Camp 6 - Day 25 to Day 35

Where did I leave my tale before, if I recall: Day 24. ‘Twas one day and ten since last I bore how time was spent at Camp Lee Mar; that foolish sin I now redeem with words that rhyme (or so it seems). Forgive me as I switch to prose as rhymes are hard (I think it shows). All my thoughts and fingers free, what can I say? I’m on OD.

I think a good place to start this post is with the highs and lows of camp. Physical, emotional, even meteorological, there are enough to please any extremophile… Following the warm Tuesday that was Day 24 was a wet Wednesday morning. Praise to some film fan among the staff, ‘Matilda’ brightened that morning; of course, the demon who stopped it five minutes short of the end should be dismissed on the grounds that no one, and I mean no one, should be allowed to stop a film before I can jig along to ‘On My Way’.

What really marked Wednesday was not ‘Matilda’, nor the rather crowded basketball session that was my choice for evening entertainment but what really marked Wednesday was the day it preceded – like Christmas Eve, it doesn’t really matter what happened the day before it all kicked off. Thursday (Day 26 – naturally) was the trip to Downey Park.

Margate is to Downey Park (& Wildwater Kingdom) what a scalectrix is to Formula 1… well, not quite but everything is bigger, louder, more brightly coloured and you have to have really good neck muscles if you want to keep your head pointing in the same direction afterwards. Compared to Disneyland it might not match up, I wouldn’t know since I haven’t been, but to someone whose sole experience of roller-coasters is the flat kiddies going-for-a-walk-back-for-dinner affair at Legoland Windsor® it was awesome. One thing that bothered me prior to the trip was that I might not get to go on any of the big rides because of the kids I had… I needn’t have worried, the first ride of the day was a U-shaped, double-drop tower, one straight up and the other in a screw shape. Dutifully attending my camper and being first in the line meant being the first on the carriage, which meant being right at the front…

I get vertigo, not badly, but enough that I had to battle my legs when in the high-rise suite in Philly on Day 21. When I say I braced myself after being strapped, legs dangling, into the seat and hurtled forward at Ferrari pace I’m not kidding: the screw thread starts with a right-angle at the bottom, so your chin has enough time for a catch-up with tea and biscuits with your chest while you neck muscles attempt to lift a load that it really hasn’t had to struggle with since you were born… imagine the vulnerable, uncontrolled feeling of a head-lolling new-born you, and you might get what it felt like on that ride. And I haven’t even got to the second part of the ride…

What goes up must come down [citation needed], hence the next bit involved falling backwards in a cork-screw, being dragged backwards at break-neck speed and then shot up, still backwards, rather high into the air. As I said before, I was at the front, held 100 feet off the ground by a harness. The ride judders and hangs before the free-fall back to the ground which only makes it worse, and the whole thing repeats three times so that jelly-legs are stocked, backordered and delivered promptly, and supposedly with a signature.

We were supposed to get signed off after each ride because the disability passes allowed for one trip on each ride before we had to use the regular queue*. There is no better way to see a theme park than with a kid who qualifies for a disability pass and loves roller-coasters… we got to skip all the lines (and got more than a few dirty looks because of it). On, off, on, off, the only thing we had to wait for was food at the end of the day.

* since getting here I have had to override my British affinity for queue, and instead resentfully append myself to lines, despite my former resistance. So too, I have to forfeit my torch in favour of a flashlight and my duvet is now a blanket… since the kids don’t know or want to know the British alternatives I have a very effective pressure to make sure I say the right thing. I’m sorry already to those at home who will refuse to walk beside me on the sidewalk, because they’re most definitely on the pavement and couldn't possibly share such regal space with riffraff.

Since then, the weather has definitely taken a hot turn. We’ve been in the ‘90s’ for the last few days (Day 33-35), and rumours of ‘100s’ have been going round. When it gets hot, it means rotating in groups for the pool and lounging in the shade for the rest of the time – ah, poor us :). It does get a little wearing, to be in and out of the pool all day, but it’s still the best way to cool down (though I’m missing a good bath more each day).

