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.
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