enough of a
challenge? Perhaps Karen was smart enough to see through my veneer of above-board professionalism. No matter, I wasn’t about to trip up. Smiling broadly, I improvised. “I can give you some additional, supplemental material if you like." Trying to come across as cooler than her peers, Karen gave me the slightest nod.
Johnny piped in. “Will these assignments count in my regular classes. I mean, back at A.O.S.?”
“ Of course, Johnny,” I reassured him.
Kenny, standing off to the side like a boy scout waiting to receive his next achievement badge, scanned the group. I felt a little uncomfortable in his presence—as if I was conspiratorially lumped together with the students. Did he see through me as well?
It wasn’t that I was hiding anything. Sure, I was slumming it a little with the curriculum, but I wasn’t pretending I was anything but my normal, teacher-self. Still, if I felt at all out of place with the regular program, S.A.P. put me in alien territory.
Taking several minutes to explain the new assignment, I passed out worksheet packets. No one asked questions. The campers just sat there, maintaining the same sullen expression I noticed when I arrived at camp. From my vantage point, none of the students were happy to be there. Other than Johnny, none of them had an inkling of how the regular A.O.S. program operated, who the students and staff were, or the fact that their parents were paying the same tuition for roughing it in the backwoods of Reedley, California.
Back in the warmth of my office, I thought of Johnny’s plea for escape. Was he being mistreated? Doubtful. Both Kenny and Kelly seemed to be accomplished, by-the-book camp leaders, with little room for hidden motives, agendas or power trips.
The truth was, Johnny was likely subjected to tougher scrutiny and a less ambiguous set of rules than his peers. From my way of thinking, and despite my own soft spot for the kid, he was getting what he deserved. From his clandestine get-togethers with Sandy, to his pranks directed at res staff, Johnny was nothing but trouble. If Kenny and Kelly had to keep a short leash on him, so be it.
I thought again of my own behavior when I lost weight, so many years ago. My behavior was worse than Johnny’s—far worse. If I were here, at A.O.S., I wouldn’t have been placed on solo, nor would I have been sent to S.A.P.
I would have been kicked out.
But Johnny was the least of S.A.P.’s problems. From what I gathered from the local weather reports, a storm was brewing that could flood the otherwise staid Kings River and turn her into a raging torrent. Kenny and Kelly were ready, willing and able to tackle any emergency—but were the kids ready?
Back home, I practiced my monster drawing skills with my son. Wielding a crayon, I sketched out a favorite creation of mine, Foodzilla—my own, extra-large answer to Godzilla. Needless to say, Bobby got a kick out of him. Cocking my head, I listened to the pitter-patter of the rain outside. I thought of my waterlogged charges back on the island. Were they in their tents, or were they clamoring for space in the staff shack? The storm increased in volume and intensity. Thunder rattled the windows. Bobby dropped his crayon and clung to me. Holding him, I made my way to a window and peered
between the blinds. Sheets of rain streamed down at a sharp angle. Winds whipped leaves and debris past me. Glancing down, I caught sight of water already flooding the gutter, surrounding our car in the process.
“ It’s only rain,” I said to my little guy, brushing his hair to the side and kissing his forehead. His hazel-green eyes—fear and curiosity in a single glance, followed the cascade pouring down.
A couple days later, after the storm had passed, I paid a visit to the island. Bill informed me the campers were moved off and onto dry land across the pond, but I wanted to
challenge? Perhaps Karen was smart enough to see through my veneer of above-board professionalism. No matter, I wasn’t about to trip up. Smiling broadly, I improvised. “I can give you some additional, supplemental material if you like." Trying to come across as cooler than her peers, Karen gave me the slightest nod.
Johnny piped in. “Will these assignments count in my regular classes. I mean, back at A.O.S.?”
“ Of course, Johnny,” I reassured him.
Kenny, standing off to the side like a boy scout waiting to receive his next achievement badge, scanned the group. I felt a little uncomfortable in his presence—as if I was conspiratorially lumped together with the students. Did he see through me as well?
It wasn’t that I was hiding anything. Sure, I was slumming it a little with the curriculum, but I wasn’t pretending I was anything but my normal, teacher-self. Still, if I felt at all out of place with the regular program, S.A.P. put me in alien territory.
Taking several minutes to explain the new assignment, I passed out worksheet packets. No one asked questions. The campers just sat there, maintaining the same sullen expression I noticed when I arrived at camp. From my vantage point, none of the students were happy to be there. Other than Johnny, none of them had an inkling of how the regular A.O.S. program operated, who the students and staff were, or the fact that their parents were paying the same tuition for roughing it in the backwoods of Reedley, California.
Back in the warmth of my office, I thought of Johnny’s plea for escape. Was he being mistreated? Doubtful. Both Kenny and Kelly seemed to be accomplished, by-the-book camp leaders, with little room for hidden motives, agendas or power trips.
The truth was, Johnny was likely subjected to tougher scrutiny and a less ambiguous set of rules than his peers. From my way of thinking, and despite my own soft spot for the kid, he was getting what he deserved. From his clandestine get-togethers with Sandy, to his pranks directed at res staff, Johnny was nothing but trouble. If Kenny and Kelly had to keep a short leash on him, so be it.
I thought again of my own behavior when I lost weight, so many years ago. My behavior was worse than Johnny’s—far worse. If I were here, at A.O.S., I wouldn’t have been placed on solo, nor would I have been sent to S.A.P.
I would have been kicked out.
But Johnny was the least of S.A.P.’s problems. From what I gathered from the local weather reports, a storm was brewing that could flood the otherwise staid Kings River and turn her into a raging torrent. Kenny and Kelly were ready, willing and able to tackle any emergency—but were the kids ready?
Back home, I practiced my monster drawing skills with my son. Wielding a crayon, I sketched out a favorite creation of mine, Foodzilla—my own, extra-large answer to Godzilla. Needless to say, Bobby got a kick out of him. Cocking my head, I listened to the pitter-patter of the rain outside. I thought of my waterlogged charges back on the island. Were they in their tents, or were they clamoring for space in the staff shack? The storm increased in volume and intensity. Thunder rattled the windows. Bobby dropped his crayon and clung to me. Holding him, I made my way to a window and peered
between the blinds. Sheets of rain streamed down at a sharp angle. Winds whipped leaves and debris past me. Glancing down, I caught sight of water already flooding the gutter, surrounding our car in the process.
“ It’s only rain,” I said to my little guy, brushing his hair to the side and kissing his forehead. His hazel-green eyes—fear and curiosity in a single glance, followed the cascade pouring down.
A couple days later, after the storm had passed, I paid a visit to the island. Bill informed me the campers were moved off and onto dry land across the pond, but I wanted to
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