Physically, the low in camp is the pool, and the high is the soccer field. It’s funny that that squares with how high up those facilities are; the bugs on the soccer field eat better than we do and I could myself blessed that typing prevents me from scratching. Emotionally, the biggest high of camp so far was seeing the kids in the pool today (Day 35), after four weeks of badgering and bullying and encouragement and enough of leaving them to themselves, it was great to see how much better the kids did; the fact that it was visitors day today could have something to do with it.

Four weeks in for the kids, and the parents get to come along for a bit of the afternoon. It meant that most of the day was spent trying to clean up the cabin (as a lot of the last few days have been too)… everything in its proper place, sheets changed, bathroom rejigged to have kid A cubby holding only and all of kid A’s stuff etc. The ‘Do Not Touch or No Social Dance’ signs on the shelves worked wonders. With tales of Petunia’s charge dragging the freshly folded contents on a whole shelf unit down with her, I’m particularly thankful that the worst I had to deal with the occasional snatch.

What topped off today was not the parents saying goodbye (after seeing the kids faces after, it was easily the saddest point in the day), nor was it the swimming. What made my day was the result of a week jammed with dance rehearsals, fitted in gaps in the mismatched schedules of myself and Petunia as we attempted to put together a waltz that would do justice to ‘Tale as old as time’ from ‘Beauty and the Beast’… I must admit that the inevitable didn’t occur to me ‘til yesterday (Friday, Day 34), that being the male part I would have to be cast as the beast. Fortunately the teasing was minimal.

The counsellors dancing competition is a time-honoured feature of visitors day, and it’s probably no coincidence that four out of eight dance couples dropped out before the night; having to fit in dance rehearsals between cabin cleanings wasn’t easy, I got up an hour early this morning just to practice and as Jason Bourne says: “Sleep is a weapon”. I fear I was poorly armed today. Nonetheless, I loved the dance tonight, despite coming last (thanks for the dig Delilah)… the other contestants were Tekno and Blush, Minnie and Mex, Mr Yee-ha! and Phil; hip-hop, salsa, and… zombie. Victory to a made-the-night-before zombie reinvention of thriller, and I have pictures :).

That’s Dorney Park and visitors day polished off (bar what remains of OD, where I’m minding a nearly empty camp because most everyone else has gone bowling), that leaves Carnival Day. Carnival day was fun. It was fun not in spite of the rain but more so because of it: faced with a normal morning of regular activities under a standard sun (AM1.5 or better), the prospect of a bright, warm and bustling carnival afternoon seemed almost certain. The ‘Dunk the Director’ equipment was to be the highlight; every cabin was tasked with picking three staff members to be plunged from a plank into freezing cold water, the plank plunked by the press of a plump projectile on the protrusion on the periphery of the tank. Rather, the rain came crashing down – warm and exhilarating – drenching the dry and dunked alike. Water-fights with balloons and guns from the swimming pool worked solely because the stock of water was the freezing dunking tank… standing in the warm rain, minding my own business after being dunked on request of The Twins (and Petunia), I was shot a fair few times by Scotty; freezing cold water in the ear!

Once damped beyond tolerance by the downpour the carnival was closed and we went back to the cabin. I was about to leave it there but actually, I forgot about what happened 2 days prior. Once Monday afternoon's rain abated, the powers that be put in motion the ‘Counsellor Pagent’. One counsellor from each cabin was to be selected and attired in a cat-walk getup as befits child designers with little love for dignity. Naturally, it was me that was face-painted white, given a gelled comb-over, trousers, shoes and shirt, tie and a pair of glasses with sellotape on the bridge and no lenses. Perhaps I wasn’t the most ridiculously dressed, Stalk had a good run at that and Barry was right up there (especially when his chosen talent was breakdancing). None of us realized we would have to perform until we got to the picnic grove, already packed with kids… hence Barry’s breakdancing, Mr Yee-ha!’s ‘Yee-ha’s and my martial arts mash-up. I am proud to say that I won counsellor of the day! [The rumour that Tekno and Stevie had mixed PVA in with the face-paint was not true, fortunately, but in a way it did its job… I walked around with a fixed smile as I plotted my revenge – guys, you should have done it, for starters I wouldn’t have felt like such a pansy when it all washed off]

So another couple of weeks (nearly) has passed by, many a happy face at social dance, many a sad face under a happy face as tapioca arrived for desert once more, many a ball thrown, many less caught in my case. With Western Day and Beach and Surf Day upcoming I look forward to more worth typing. As it is, I think I’ve exhausted my memory, imagination and me for this evening. 4 minutes ‘til curfew. Goodnight.

