Timothy Raynor understands the power of fire. At the age of 14, he has learned how to harness the heat to shape sheets of metal into swords and shields and suits of armor.
Three years ago, however, Raynor had a different relationship with fire, one that landed him in trouble with the city.
The blazes started small, Raynor said. He would go out into the woods behind his house and watch as flames lapped at leaves and melted plastic toys.
After that, he said, he joined another boy in setting a milk jug on fire. They took turns jumping their bikes across the flames, he said. By the time the fire department showed up, the boys had already extinguished their work, he said. Still, the fire had damaged the street, Raynor's grandparents BJ and Susan Belongia said, and the city took note.
Raynor needed help, his grandparents said. Traditional fire prevention programs, the ones that try to scare kids straight with jail tours and trips to meet burn victims, hadn't worked.
Raynor was going down a path that could end in criminal charges, said Bridgette Hoilman, who works in the fire department's fire prevention division. After a meeting with the Belongias, Hoilman selected Raynor for the Adventure Intervention Mentor program, a city program she created to help crisis fire starters.
Thirty-nine kids have completed the program since Hoilman started it in 2005.
The program deviates from other government-run juvenile intervention programs, she said. Instead of working with kids for a weekend, Hoilman and her team of volunteer firefighter mentors work with participants at least once a week for about five months.
"You can't change a child with just two days," she said.
Lectures about the dangers of fire are replaced with weekly adventures like canoeing, camping and cliff repelling, she said. After each challenge, the firefighters get kids talking about what they learned and how it can be applied to real-world situations.
The activities force participants, most between the ages of 11 and 14, to develop teamwork skills and self-confidence.
It's an indirect approach to dealing with fire-starters that targets the root of the problem -- a desire for power and control, Hoilman said.
"Fire is different than just being a delinquent," she said. "With a fire, it is a way to deal with feeling helpless or lost or having no direction."
The program swaps punishment for empowerment, a distinction lost on many of the young participants.
Danny Ward, a firefighter and mentor, said many of the kids he has worked with initially viewed the program as required community service.
"At first I was angry because I thought I'd be wasting half of my day," said Raynor, now 14 and a youth mentor in the program. "It was this thing I was forced to do."
Ward said firefighters are part friend, part authority figure. He has seen kids enter the program with an attitude or, in other cases, acting totally withdrawn. Some of the participants have been abused or are growing up in unstable living situations, Hoilman said.
None of the firefighters get training in how to work with kids in crisis, Ward said. Mentors rely on their instincts and the histories of each child Hoilman provides them with.
"There's no real science," Ward said. "It's about being a human being and looking after each other."
Raynor said it took several months for him to begin enjoying the trips. One of his favorites was on his birthday, he said. The group went on a dolphin cruise, and Raynor said he stood on a boat with his arms out to his sides. Then he plunged face-first into the water.
The Belongias called the change in their grandson a boost of self-confidence. The teen called it perseverance.
"You have to go out and know what you're doing and be mentally strong," he said.
Now Raynor can look back on all of the challenges -- gruelling hikes toting a heavy pack, falling off rocks, twisting his ankle -- and grin.
"I still wear my hiking boots," he said. "They're cool."
After graduating from the program, Hoilman selected Raynor to be a youth mentor. The designation means he continues to attend the trips to help his peers going through the program for the first time.
"They teach you how to feel good about yourself," BJ Belongia said. "And that helps him help other people."
The Belongias credit Hoilman's program for helping Raynor develop the assurance he needed to apply to the Governor's School in Norfolk, where he spends half of his day in the theater tech department.
The Belongias bought Raynor's tools to fuel his passion for metal work at home.
"We still worry and watch him and talk to him," she said, "but I'm not worried about him burning something down now."
Most of the changes the Belongias have noticed in their grandson are subtle -- more confidence, new skills. He's still troubled, they said, but has more resources to deal with his problems.
"How can you measure that to say how much it's worth?" BJ Belongia asked.
The intervention program is free to participants and entirely grant-funded, Hoilman said.
It costs about $1,300 to put one child through the program, she said. Most of the funds for purchasing equipment and supplies came from a $43,000 FEMA grant. Local companies, families and churches have also donated to the program.
Every year, Hoilman has more kids referred to the program than she can take. She said it's always hard for her to turn down someone who could use the help.
Now, several years removed from his first difficult months in the program, Raynor counts himself lucky to have benefitted from it.
"I would never trade my place for anything else," Raynor said.
McClatchy-Tribune News Service
