This past week 50 plus kids and the interns went to Virginia Beach! The weather was nice, the sun was out and there was a cool ocean breeze.For that day, life was at peace for all the kids there and for the interns that planned and worked so hard for the Summer Camp. We needed this day. 

Yesterday several high school guys and I made pickles. It's not one of the glamorous foods you see on tv, but the pickle is a snack that is made from a vegetable so we decided that was reason enough. I had Ja'Quan and AJ chopping cucumbers, Meoleake washing the dishes and mixing the spices with Jamal. I think we all enjoyed the simple art of creating something. Today, we ate a whole jar of the pickles along with some other food that other students cooked at other locations. Even though they were a little too sweet (after all, they're bread and butter pickles), most of the kids that tried one came back for more. I was happy that everyone in my group learned how to make something and then was able to enjoy it.

               I've often heard it said that "the medium is the message." In a similar way I've decided that one's pedagogy is their propaganda. In this case, let's just say that pedagogy is "a set of teaching methods" and propaganda is "the systematic propagation of a doctrine." A teacher's pedagogy thus frames the information being taught and limits the pupil's knowledge to the teacher's style. If the teacher's style is creative, students will feel the liberty to think creatively. But, if a teacher's style is systematic and oppressive, students will remain disconnected and dispirited. 

If you give a mouse a cookie, then he will want so much more. If you give a child a chance, you open many doors! If you believe in their dreams, you’ll help them to succeed; But if you turn your back, you cause their souls to bleed. You unknowingly hold the key that can unlock the chain; That has been holding them back, that has them restrained.

We officially started the Entrepreneurship program for the summer!  Briana, Diamond, and I wasted no time as we spread fabric and sewing machines all around the basement of the Lighthouse.  I showed the girls how to make a purse the other day, but this was the first time they each made one all on their own.  They quickly realized it was one of those things that looks and seems easier than it is.  There were some frustrating moments when a stitch went astray and had to be redone, and I'm pretty sure at some points the girls questioned what kind of business they had gotten themselves into, but by the end of the day they had each made a beautiful purse.  We put a fabric flower on each to finish it off, and they were very pleased with their finished products.

I’m not really sure where to startthis blog. It’s my first one in three weeks of this internship and the numberof experiences I could right about is almost endless. There is one moment thoughthat really sticks out in my memory.

          I grew up going to weddings. I think it's because my parent's younger friends were getting married when I was in elementary and junior high. I was even the ring bearer in two weddings and I've attended more than I can remember. Marriage was normalized in my childhood: People get older, meet each other and get married. 

 The summer interners have been living it out in our own respective host hizzles in Church Hill for the past 3 and a half weeks. whoa! I have personally been enjoying my luxury suite on 26th with the Burgess household, its been the first time for having my very own bathroom! Sometimes I feel like we've been missing out on some homegrown neighborly stuff with all of the organized scheduling jazz, like having the time and energy to walk next door for a surprise visit with freshly baked cookies or walkn around to learn the streets and folks living on em.

Wow, I can hardly believe that we are already at the end of week three of this internship! It's flying by so fast!

...That is to say, it’s freakin’ hot. Or, at least, it was this weekend, as the CHAT interns sweltered under the merciless sky in the second annual yard sale. Groovy retro clothes were duly uncovered (including an eighties-tastic pleated snakeskin dress that turned out after much mocking on my part to be my own mother’s, which she wore to my uncle’s wedding—whoops. Open mouth, insert foot). Piles of assorted housewares, electronics, toys, books, clothes, furniture and Braille writers changed hands as Percy Strickland conducted a mad symphony of economic transaction, the ringmaster of our little circus.