing with insurance, sheriff's offices, media, hospitals, parents, staff, and your own family. Trying to find even a moment to grieve or be 'not in charge'. I have seen how many people have posted on social media and are praying for Michaux and all the staff. I myself have been and prayer and tried to get the message there so that he knows how many support him and know what an impossible job he has right now. It definitely brought back all the anxiety of being a camp director at the worst possible moment, but I know mine is only a shadow of the reality.
The last part of this tragedy that struck me so hard is the one that so many know and that too many have lived to see- and that is the perspective of parent. I have been a part of a family where a young person was taken- my brother fell from a waterfall and was killed at age 18. I remember the moment my mother was told, the unbearable grief of the entire family, the anger and tears and just absolute physically wrenching sensation of loss. The calls to the grandparents, the friends congregating on the lawn- the clergy who were so good to be present but so ill equipped in this tragedy. Lastly the funeral- songs and hymns that would ever be connected with those moments- I can never hear Amazing Grace as anything but a funeral song. All the people and tears, hugs and kind words but nothing would truly alleviate the sadness. Of course that was just the beginning of many years of uncharted territory. My parents, like the vast majority of parents ended up divorcing a year later- and every holiday, birthday and death anniversary allowed a fresh round of emotions, although the years did dull the pain and strengthen the scar.
 I named my firstborn son partially after my brother- and there are days I wish I didn't. As my boys grew up, I of course wanted them to experience camp- and they both had weeks and summers at camp when young- and when old enough, I sent them off to a week of camp in Clemson with my best friend Leslie. Even as I write this, Burke is working his first summer there as a CIT. At some point as the boys were getting older, I awoke in a sweat one night having had a vivid dream of Burke being killed at Camp Cheerio on the lake zip line. In the dream, I watched him come off the zip line at the end- and I knew he was dead. It was just a dream I always told myself- a way my brain got rid of all the anxiety that it had to swim in every day. Having lost a brother, I knew that accidents did happen- that they were no guarantees and that my odds were just as high as anyone else's that my kid could be the horrible headline one day at camp. So, to hear this happened at Cheerio- to know a bit of what that family was experiencing- to one more time let the anxiety demons loose from their cage- ugh.
 I have been trying so hard to find the positive- to see the many expressions of love and prayer- to remember that life does go on and that in the end of all things I believe that God is in control and that Sanders is in the best place she can ever be. I need to be speaking that light into the darkness- reminding myself of that truth- but I think all the ways in which I can identify with this event have kept me from moving forward. I can speak from my experiences and my faith- what I have seen and what is still unseen. I can remind myself that the bravest thing I can do as a parent is to let my child live life fully- to experience what can be- not taking stupid risks, but not avoiding everything because something might happen. To teach my children to live life boldly in the knowledge that in the end they are with God- that nothing separates us from the love of God in Christ- that even if it might completely destroy me, that I cannot allow the fear to rule my life- it is not what God calls us to do. Fear Not, is what the angels say. I will continue to pray- for the staff member at the line that day, for Michaux as director, for Sanders' parents and family- and for my own family- that we won't have to ever endure such a thing- for protection; and for bravery- to teach my kids to follow Jesus and to live the life he gives them. Amen.