I stopped, a Cheeto halfway to my mouth. Wayne had just entered the library we were chilling in, a long, troubled expression on his face.
“Alright, guys, we need to talk. You’ve been doing a great job, but there is one thing that you need to work on. And that is respect.”
I sighed. Now the reason of why Wayne had come in during our break was known.
“Now, I know that you’ve all heard some sort of talk from an adult about respect.”
“Mmm,” Edmund said, his mouth full of a strange combination of chicken and chocolate.
I had a sudden flashback to the time when my sister had told on me for teasing her about the strange pin in her hair six years ago. Mom had chewed me out, and as a punishment, had taken my copy of Mario Kart for DS for two weeks. The look on Wayne’s face was the carbon copy of my mom’s.
“It may have even been me.”
Too true. I received one too many stern lectures from Wayne, which made sense, as he was like a father to me. He had known me since I was a baby.
“But that’s irrelevant. This is different.”
“How so?” Alison asked.
“Well, as respect speeches go, normally it’s along the lines of, ‘Behave and calm down. Act your age,’ or ‘You’re being extremely disrespectful to your elders. Please listen to them and say hello,’, right?”
We all nodded. Those speeches had come up too much altogether at church every Sunday.
“But this is about being respectful and kind to your peers. You need to respect them, even if they don’t respect you, and love them even if they’re incorrigible. You think of yourselves as higher up on the food chain than them, and that cockiness is affecting the way you act around them, to them. What makes you guys any better than them?”
“We’re more mature, and less hyperactive. We cause less trouble,” Anderson muttered.
“That may be true. But you guys still don’t always listen. You’re getting exasperated over the way the kids act. But so do James and Darren and I, and anyone else who teaches you guys. You are no better or worse than them!
“You guys have been trying to monitor and lead the kids, and you’ve been doing a pretty good job. But that in itself is the problem. You’re here to befriend them, not to lead them. Not to yell at them. Make friends, joke around with them, but whatever you do, don’t try to lord over them. Leave that to the adults. When we call you Small Group Leaders, we don’t actually want you guys to lead the kids.”
“But that’s the problem, Wayne. I can’t. I don’t know if it’s in my blood, or it’s how I grew up, or it’s what I learned or whatever. But I can’t not try to command them,” I responded.
“Then you’ve got a problem. Just try it out. See if you can refrain from getting angry at them when they screw up!”
“How?” I asked.
“Try breathing and counting to 10, or laughing, or focusing on great moments, or…”
“I can’t! I’ve tried everything I possibly could already! Nothing helps! I’m sick and tired of hearing everybody say the same thing, because none of them provide viable solutions!”
“Kenny, listen to me!”
“No! You’re not helping! You’re just adding onto the stress of trying to be all ‘Mr. Happy’, not trying to blow up while helping the kids!”
I was getting agitated now. Did nobody know that what they said didn’t help? Did no one understand the problems I struggled with?
“Well, then, Kenny, let me provide you with a vision of the future if you fail to control your temper,” Wayne uttered in a low voice. “You will be replaced by someone else. You will not get to go with us to Havasupai. Which is a shame, as I’ve heard that the waterfalls there are spectacular. And you will not be invited to any other mission trips or retreats until you’ve learned how to master your attitude.”
This threat silenced everyone, even Nolan, who normally murmurs a lot when people talk.
“Can you do that?” Wayne asked. His face was disturbingly close to mine, and I could smell the potato chips on his breath. Every centimeter of salt-and-pepper stubble on his face was magnified just for me to see. I had a sudden reminder of the “THIS IS SPARTA!” scene, the way King Leonidas went from quiet to a full-on scream.
“Sure, Wayne,” I replied. What else was I supposed to do? I didn’t want to get yelled at.
-----
Flashback. Three Days Earlier.
“First of all, I’d like to thank all of you for coming. It is an honor to be able to serve and teach you, and we hope that you enjoy your time here,” James said, just as the “Dream Maker” posters we had just put up on the dirty, dust-covered windows fell off.
How James could remain so calm and natural, I have no idea. Maybe it was his training as a pastor, to accept the good or bad, or maybe it was just that he was used to being embarrassed. (The bald patch on his forehead earned him a couple of teasing remarks from some of the younger members of our church.) Personally, it took everything I had not to groan and smack my forehead in embarrassment. I mean, just how much failure could you take? The Spartan inside of me wanted to scream in frustration.
