I noticed something about Esmé at Jamp Camp. She’s stretching. Doing things she would never have done before, trying out different aspects of her awesome young self that she’s never let shine until now.
One evening, after a chalk labyrinth had been drawn on the basketball court and used for a workshop, the kids put it to use as a timed run. Being kids of a certain type, it wasn’t a race, per say. They were timing themselves, but only to best their own times. They cheered each other on, chanting the name of the runner as he or she bolted around the labyrinth, taking the switchbacks as fast as they could in barefeet, or crocs, or floppy old sneakers.
Normally, this is something that Esmé would’ve happily watched, but never would consider participating in. But this time, after watching a few of the bigger kids run it, she got in line. I watched her as she slowly moved towards the front. I could see that she was thinking hard, and was nearly oblivious to the cheering and playful banter that bounced up and down the line of patiently waiting kids. She was clearly lost in her thoughts, and I wondered what she’d do when it came to be her turn.
And then it was her turn. The older girl behind her leaned forward and said, “Don’t worry about it. Do the best you can. Run it however you want. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, okay? Just have fun.”
The kid with the watch said, “Go!” and Esmé was off. She is a naturally fast runner, but she’d never been in any kind of timed race, or any kind of race, really. Certainly not on a fairly intricate track laid out in chalk on concrete. She ran. She ran fast. She grinned as the other kids cheered her on and chanted her name, and when she finished she collapsed into my arms in a heap of tears, entirely overwhelmed. It had been a long wait until her turn, with lots of time to think, and wonder, and worry, which are all things she does well.
And then — as the other kids made sure she was okay — she got back in line and ran it again, besting her time by five seconds. And then she ran it again, and again, until she was down to her best time. And then she kept on running it, along with the other kids, well past sunset, until someone brought out the glowsticks and they left the labyrinth in the dark.
I love getting to know my kids, and staying curious about who they are. They are utterly themselves, yet changing and growing every day. It’s a lovely thing to behold, and I hope I never assume that I know all there is to know about them.
