It was years ago, and I was working at a summer camp for the Salvation Army up on Lake Ontario.
My roommate and I had put in a full day’s work and we were taking a much deserved break when the little girl entered our staff cabin.
“The nurse isn’t in,” she said sweetly, “and I cut my finger.”
I got up from where I’d flopped on my bed, found a Band-Aid and gently took care of her.
Playing nurse wasn’t in my job description, but I knew enough about little wounds to be able to help and then send the girl on her way.
It was after dinner and the kids were out playing before our evening program.
Things were winding down and should have been fairly copacetic, but when I walked the little girl out and looked towards the nurse’s cabin I knew something was very wrong.
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(photo credit: Gabriela Camerotti)
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