This wasn’t exactly how things had been planned. In our imagined world, the posters would look magnificent, with neon colors everywhere, generating some “oohs” and “aahs” from the youths. The kids would be quiet and respectful, the folding chairs would stay where they were, and the carpet would remain dry. There was no chance of the last two happening, after looking at how the first two had been botched.
“Now, as some of you might already know, your parents have decided to send you here to have you learn Taekwondo and about God,” James said. “Do any of you know who God is?”
A few kids raised their hands. That was actually better than we had expected. However, they might accidentally spoil our Bible stories with that kind of knowledge.
“Great. That’s excellent! So, to those who don’t know what we’re talking about, we’ve prepared a couple of praise songs to help you. Small Group Leaders, could you please come up here?”
Jeez. Typical of James. He wanted to get right into the worship before starting with the icebreakers. You’d think that after a couple years of being our English Ministry pastor, he’d realize that our Youth Group needed to overcome the towering barrier of awkwardness inside of the children that was staring us in the face.
“Kenny? Could you join us?” he called. In my fuming, I hadn’t noticed that everyone else was already up by our makeshift podium.
“‘Kay, James. Just stretching,” I said back.
As we began our first dance, Nolan and I glanced at each other. This was so embarrassing. Not one of the kids stood up on the linoleum floor and danced, or even sang along. They just stared at us with blank, confused faces, their caramel-colored skin shining in the light of the bright lights of the library.
After the song ended, I muttered to Alison, “Right. At least that’s done. No sweat.” There was absolutely zero sarcasm in that statement, I know.
Later that afternoon, the day got a bit chaotic. You could barely go down the hallway of Music Mountain High School before hearing, “Tyrone! Darwin! Come on, guys! Can we be a bit more civilized? Dock! Calm down! This isn’t a prison! Vincent! Can you please concentrate on the project?” (Many scorching comments were from me, in fact. I’m not proud of it, but commands were the only things these guys understood.) We had a couple of problems with keeping the kids under control. Some guys were terrorizing some of the younger ones, making them drench their new T-shirts with a combination of tears and mucus and sweat. People kept on leaving or screaming or running out of the room, coming back five minutes later with sweat on their shining faces and the occasional stream of drool trickling out of their mouths, and there was basically no order at all. Glue and starch were all over the floors and walls of the Craft Room, courtesy of our homemade glass lamp project after lunch. But none of these things were as bad as the fact that some of the kids wanted to go home, crying, “I want to see Mummy,” or “I don’t want to be here! Dad just sent me here because he has to go to work!” You’d never guess that some of these guys were older than thirteen.
It didn’t really get much better during dinner. As I shoveled lasagna and fried potatoes down my gullet (all of this leading and monitoring made me famished) and asked some of the girls in my group about their hobbies and interests, a couple of the troublemakers, Tyrone, Dirk, and Dilbert, started playing with their food. Now, when I say playing with food, you might think of pushing food around one’s plate. But this was war. Dirk used corn as ammunition for his plastic spoon catapult, Dilbert tried to get ketchup in people’s hair, and Tyrone spilled all of his apple juice, got tomato sauce all over his shirt and pants, and accidentally pinned Nolan to the wall to boot! After this scenario, Darren decided not to serve sugary drinks during meals, and I was barely likening our current situation to 300’s depiction of the Battle of Thermopylae.
I had finally had enough during Music. When the kids were running crazy, yelling into the microphones and pantsing each other, I cracked.
“What the heck are you guys doing! Huh! This is not a preschool! You guys are not babies! So act your age!” I exploded. Also reminiscent of 300.
Everyone stopped doing what they were doing. The little ones started whimpering, but I didn’t care. These kids’ antics were enough. I wanted peace. I craved tranquility. I was so angry, I didn’t even notice that Alison was trying to stick a Twix in my mouth until it was already down my throat.
“Kenny, calm down. I know it’s hard, but please. Don’t scream,” she said.
“How? How in the world are we going to last a whole week with these guys?” I groaned.
“I honestly don’t know, but eat some more chocolate. It makes you feel better. It has something to do with the chemicals inside,” said Edmund.
That was a classic example of Edmund’s intriguing personality. He didn’t really socialize, but he was smart, loving to memorize random, useless facts. He was also really awkward, and somehow he had gotten tomato sauce on his top lip, giving him a red mustache. It was this strange, yet familiar, sight that finally got me to calm down.
