Weeks eight and nine: how I learned to be careful what I wished for

I'm sure that you (meaning the five people that I know for sure read this) are wondering why I didn't post a blog for week eight. That's simple enough: I post at the end of every week when I can find the time. Thus the business of week nine left week eight undocumented until now.

I had small fry week eight- probably because I requested it for week seven, but let's not be bitter. I'm not actually all that fond of small fry, for all that it may be one of the greatest things to bring me back here (for those that don't know, I spent my first year out here on dining hall and went to small fry on my days off mostly to visit the cute group leaders that would work there. That was where I discovered my love of children). The kids are still adorable, but there doesn't seem to be any challenge in the program. We watch movies, go to pony rides and, yes, change diapers, and that seems to be about it. The kids absolutely loved me and mostly all I did was lay on the floor and let them pile blocks on me. Oh yeah, and push the swing. Essentially it's like taking a painter who began by painting walls and moved up to murals and then giving him a project where the instructions read "I think beige would be good".

For the lackluster week, the cure is a fantastic weekend. Pam, Kevin and I took a little trip up Rayado Canyon to my favorite camp: Fish Camp. As we walked, old memories didn't so much flood back as trickle, and it seemed to me that my last hike up that particular way had been many years ago. Still, those memories were spot on: there was an amazing lookout point where the trail passed through a hole in the cliff and opened up to a view of the plains on one side and the canyon on the other. It wasn't even spoiled by the fact that Pam went around to the other side to pee off of it. What almost did spoil it was my minor miscalculation on distance; I had Rayado Canyon pegged at around five and a half miles rather than the ten that it was. After dinner (which the staff charitably invited us in for) the three of us headed up to Philips Junction to visit with a friend and gossip around a roaring fire.

After such a boring week, I really wanted something fun. I wanted a big group of kids that liked to play and I even wanted an overnighter. What I got was twenty one sidewinders (ten year old boys). It was just what I had hoped for with the charming Faustian twist of making it exactly what I didn't want. Every group has its challenges; I once read a study that said that when you take the class clown out of any class, someone else will step up to take his place. I've had several groups (about two per summer) that disproved this by being perfect angels across the board, but by and large it's true: every group will have a kid that just wants to drive you up a wall. What the study didn't say was what they did with all of the class clowns that they removed from that class. They sent them to Philmont last week.

Of the twenty-one kids, at least six of them consistently gave us trouble. One child picked fights and absented himself from activities, another simply didn't have the attention span to listen to our instructions, a third waited until our backs were turned to do exactly what we told him not to. Worse, there was nothing to threaten them with: we couldn't withhold activities because most of what we were doing was going on hikes and to museums and we couldn't withhold games because they wouldn't stand still long enough to learn the rules to any game. We were so overworked that when one of the kids stopped showing up on Thursday, we didn't even know which kid it was (I later remembered that little Andrew's grandmother told us that the family was leaving on Tuesday night).

My saving grace this week was Alex, my wingman. I've heard a few people say that his boundless energy and boyish pranks are more than a little irritating, but I don't think I would have survived without him. I sang on the bus until I was hoarse and he would start another song to let me rest, I stopped to do first aid on a splinter or a cut and he organized the group into a line, I got half of the kids cleaning up after lunch at Carson Meadows and he took the other half to fill their water bottles. It was his last week of the summer and he had the worst group of anyone, and the kids never knew his disappointment.

This next week I have the Mustangs- one of my favorite groups- but then again, Sidewinders is one of my favorites as well. I feel like I need a chance to shut down, not to think, not to work, not to engage my brain or body in any way. The group is only one element of it all; hiking with my friends has physically drained me and a surprise visit from a friend this week has emotionally wiped me out. As much as I hate to admit it, I think I need to spend a little time killing goblins and space marines just to reboot my brain.