In the time since I’ve last blogged, a lot has happened to me. I’ve successfully taught over 30 kids how to dive. I’ve been pushed into the lake with all of my clothes on, on numerous occasions. I’ve gotten sunburnt and I’ve gone back to pale. I’ve memorized a million names, traded a gagillion silly bands, and exchanged a countless amount of hugs. But only a few recent events have really prevented me from writing, essentially because it was all too much to handle that I wasn’t ready to process it all in a written form.
Since we last chatted, three counselors left camp and went back home (one of whom was the girl who slept in the bed less than a foot from my bed) and a few other counselors got in a pretty serious car accident. In light of these events, I began to realize something I was only just beginning to skim the surface of, and that’s just how precious time can be. I don’t want to get all melodramatic on you and whatnot, but I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog explaining what this camp is doing for me. Still, I haven’t really expressed my appreciation for that. I don’t want anything to disturb my experience here because I know one week, one day, one hour, one minute will be time too soon to leave.
I also began to realize just how much, in such a short period of time, I’ve come to care so much about the people here. I have been here for almost five weeks now, most of the counselors have only been here for four and the kids have only been here for three. Yet still, in that time, amazing things have happened, things I didn’t begin to notice until the possibility of them falling apart seemed plausible. I didn’t know I cared so much until I was put into that position and my heart, my gut, and my head made me realize it.
Alright, enough of the dramatics, let’s get to the real heart of this blog:
In an effort to shed some light on what exactly I meant when I told people “this summer I am working at a sleep-away camp, like The Parent Trap!” I wanted to dedicate a blog entry on the daily happenings here at camp. Other than special events, like the Fourth of July, every day goes pretty much exactly the same way.
7:15 AM – As the responsible camp counselor I am, I have to get up before the kids so I can spend the rest of the morning helping them get ready. So, at this time, I peel myself out from my cocoon of blankets in attempt to prepare myself for the day.
7:30AM – Wake the girls up. From this time until breakfast it is up to me and the able minds of two other counselors to make sure each girl has brushed her teeth, combed her hair, changed her clothes, and put on her shoes. All of these actions are things these 10 year olds can do independently, yet still every morning I find myself sitting on my bed asking the same questions over and over again: “Who has their shoes on?? Who’s brushed their teeth?!” How this morning routine can repeat not only once but every single morning boggles my mind. Yet still, like clockwork, this is how my mornings start.
8:10AM – Breakfast. Meals here at camp are…. not exactly a picnic. Because the tiny dining hall where we fit all of Lower Camp is big enough to house a squirrel and his family, the kids are not allowed to get up and serve themselves. Therefore meals such as breakfast consist of constant children screams such as “FRUIT LOOPS! PB&J! ORANGE JUICE!” At the beginning it was all very overwhelming, but now it feels like more of an organized chaos. I’ve got a food distribution system down, and I’ll be dammed if anyone disturbs it!
8:40AM – Clean up. Back at the bunks the girls finish everything they didn’t have time to do before breakfast. Although most of them see this time as ample time to get to the next level on their DS gameboys, it’s really meant as time to make their beds and put their stuff away.
9:30AM – It is this point in my day where I really feel like the father figure of our little bunk family. As all of the campers prepare for their first period, I say my goodbyes and head off to the pool where I have my first swim lesson. Because I do swim lessons usually about four to five (out of six) periods a day, it all gets very monotonous.
In the morning at the pools, I have the babies of camp (ages 6-8), girls one period, boys the next. This is where I feel most at home with my capabilities of teaching because 1) it’s in a pool and 2) the kids are at a level of swimming where they can actually learn something of value. The older kids have been swimming for awhile and are too used to their form and structure. The babies are more like clay, ready and willing to be molded.
After two periods at the pool, I begrudgingly make my way to the lake. The walk from the pools to the lake is a tough one, only because I know I’m spending the rest of my day there. The lakefront, where we teach the rest of the lessons, is lovingly known (by me) as the ghetto of Lokanda. The kids hate it, and with great reason. They can’t see the bottom, it’s dirty and cold, and there’s fish, snakes, and snapping turtles swimming around like they own the place. What I want to know is who walked up to this lake, saw all of these creatures, and decided it would be a great place for a summer camp. As challenging as adapting to this change in environment can be, it’s still all very exciting. Having to teach in a lake keeps me on my toes, because it’s all very new to me. If there’s anything I’m becoming good at, it’s evaluating each child indendently and figuring out effective teaching methods for them. Working at the lake is also helping me get over my fear of bodies of water where I can’t see the bottom (a fact I left out during my interview, when my head counselor asked if I would like to accept a position as a lakefront lifeguard…).