-----
Present Day.
I sighed again. This was not going to be an easy trip.
-----
“God. Oh! That’s definitely not good,” Anderson grumbled.
“Guys! Leave it, line up, and be quiet!” I hollered as Vincent hurled 2 servings of hot dogs, Cool Ranch Doritos, and canned peaches on the plastic tiles of the brightly lit, chilly dining hall. Edmund slapped his forehead.
Whoops, I thought, as Nolan tutted behind my back.
Don’t get me wrong. I liked most of the kids well enough, but the way they acted, as though they were four instead of 14, drove me crazy. Of course, it wasn’t their fault. It’s just that the standards for behavior here in Peach Springs must have been different from northern California.
“Kenny? Could I talk to you for a second?” asked Darren.
I shuffled over to the far corner, where no one could overhear us, while Wayne and James attempted to clean up the puddle of regurgitated lunch and Vincent continued to hold his stomach, spitting out bile and creating a none-too pleasant aroma in the lunchroom.
“I know that you’ve been experiencing some technical difficulties, with all of the energy emanating from these delightful guys,” he murmured.
Oh, these weren’t really “technical difficulties”. If I could have picked a phrase to describe the conditions that I had to go through, I would have said, “torrential tsunamis of misbehavior”. Also, “energy” was a bit of an understatement. “24/7 sugar high” would have been an apt description of the enthusiasm for fun instilled in the kids’ veins. But often, “fun” translated to “trouble” in Kennynese.
“And I also happen to know that you’ve had things a bit tougher than other groups,” he continued.
“They have 66% more manpower than we do, and my group consists of the youngest mentor and leader, as it so happens,” I huffed, a bit more than annoyed.
“I know, I know. Maybe next time, things will get better. But I want you to know that Wayne isn’t really pleased with the way you’ve been acting, even with that talk you two had. And I’m sugarcoating things as they are. So, Wayne wanted to give you an ultimatum. Learn to master that commanding nature inside of you by tomorrow night, just in time for Parent Night rehearsal, or the same punishment will await you.”
“What?” I asked. I had been watching Alex’s futile attempts to get my group to line up, and had kind of zoned out.
“Basically, he’s giving you a shorter time period to calm the Spartan you claim lives inside of you.”
“What?!” I cried.
“That’s right. Kennygeddon is coming to an end. No more yelling, commanding, etc.”
“But… how are they going to listen?” I said. “Misandry. What am I supposed to do?”
“I’ve explained myself adequately enough,” Darren said.
“No, I mean, how am I going to do this?” I pleaded.  “Can you help? I know that you used to be a bit of a wild card. No offense.”
“Sorry, bud, but I started to calm down after I hit my 20’s, where I could start ‘commanding’, as Wayne calls it. I have no idea how to help you.”
I groaned and planted my forehead against the brick wall.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. James also said you need to stop eating this much. I know you have a large stomach, but the amount of food you’re consuming is causing the lunch ladies to create more food than they’ll ever want to again,” Darren said.
“But… but… but…” I spluttered.
“Just do it.”
-----
“Please. Calm down. So, for Front Stance, make sure you don’t bend your back leg. Keep your shoulders straight, and look straight ahead. And - hey! Virgil? I’ve told you a million times - you cannot sit down in the middle of the lesson. Get up!”
Taekwondo lessons were the only real times I was allowed to yell, mostly because everyone else was too. But even though Alison said I was using the voice of a military commander, I tried to stay as quiet as possible, still having the kids listen to me. It wasn’t easy, but this new threat bugged me more than being ear-splittingly loud.
“Now, guys. We have less than a day to get you all prepared for Parent’s Night,” I said. “Vincent. Please, bud, could you stand up? Alright. Great. So...”
I spared a glance at Wayne, who gave me an approving slight nod of his head.
I continued, “You already know the basic stances, blocks, punches, and kicks. All you need to do is put them together, and you’ve learned Taegeuk Il-Chang. Now, follow me. One! Two! One! Two!”
This went on and on in my tiny group of six kids, ranging from 8 to 13 years old, until they could somewhat perform the form with a bit of help. Actually, in all fairness, they did quite well, considering that they had only been practicing for a couple of days.
“Kenny! You and your group come over here!” Albert said.
“Alright. Attention! Bow! Now, guys, follow me,” I spoke.
“Kenny, you will be performing Taegeuk Pal-Chang at Parent’s Night. I hope that you’ve been practicing it?” Albert continued.