...

...

Ah, it’s Saturday, which means 1 hour extended curfew which means that I have more time to wallow, or write. I think I’ll keep it short…

… bugger.

I will add this one picture that shows the hierarchy here:

Camp 5 - Day 19 to Day 24

The first preamble into America out of the way, and Day 19's (Sunday's) lazy schedule the following weekdays should have been extremely difficult if karma had anything to say about it. Instead, the kids have got into the routine and those who've a bit more of a challenge have passed on the disease making life interesting. I still haven't seen the last half of 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1', and with the third trip for those with Saturday off being going to the cinema to see Part 2 that could be a problem... if I weren't taking the day completely off to sort out my travel plans.

Tonight (Day 24) was the third movie night, and since last week's movie night was missed because of the phone call mix-up the movie of choice was Tim Burton's 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory'... missing the first half – me sharing the evening off with Tekno - was disorienting enough but Johnny Depp and Tim Burton are a loony pair as it is. Roald Dahl was rather eccentric, brilliantly so of course, and some of his darker stuff is as creepy as spider soup… thinking about it C&CF is fairly dark: a lone loon touring terminal teens and tots through an eclectic physics-defying TARDISian expanse. What it means I don’t want to know, but I had the thought while watching that it would have been so much better to have gone for an 18 movie and really let the weirdness out… as Virus-man said, what would have happened if Verruca had been a bad nut?

Today is also the first day of the trip to Lake George. I was so hoping that I'd be on it even though it wouldn't be a holiday, because even though camp is fantastic a lot of the time it can be a bit much without a break. Only one of my kids is on the 3-day trip to Lake George, the rest going to Dorney Park & Wild Water Kingdom on Thursday. With only two kids to look after on Thursday, both of which enjoying roller-coasters, it should be an acceptable consolation.

I’ve had to read my own blog to work out the chronology, but here goes. After a week last Saturday’s karaoke came a wet Sunday, a disaster for kids and counsellors alike because a) none of the sports or swimming can go ahead and (more horrifying) b) there is a 50:50 chance that we are the victim of bingo….. It will forever elude me why sliding a translucent red marker over a number on a card corresponding to that on a small ball that rumbles from a cooky cage and called by a very eager Steve; the numbers aren’t even up to us, they’re random, on a kid-friendly cardboard grid. No direct dislike for those that like bingo, but it is random, anyone can win, the kids have more fun at karaoke and the only fun the counsellors have is the diverting challenge of ‘How many bingo cards can I do at once?’. </rant>

Last Thursday was Crazy Hair Day, and at breakfast me and my kids greeted the rest of camp with one attempt at Sonic the Hedgehog (in reality closer to a cross between Fat Sam’s slick-back and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s stick-up), a passable McCauley Culkin and my Mohican… due credit to the girls in camp for outshining the boys, with a million mis-directed pony-tails, but it’s hard to do anything with skull-short hair without dye (complete respect however to Sk8er for being a girl, having long hair and using glow-in-the-dark green dye).

Other significant events of last week were Camp Sing on Sunday evening, for which cabin 1D did ‘We Will Rock You’ and the highlight – I couldn’t possibly vote for my own cabin – was Cabin 5’s ‘Bananas of the World Unite!’. Of course, the talk of camp of Sunday was the day off prior…

As a group of 10, the ‘Saturday off’ers and I went into Philadelphia on Friday night. Four and a half hours later we got into Philly and checked into a sweet executive suite at the Hilton… 2 people checked in, 10 people walked in. 10 people walked out the next day, but there was quite a risk of a fatality from the balcony – as Sully told me when I arrived, it takes a full ten seconds for a drop of beer to reach the ground from the 24^th floor. Photos of the evening cannot be included naturally, we had too much fun for this temperate forum. I went to bed at about 4 o’clock.

A day off in Philadelphia was lovely. A Subway breakfast and a steak sandwich dinner bordered an afternoon of wandering through Reading Terminal Market, a couple of fountains (for one of our company, quite literally) and thence on to the Museum of Art. While wandering the gallery is on my to-do list, doing the Rocky steps was higher up for the group… G-bear beat me up to the top. A wedding group was also on the steps; I don’t want to know how hot the guys were in black, in weather that was throwing the rest of us to the shade.

