“I mean children who behave the way Mia has been behaving.”
That answer confused me even more.
“What did she do?”
Denise pointed toward the dining hall.
“Nothing bad.”
That somehow made it worse.
“She hasn’t broken rules. She hasn’t bullied anyone. She hasn’t caused trouble.”
“Then why are you banning her?”
Denise took a breath.
“Because she thinks she has to earn her place here.”
The Chore Chart
She showed me a clipboard.
There was a rotating chore chart for the campers.
Sweeping.
Washing dishes.
Carrying supplies.
Cleaning tables.
Normally, everyone took turns.
But Mia’s name appeared beside certain jobs over and over.
“She volunteers whenever someone else hesitates,” Denise explained.
“She says she doesn’t mind.”
I looked across the field.
Mia was laughing with two girls near the cabins.
“But what’s wrong with helping?”
“Nothing.”
Denise pointed to the chart.
“Helping is wonderful. What concerns me is that Mia doesn’t seem capable of letting anyone help her.”
Then she told me about the horseback trail.
It had been the activity Mia had anticipated most.
She had talked about it for months.
But another camper had missed the sign-up deadline and started crying because all the spaces were full.
Mia gave up her place.
Just like that.
“She told the girl she’d already had plenty of good things.”
I felt something twist inside me.
Because I knew exactly where that phrase had come from.
“I’ve Already Had Enough”
Mia had developed the same habit at home.
If we went shopping, she’d choose the cheapest thing.
If she wanted a snack, she’d ask whether it was “too expensive.”
If I offered to buy her something she liked, she’d sometimes say, “It’s okay. I don’t really need it.”
I’d always praised her.
“You’re so mature.”
“You’re so considerate.”
“You think about other people.”