“Yes, sir!” I responded.
“Good. So now, we’re going to have all of the groups show what they’ve learned today. Have your group line up, and have all of the other groups come over here.”
“Yes, sir.”
After all the groups had gathered, my gang went. There was much correcting of form and blocks, but other than that, Albert said that we would be ready to perform during Parent’s Night. We were also better than some other groups, with some not knowing what they were doing, others looking around aimlessly, deeply confused.
During dinner that night, Wayne came up to me while I was enjoying my chicken and cheese quesadillas and slapped my back.
“Good job,” he whispered into my ear. “Now cut down on the food.”
I let out a sigh. Life never got easier, did it?
-----
“Wrecked! The rejection! THIS IS SPARTA!” I roared as I rejected yet another one of Anderson’s shots.
It was the final night of the summer camp. Parent’s Night had been a real success. The kids had performed so well, and we had put on such a great show, that to celebrate, we were given the whole next day off. Our original plan had been to break camp down and clean up that night, then head down to Havasupai (located in the Grand Canyon) the following morning, but we decided to party tonight, take a road trip tomorrow, then do a one-day trip on Saturday. After the trip to Havasupai, we would head back home. But before playing, we were instructed to greet and talk to the 50-some parents who had showed up. I had shaken so many hands, had had so many tears stained on my shirt, had been thanked by so many emotional parents that I had to get away. I mean, I was grateful that parents appreciated our hard work, but there are only so many sobs that you can hear. Basketball got me away from that drama.
A lot had happened since that first night of our trip. Looking back, I never really realized what had actually solved our problems, whether it was a change in the kids, a change in us, or both. Or neither. But whatever it was, I’m thankful that eventually our program went north, not south or east or west, if you catch my drift.
But enough of that. My mind was already occupied with sports, Pepsi, chips and salsa, and the upcoming trip. Oh, and cake. You could never get enough chocolate cake, with chunks of Dove chocolate buried in the frosting and caramel sauce drizzled all over the top. Terrible for you, I know, but impossible to ignore.
-----
“Dang, I’m starved. Are we there yet?” I complained as we trekked on the 11-mile trail down to Havasupai.
“Kenny, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times. We have about ten minutes left. Can that mutated stomach of yours stay appeased for ten minutes?” Wayne responded.
“Yeah, Kenny!” Nolan said, swinging his walking stick at me.
“Aah! Darn, man, you have got to make that end blunter,” I cried, as the edge left a long cut on my forearm, allowing sweat to mix with blood.
A quick fact about blood. People describe it as red, but it’s more of a light mahogany, and when it dries, it can turn black as squid ink.
“Sorry, man,” Nolan said.

Twenty Minutes Later:
“See! I told you so!” Wayne cried. “Waterfall, ahoy!”
“Wayne?” I asked.
“Yeah?”
“You’re at least seven point two eight nine five six eight three five minutes off. At least.”
“Make that ten!” Edmund cut in.
I sighed.
“But that waterfall really is pretty,” Alison said.
True. Very true. The hike had been worthwhile after all!
“Wow…” Anderson muttered.
It looked as large as some of the skyscrapers I see in San Francisco when I visited. Not clear, like tap water, not murky, like swamp water, but not emerald-blue, like the ocean, either. This waterfall was a light turquoise, and the sound emanating from it was terrific. It was like being in a baseball stadium, when the home team has just hit a grand slam during the bottom of the ninth inning three points down, and everyone gets up and drops their Cokes and nachos, magnified three times. It was a perfect view of nature at its purest, with huge, green vines and trees circling the boulders that lined the peak.
“Yes!” Darren yelled.
In his swimsuit, he performed a perfect cannonball into the water, coming up after a couple of seconds.
“Wow! Oh! Tasted better… glug… than… glug… tap water!” he cried.
“Paradise is real,” I said as I pulled out my huge stash of military meals, granola bars, rice balls, vegetables, Swedish Fish, and Nacho Cheese Doritos.
“So that’s why your bag was so heavy!” Edmund exclaimed.
“Of course. You think I’d bring a huge bag without filling it up with food?” I questioned.
“Well, enjoy this time while you can, because in four hours, we’re going to head back,” Albert said. “Eight more hours of hiking, for eleven more miles. In the dark. With plenty of wild animals.”
“Snap…” I murmured, and started devouring my feast.