Before the Rocky Steps we saw the Liberty Bell and had ‘rest hour’ in one of the gardens nearby. The queue for the bell (I know I should say ‘line’, but dammit I’m British!) was too long so I got a shot of it through the window… an interesting factoid: the bell is British-made, an interesting irony despite it cracking repeatedly over a century or two.

One draw-back of going to Philly was getting back too late for Counsellors Entertainment. Don’t worry Barry, we’ll do our duet soon. Oh, and a second drawback was the deliciously toxic steak sandwich, ‘wit’ onions & provolone… greasy would be a deadly understatement. There was enough vein-clogging fat to drench the bread, the paper the baguette was wrapped in and my leg when it dripped through the metal-lattice table. Incidently, there’s a lot of competition for the death-diet steak sandwich near Pat’s King of Steaks but Pat has it covered, the steakhouse across the road had solid-top tables and the thought of eating in a pool of grease is even less appealing. My poor heart with have to deal with a few guilty indulgences before I get home.

Camp 4 - Day 13 to Day 18

Thursday ended with the aforementioned karaoke and the fun didn't stop there. The flow of one day into another makes it hard to recall exactly what happened when. As time flies, the streaks of paint that represent a given day blend to the murk of perpetuativity. What's left on the canvas of the last week or so are the fast-fading blues, yellows and greens of my day off (Day 14) and the multi-colour swirls and whirls of Friday evening's Social Dance.

Social Dance is to the week what Christmas is to the year. Perhaps I should have said "July 4th" instead of "Christmas", since that landed on Monday passed... I will come to that. Anyway, social dance is the weekly dance for the kids. They dress up, choose partners for each song and jig around in variably endearing ways (who am I kidding? those that do dance are all incredibly cute). Lasting about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, it was inevitable that the spear-in-the-side Justin Bieber would appear but I danced to it anyway. Some of the kids really know how to dance, and every once in a while a circle would appear around one break-dancing or a couple doing twirls. Decked in their best outfits, the evening was a good blow-out for everyone.

Following social dance, most of the counsellors headed off to church. At church we drink holy water, sup on Lays (Walkers in the UK) since communion crackers are invariably out of stock, and feel the spirits in us (yes, most definitely the spirits). The plan for that evening, since I and others had the next day off was to sleep out at the camp site across the road from camp, a tree-sheltered clearing with a number of wooden lead-tos for housing tents and a stone-rimmed fireplace. Getting back at as close to curfew as makes no difference, I settled for my own bunk since no-one else was interested in sleeping out apart from G-bear, who came into the cabin about 15 minutes later to see if my sleepy body wanted to be dragged out to set up a tent in the dead of night with naught but he... I gracefully declined. Maybe next week.

The excitement that filled Saturday seemed limited to the indefatigable campers and those counsellors that had the day off. Thirteen of us had opted to go to Promised Land for the day, a beach/park some 20-45 minutes away from camp (depending on who you ask to drive). After a full week of dutiful care and attention to my charges, a bit of light football, poorly-played volley ball and ample sunbathing was perfect... We stopped off at Subway on the way, and for the first time since arriving here it was presented clear to my eyes and stomach the reason Americans are known for their girth. A 12" sub in the UK is an adequate meal if you get something with meat; in the US, it's a bit of a belly-buster. A normal coke bottle is bigger, the crisp (sorry, 'chips') packets are bigger and at the supermarket afterwards I was quizzical of the large bags of what looked like small crisp multipacks... No, they were single bags of crisps.

One thing I have noticed is how much 'softer' everything is here. Twizlers are soft, cookies are soft, chocolate is softer... and it's not because of the recipes, it's because of the heat! At promised land, under a sun that Brits dream of, pray for and get once every sunspot cycle, the cookies felt like dough - back as camp after cooling in Petunia's closet they snapped like a cookie should. After eating out for dinner the group headed back to camp for Counsellors Entertainment and to join the party heading to Mel's... for karaoke.

