The kids in the group home call us "Staff." As in, "Staff! Rusty stinks like a piece of shit!"

One time a teammate and I took the guys for a long hot hike into the hills. Rusty decided to dump in his pants about an hour from the nearest facility. The kids got pissed and started making fun of him, so Rusty, all 250 sweaty, shitty pounds of him, plopped down in the dirt and refused to budge.

After about 45 minutes of crying Rusty finally demanded that we call in the choppers because he had given up hope. James, a tough, inner-city kid of color suggested, "Why don't y'all staff go on up ahead and we'll take care of Rusty."

It was the realization that staff might actually go through with it that motivated Rusty to get back on his feet again.

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