From the Archives - Part Three

Friday July 25, 2003

How come the other parent’s are able to get their kids to go to morning and afternoon events? Steltings, N’s and R’s are sure getting their money’s worth… they must be taking in at least a half dozen more shows than we are.
Maybe I’m too lax? For my group, attendance at daytime concerts/speakers is optional… but I’ve insisted that they attend the whole evening line-up. Maybe I shouldn’t have given them that option? Maybe I’m not a very good parent? Maybe Sasha, Derek and Clark would be better off staying with someone else?
Maybe having all these girls beside us is too much of a distraction as to the real reason we’re here? What is the real reason? Maybe I just need to chillax (Chill out + relax)?
How come my kids have their boom box cranked, playing secular stuff? We’re here, listening to incredible Christian music live, yet…I dunno. It’s almost like they want to be a bit rebellious? Is that the word? Maybe I shouldn’t have brought extra teens? Maybe I’m not doing a great job of caring for them? Maybe I have too many? Maybe the age range is too great? Maybe I need to do more than just feed and provide transportation?

“Jane? I’m taking a few of my kids to the river again this afternoon. I have room, in case any of your boys want to come along…”
Clint, Clark, Derek and Sasha were in the van before Kevin finishes talking.
“Does Max want to go too?”
He did. But knows his place, he’s 12.
“Come on. Hop in.”
He gladly jumps in.
“How about Drew?”
“Nah. It’s OK. He’s pretty young. I’ll keep him here.”
“I’ll watch him. You can have a break. Come on Drew.”

An hour to myself. What an unexpected treat. I grab a bucket, fill it with melted ice water, put on some boarding shorts, find my book, and bring out a razor. (Just in case the opportunity to shave my legs presents itself. We never did remove body hair on our river trip.)
Brian pops into my area just as I am working on my left calf.
“Hi Jane, just thought I’d take a peak in your RV…”
“Sure, take a look.”
“Ooops. Sorry.”
He puts his hand up in front of his face and approaches the motor home walking sideways.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt a personal grooming moment.”
I put the razor down.
He’s embarrassed. I’m not.

That man will never be the same after this trip.

The guys are back in time for a couple late afternoon shows including 1000 Foot Crutch and John Rueben. Clint and Max come back to the campsite completely stoked. John Rueben is their favorite concert, even though he’s only a fringe stage artist, performing to an afternoon crowd.

We all skip the evening’s opening act: ZoeGirl (chick band), but are there for worship and the speaker. Toby Mac rocks after that. (“Let’s get this party started…”) But for me the best part is Michael W Smith. Tingles. Goosebumps. Shivers. Tears. The guys, who were displaying an attitude of disinterest through the earlier part of his set, (“how much plastic surgery has that guy had”?) get caught up with the rest of us, in the medley that starts with “This is the Air I Breathe, and ends with “Our God is An Awesome God.” By the end of the song, all of them are standing with fists raised, declaring their God is awesome.
Thank you God for this moment. Thank you that I can share it with them. Thank you for this portion of the evening, where it’s more than entertainment. Thank you that their hearts were touched. God, I pray that they will remember this time, always. Thank you for the gifted singers that were on stage tonight. Thank you that I was able to come and bring these extra boys along.

The evening closes with a Candlelighting Ceremony. Everyone is given a candle, and the flame is passed along from right to left. My goodness. What a magical service to be a part of. The amphitheatre looks festive, yet holy with tens of thousands of flickering candles.
God, this was such a wonderful evening. Thank you.

“We’re staying up all night” declares Clint at midnight. My six are on lawn chairs in our “yard”, plus a few extra guys have joined us. Not to mention four of the girls from next door.
I’m serving crackers, cheese and sausage as a midnight snack. Trailer park mom.
“Nah. Sorry. There’s a sound curfew at 1:00. That’s bedtime.”
“No. We’ve talked about it. We’re all staying up.”
“Yeah,” one of the girls said, “You can’t make us sleep.”
Hmmmm I’m outnumbered here. If it was just my kid, I’d get mean. But… with all these other teens around… and what is with that chicky poo? “You can’t make us sleep…” Girls. They scare me.

“I’ll sleep out here with the guys tonight,” Kevin announces. And he moves his bedding from the south side of my RV to the north side, beside Clark. Then he pulls out a bag of jelly beans… he has a neat game to play. Grab a bean and eat it. Then tell everyone what flavor you got. In addition to regular sweet jellybeans, he also has some Harry Potter ones; with flavours like dirt, vomit, spinach, pepper…

At 1:00 the campground lights go out and in other areas of the Gorge, things quieten down. The area surrounding my RV did not. I’m embarrassed, but not sure what to do.
By 2:00, I try “shushing” them. They whisper abit, but then roar with laughter. Lying in the midst of them, Kevin appears to have fallen asleep. Inside my motor home, I’m disappointed by the thoughtlessness of the teens outside my door. Their faint murmurings are proof that, indeed, “I cannot make them sleep.”
At 2:30, just as I was going to speak to them again, Brian enters our yard. He is firm and direct, “Guys. This is enough. It’s late. Way past curfew and you are keeping a lot of people awake. It’s time to call it a night.”

Oh God. I am so embarrassed. What was I thinking, taking 6 boys along with me? I can’t handle them. I’m unfit. What must everyone be thinking? How can I face anyone tomorrow? I am so ashamed. I should have been stronger. I am the adult here. It’s not my place to be the ‘nice guy’… I should be the boss. God, this whole thing feels ruined. I feel sick. Everyone will know how incapable I am. I’m a typical single mom from Surrey – an ineffective parent with no control. My kids are going to become convicts. Criminals. Drug addicts. My home will end up being the hang out for gangs in the ‘hood. How am I going to be able to sit with anyone tomorrow? God, I have to say sorry to a bunch of people tomorrow don’t I? How about if I just pack up and go home instead? I am so humiliated.