Counsellors Entertainment is arranged in advance (in principle) by a few counsellors each week. Despite that, I was roped into singing 'Drunken Sailor' with Blush on the violin having been given the sheet music 10 minutes before the start... it was ok. With Stalk as compère, a British reality TV host homage, the show moved onto my song (L-O-V-E by Nat King Cole)... I'd planned on having the Nat King Cole version but I was given the Michael Buble version about 20 minutes beforehand. After a couple of listens I had the key change ok, but gave up on the tangential vocal mood-swings, the kids sort of liked it?

The following acts were nothing short of brilliant. Uber-Dutch and Sparkly did Lady Gaga’s ‘Telephone’ – Uber-Dutch bewigged and fluorescent and Sparkly looking very Beyoncésque in a shiny dress from the drama prop room – and a couple of groups did ‘Party in the USA’ and ‘Spice Up Your Life’. The high-light of the evening was the Backstreet boys… done every year apparently, the choreography was what Tekno could remember from two years ago and started with a walk down to the stage and a line-up. The ripping off of shirts was a pretty good crowd-pleaser and one of my kids is still singing and copying the choreography when ‘Larger than Life’ comes on in the cabin. Oh, and Beano's beat-boxing was very impressive.

After CE, a decent group headed to Mel’s for what will be the most oft-repeated anecdote for me at camp. Dear Stevie… if you’re reading this, I want you to know that I will never forget what you did to me. Once at Mel’s, settling down as more of the company were taking turns walking up to the microphone I was suddenly grabbed by Ozzie and taken up… I had about 10 seconds to check the song before I had to pick up the microphone. The car of my evening hit the curb of embarrassment as I belted out all the words I could remember to ‘Barbie Girl’, which consisted of the chorus and bits with ‘Oh’ and ‘Ah’.

Trying to save face, Barry and I did 'Cecelia' by Simon and Garfunkel later, and I joined in ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ at some point. Overall, it was a fun evening but I will bear the scars in my laughing plastic for some time.

Even though it’s Day 22 I’m going to leave it there and post about the past week separately.

Camp 3 - Day 7 to Day 12

Where was I? Something to do with the first day of campers and saying nothing about it? Yes, well it’s now day four of campers and so much as happened that I’m hoping that the inevitable breaches of counsellor-counsellee confidentiality will be lost in the breeze. Speaking of breeze, a good one through the cabin would be welcome just about any time: over the last four days, the variable nature of washing, drying of clothes and the finding and containing of articles of underwear has culminated in a slightly more richly textured ambiance.

The peril of writing this blog is that it’s a challenge to say something without saying too much. No names and minimal specifics, that’s my decision; It’s either that or go silent for the next two months… or start a gossip column on the counsellor tête-à-tête.

Let me cast my mind back to Sunday morning, a fevered excitement endemic among the staff, the well-tuned rehearsals of meals and table manners, sports, swimming and not least the adequate folding of shirts, shorts and underwear, having settled into our bones… we were ready. Campers arrived in showers, one drop, two drops; before too long the bus sent to New York returned and rained dislocated campers into the waiting arms of many a happy counsellor. One of mine arrived early, by about three hours. Afforded the chance to discuss specifics with his parents (of which I must divulge nothing of course), and again with my second camper delivered by car, I felt satisfied that the summer was to be a good one… Little did I know what the eventual-seven campers had in store for me…

The first day, pleasing smiles and homesickness-induced reticence guaranteed good behaviour. This false sense of security was not to last, and the practical reality - that kids will not eat what you tell them to eat, that the ability to control one’s own bladder is not a given – was mixed with the calming elation when things happened by themselves without intervention. What became clear over the first and the following days was the vitality of the care and attention that’s necessary to allow those without the inner sense of placement and purpose that I, and I hazard, the majority of people take for granted.

To not be able to talk? It’s my most defining method of communication. Words and language form the rather crisp digestive biscuit base of the delicious cheesecake of my life… the whipped cream of self-expression, the mascarpone cheese of thought itself, the other ingredients and the toppings that communicate my character and personality are founded on a piece of imagination that is making me rather hungry… By no means, are my campers dumb (in the disability sense), but their poor pronunciation and enunciation and not least my own bad ear make it difficult at times.

