When I left Peace Corps Jamaica, I discovered that I was entitled to one free counseling session. I thought long and hard and decided to pursue it. I didn't have any pressing issues or goals, just was a little intrigued. I made an appointment and gave it little more thought. I showed up a few days later to a small office in a small complex. I met the psychologist and followed him into his office. He looked just like I thought he would - beard, sleeveless sweater, pipe, etc. We sat and chatted for awhile and he gave me a few tests. The only test I remember was an instruction to draw a tree. Not being very artistic, I was not thrilled but tried anyway. When I handed it to him, he looked at it, glanced up at me, turned back to the picture and said "aaah." I knew I was in trouble.
I had drawn a tree that looked like an inverted umbrella, long straight trunk and a cup-shaped canopy. This two minute exercise spawned a thirty minute diatribe. It turned out that I was a misanthrope of sorts, ruggedly alone, suspicious of strangers, preferring my own company above all else. I can't remember all the other attributes he inferred from my artwork, but he was quite pleased with his analysis. He asked me what I thought, and I mumbled some sort of consent, not having the heart to tell him what I was thinking - I had drawn the picture of a tree that grew in my yard in Jamaica, as it was the only tree I could picture.
When he finally got around to asking me questions, his insight did improve. He challenged one of my answers in a way that has never left me. It was one of the few confrontations that impacted me immediately. He had asked me about my friends and associates, and when I was finished, he asked me if I saw any patterns, any similarities. I didn't, so he pointed them out to me. Many of my friends were "less fortunate" than I. There were three from an adult home who I took bowling each week, and accompanied to the local and state Special Olympics each year. And then there was Rick, who I befriended at the hospital I worked at. As a child, he had suffered from encephalitis, and was left with the intellect of an six-year old. He was an amazingly loyal friend, and we could spend hours doing nothing. We went fishing, sat around talking about his hotwheels collection or his hooked rugs. I always laughed when I called him, because I could never get him off the phone. Every time I tried to wrap up, he would say "so what have you been up to?" He and his mother (ages 50 and 70 respectively) had come to visit me in Jamaica. To this day, he smiles and claims I tried to kill him. On the first day, I took him to the beach and he scraped his ankle on some coral and got a sunburn. Later that night, he ate some Jamaican food that upset his stomach. The next day, I took him out in the yard, climbed a tree to pick some fruit. I slipped out of the tree and he broke my fall. It was the same tree I later drew for the psychologist!
As I talked about my acquaintances, the psychologist asked me why so many of my friends were "special." I thought about it long and hard and realized I didn't care why, but it was a curious pattern. He went on to confront me about my self-esteem, my feelings of inadequacy, etc. Almost as if it was a deficiency, a short-coming in my make up. He irritated me, but I was determined to think about what he had said. To this day I still collect "special friends" and some not so special.
I have always wanted to help people since I can remember. I would give any money I made from washing dishes to whatever school drive was going on. I never needed for anyone to notice, I just felt good dumping the change in the can. Years later I was doing a presentation in Ohio for librarians, when a young man approached me after the session. He introduced himself and told me we had been at the same high school together, fifteen years before. He told me he wanted to thank me. He had been the team manager, and was pretty much abused by most of the athletes. He told me that I had always treated him kindly, and had once interceded when an older boy was trying to humiliate him. I barely remembered him, and did not recall the incident at all. It remains the best compliment I have ever received.
I had always wanted to join the Peace Corps, had always known that I would end up in a profession that helps people. I didn't connect it to any sort of altruism or spirituality, it was just something that made me feel good. Now, years later, I was made to feel bad about it by a shrink with lousy smelling tobacco. I came to a conclusion on the way home that day (a day before I reenlisted in the Peace Corps), that I would continue to help people whether or not it was born from a suspect motive. After all, who should care? I don't need to be with people less fortunate than I in order to feel better about myself - it's simply that these friends accept me, care about me simply because we spend time together, simply because we respect each other. It is a bond that is so simple, it's pure. I can't describe it better than that.
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