Some people laughed when I told them I was going to spend the summer being a counselor at a Girl Scout camp in Northern Maine.  “That will be easy,” was most people’s response, I nodded along with them, thinking that it wouldn’t be too bad. The pay was terrible in comparison to what all my lobster fishing friends were making, but it didn’t matter.  I had been going to summer camps since I had been going to school. I love camp, going every summer has shaped who I am today as a person.
During staff training, I learned things that I will never forget no matter where life takes me.  The last day of training week was “crisis day”.  Our day started early, like usual, with many cups of coffee and laughter.  Then it got serious.  We were given thorough instructions on what to do if a variety of things happened, from an animal sighting (moose and deer are seen nearly weekly) to an armed intruder.  We walked escape routes, did searches in the lake, and practiced a lost camper drill.  That is when it hit me.  Parents are leaving their children with us, trusting us not only to make sure their children have a good time, but to keep their children safe.  This was terrifying to me.  Did this mean I was the adult?  All I could think about was how I was going to make it through the summer.  I talked to one of my co-workers, she reassured me that I had a solid knowledge of camp, the likelihood of most of these things happening was slim, and that I would understand that there were other things on your mind once the campers got here. I looked to her when I was in sticky situations for advice and she gave me a lot of reassurance that I was on the right path. She is one of the best mentors that I could ask for.
My first week of campers was something that no amount of training could prepare me for.  I had a group of six 9-11 year olds, each with unique personalities. As we sat down for our first meal together in the dining hall, I couldn’t help but feel like a clingy mother. I don’t think I sat still the whole meal.  I walked around, made sure they all found something to eat, had someone to talk to, and I must have counted to make sure that there were six of them twenty times.  When you go to camp without your parents, you need to find someone to fill that space for the week, someone to trust, to ask permission to do things, and someone to look up to.  That person was me.  That first week of campers was the first time that I had ever felt like I was a real adult.  These girls were counting on me for everything!  I got the girls up in the morning, made sure they brushed teeth and hair, made sure their clothes were on right (never did I know that it was possible to put jeans on inside out and backward, and not know the difference) and lead them to their activities throughout the day.  I listened when they had a question, offered encouragement when needed, and was there all day and night, no matter how small or large the issue was.
After that first week I realized I had made it, that I could make it, in the adult world.  Talking to adults after camp, ones who had worked at camps, said it was the hardest job they ever had.  Now that I am back from camp, I have a broader understanding of life.  I feel that I am more mature and have a better handling of how the world works, all from working with kids at a summer camp.