After the three periods in the morning, it’s lunchtime. Sometimes the days feel like time is counting down to the next time we can eat. At camp, you never really feel hungry. Hunger feels more like an alarm clock. Oh, it’s 1pm? I must be hungry. Meals are such a funny thing here. There is never any quiet; if the kids aren’t screaming what food they want, they’re singing songs and chants. For someone’s birthday, the Lokanda way is not to sing them the traditional happy birthday song, oh no. Lokanda is much too classy for that. Instead, we sing that song, plus another four after that, all totalling in about five minutes worth of singing, dedicated to the birthday child who is forced to stand on a chair and awkwardly watch as this serenade occurs.
One song the kids never seem to get enough of is called “Hil-la-lee” and, if in the real world, might operate as a mating call. If, god forbid, one of the kids sees a counselor talking to another counselor of the opposite sex, said child automatically assume this conversation means they’re dating. After eavesdropping on this captivating conversation, the kids then proceed to make up a rhyme about the two counselors, all in the matter of two minutes. It’s actually quite amazing how quickly they are able to come up with a rhyme (example: one of the counselors name is Francesca, a seemingly difficult name. But that didn’t cause my girls to hesitate, who were able to create this rhyme about her and the guy counselor she was talking to in the span of a minute: “Wherever there’s soda, there is fresca, wherever there is Ree, there’s Francesca. Hil-la-le-la-le-laaaaa).
After lunch is rest hour. Almost always I make plans to do something productive: write for this bad boy of a blog, talk to my mom on the phone, exercise etc etc. But 9 times out of 10, lack of sleep always conquers whatever I initially had planned, and I spend rest hour in my bunk, attempting to nap while all seven girls in my bunk run around on a sugar high.
After rest hour is periods four through six, my morning repeated. After sixth period and before dinner is the campers’ time to shower, a time also known as: remain constant and complete eye contact as these kids run around completely in the buff. It is all a very strange experience. I remember before camp started, my group leader warned us about shower hour and how the kids run around without a care in the world. At the time it didn’t sound very out of the ordinary, but now that I have lived it every day for the past four weeks, I coming to understand why the forewarning was necessary.
Dinner happens and then comes free play, where all the kids stay outside, playing on playgrounds and with each other, as the counselors (besides the ones on duty for free play) get some alone time in the bunk to shower and appreciate the silence. I love free play, whether on duty or not. On duty is a lot of fun, because I get to hang out with all the kids I teach in a non-teacher setting. It’s during my times on duty during free play that I’ve scored the most silly bands. By the time I come home at the end of the summer, my arm is going to be a cornucopia of multicoloured dinosaurs, giraffes, and penguins. I know you’re jealous!
After free play is evening activity. Because I work all six periods of the day, I always get evening activity off. Which is kind of a downer because every so often the evening activities are actually kind of awesome. A few nights ago, all of my girls had a disco with the boys their age. The age their at now is hilarious because they want to put on makeup and talk about boys, but the second they’re forced to occupy the same space as a boy, they forget how to formulate words.
Once they get back from evening activity, it’s bedtime for the campers. My girls go to bed at 9:30, which means my night off begins at 9:31. At this point we check out and do one of the two things there are to do at night in this place: go to the staff lounge to stare at facebook, or go to the local bar to hang out and buy ridiculously overpriced drinks (of soda… of course). It’s not exactly the Ritz, but hey, it’s home, it’s with my friends, and I love it.
My curfew is at 12:30, and by that time I am so completely exhausted from the day I don’t have the energy to do much of anything else but pass out. I set my alarm, check my phone, and fall asleep to the melodious sounds of the girls in my bunk talking in their sleep (“not the needlepoint!”).
It's hard to put into words just how, in every very calculated day, amazing happens. But it sneaks up on ya. A period passes, an hour passes, and it can feel insignificant. But then a moment happens, and it's like in the cartoons, when the light bulb lights up because it all makes sense. From a hug, to a hand hold, to a craft made is Lauren Art. It all seems so ordinary on paper, but when you live it, it's magical. It's those little moments that make every hardship worth it. It's those little moments that are the reason I wanted to come here this summer, and the reason I will most likely return next summer.
Alright, this blog has officially become much too long. Writing here is getting so much harder, from a combination of no computer and no time. I spend a lot of tenda lovin’ care on each blog, and it pains me to have to split up my writing into small increments of time. Because of it I’m beginning to feel like my writing is becoming very disjointed, a feeling that I do not enjoy.
This blog took especially long to write, and for that, I apologize. I put it off and I put it off and then finally when I sat down to write it, so much time had passed I didn’t know how to translate it all into words. Expect another blog very soon of exactly what’s been happening since I stepped onto the 12737 area code. Until then, thank you all who have sent me mail and packages. They are a godsend and I am forever grateful.
Yours,
Megan
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