Before I distract myself with the thought of food, I’d like to add I am sitting in the porch-light haze outside my cabin, on Day 11. Inside Space Cabin 1D (it’s got a rocket and stars and everything) lies the (hopefully) slumbering shapes of seven selectively special students. Today was a feast of sports and swimming, well-placed rests and more than an optimal amount of hassle. With seven personalities to cater to, and more than enough contraindications when mixed together, the management and direction of a holy-number of children is akin to a finely-tuned, and potentially explosive, chemical reaction… it should be right up my alley, alas not quite.

One vital mismatch of functioning level led to a replacement of one camper with another today. The campers are allowed to step out of activities, subject to a limited amount of negative persuasion, and of the group there are more than I’d like who can choose not to do anything. However, destructive behaviour is not tolerated and repeated incidents led to the shuffle; I had to change out of soup-stained clothes this evening, and it’s not the first time that one of the counsellors has had to do so. His replacement high-fives!, smiles and has no other uses for hot soup besides eating – the good end of the deal? I think so, better for the camper? I hope so. Being assigned to a room with campers closer to his functioning level will hopefully lead to better behaviour… but the 1D counsellors are still looking after him at meals, I’m hoping for a rapid improvement.

The persuasion techniques for toileting, showering and joining activities have felt duplicitous at times: a combination of button-pushes and you get a result – I can’t help feeling like a bully at times, though the roles reverse constantly; like playing seven games of chess at once, with players of varying ability. With a perfect history, more time, being their parents, knowing all their preferences, dreams, aspirations and what they’re thinking at the time I might be able to do more than look after them; in their lack, I will make do.

At some point a hornet buzzed into our cabin!

It’s easy to talk about the hard aspects of the job, the moments when I miss having a couch to crash on with a remote for the TV etc. but the good moments keep coming. I really ought to add nice comments to the behaviour reports: “gets new clothes ready before taking a shower”, “folds Camp Lee Mar style better than counsellors”, “asks politely for things”. To be fair, there are announcements at dinner each evening for recognition but I have yet to put one on myself – something to remedy before long.

The amount of cheering, clapping and general team spirit is amazing. The amount of reinforcement that accompanies the merest of acts, like choosing an exercise for a warm-up, was disturbing at first: prejudiced by high expectations, my instinct was that the seemingly excessive rewards would be bad for the kids, lowering their expectations to the point where any hope of a more self-determined existence would vanish… In the days since Sunday I’ve remembered what a chilling chore it was to stand up at Scouts or at school, when I was the same age as some of the campers, what a spectacle it was to make a contribution. When everyone in the dining room applauds a shower-time well done, or a camper who has managed to swim three lengths of the swimming pool, the smile from the campers in question is a whole lot bigger than what I’ve enjoyed from receiving a good mark back, or having an experiment work.

To enjoy working with special needs kids is to appreciate the small things. Everyone here has a sense of achievement when a camper does something right… the judging standards aren’t those of the staff, but those of the camper, but the achievement is no less impressive. The Private Life of Plants pops to mind… A close-up of a shoot, growing like a tree. A mushroom, gills like the spokes of a suspension bridge. A fly with big, domed eyes foraging inside the tunnel-like stem of a trumpeting flower. The growth of the kids is an incredible thing to watch… it may not be quick, or strong, or transcend the norm but how it looks depends on how you set the camera… set it right and it’s beautiful and immense.

Petunia’s off at Walmart getting essential supplies like the bug-spray that could be saving my legs from being the chairs, the tables and the food for the occasional diner. Subtracted further from my company is Barry (gone with Petunia), a great loss to the duet rehearsal we had planned… Until tomorrow night then, we will banish the night with “Do you hear the people sing?” from Les Miserables for this Saturday’s entertainment. All banishments will have to be quiet as a mouse with laryngitis as Barry is on duty outside his cabin.

Specifics from the last few days are deliberately scant. I wish I could detail everything that is going on here but I lack the patience, freedom and in a lot of cases the memory, to recount everything of interest.

Until next time…

… actually, I had to wait until today (Day 13) to finish this, and I have to add that karaoke last night was epic. ‘Poker Face’, ‘I’ve Got a Feeling’ and ‘Tik Tok’ are redefined when the kids do it, and ‘Greased Lightning’ was a full audience affair with lots of disco arms. I’m really proud of those of my kids who got up to sing, including for two solos.