The camper behavior and safety presentation ended on a slide of various buzzwords used throughout the PowerPoint in various sizes and colors. A collage of sorts recapping the three-hour-long training.
TRAUMA. ACTIVE LISTENING. MANDATED REPORTER. BULLYING. MENTAL HEALTH. PRONOUNS. GENDER IDENTITY. PUBERTY. EMOTIONAL AWARENESS. SAFE SPACES.
The list of topical words went on.
I raised my hand.
“I have a question, do counselors have resources for dealing with their own mental health while working at camp? Is there like a point person for whom we can go to if campers’ mental health problems are affecting us?”
“That’s a great question, Alice.” The head counselor said, bowing his head toward the front row of the crowd. “Pete?”
The camp director sat in the front row of the crowd hopped up from his criss-cross position and faced the counselors.
Pete, or Uncle Pete, as he suggested we call him since that, is what all the campers call him, clapped his hands together while wiggling his bare toes in his bright, multicolor Tevas. He wore large wire-framed glasses, a worn 2002 Camp shirt, capri jeans, and his long brown ponytail tied back at the base of his neck.”
“So, truthfully, because of staffing constraints and this damn virus, we were not able to afford a camp counselor advisee or mental health point person. I would love to have one at one point, but it just wasn’t in the cards this year. Part of the reason I hired you lot was that I feel confident you will be able to handle whatever this new camp reality is. If you do feel overwhelmed or in need of a mental health break, I strongly advise you to come to me and ask for a break.”
Uncle Pete opened up his lanky arms toward the crowd and smiled.
“You all are the cream of the crop and I have high hopes for this summer! Any other questions? No?”
“Pete, are you on line two?” The walkie-talkie crackled as Uncle Pete whipped it from its woven pouch attached to his jeans via carabiner.
“Go for Pete,” he said into the walkie-talkie as he walked out across the room to the door.
“We have a concerned parent on hold for you in the office.” The person on the other end said.
“I’ll be there in 2,” he said, leaving the room with a wave of his hand.
“OK, are there any last questions, comments, concerns?” The head counselor said as he centered himself back in the middle of the room.
No one said anything.
“Well,” he looked at his large black waterproof watch, “we went a bit over time, so you all only have about 30 minutes before lifeguard training starts. I’ll meet you down there and don’t forget your towel and sunscreen!” He slapped the back of his clipboard with his hand and nodded to us in dismissal.
“I don’t know about you, but that presentation triggered me. It sounded like it was about 10 years old. I’m gonna need to call my therapist later,” I heard a girl say behind me as we all stood up and gathered our belongings.
I laughed, “Not a promising start!” I said.
“You got that right. What’s your name again?” The girl asked me. She was about my height with a tie-dye bucket hat covering her short black hair. She also wore an old camp sweatshirt. This one said “Fantastic Fours” with dolphins leaping over the bubble lettering. Most definitely a former camper, I thought.
“My name’s Alice,” I responded as we walked out of the room together.
“Right, right. I’m Jocelyn, but everyone calls me Joce.”
We crossed the short wooden bridge connecting two sides of the irrigation canal and separated as we walked to our respective rooms.
“See you on the deck!” I said.
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