Running camps is the highlight of my summer. I love organizing memorable experience and creating unique themes. I love hanging out with the campers and seeing them grow. I love being able to share exuberant energy and seeing it brighten the atmosphere. I love being able to be excited about things adults aren’t supposed to get excited about anymore. Yes, camp is a wonderful thing — most of the time. You see, every week there will be a camper who will go down in infamy. A camper whose name will be remembered forever more. There may even be whole situations or rules shorted to just a name: “We have an Elliot situation”, “Code Silas”, “We have another Jacob this week”. What does it take to be so remembered by staff? What does it take to have a counselor shiver at the sight of a name on a fresh roster? What does it take for indescribable joy to overcome a director who sees that a camper has finally aged out of camp? Well, it is different for every one of these infamous campers. But they truly find a way to be remembered in the worst way possible.

I’ve dealt with many a “bad” camper in my 5 years of working camp. But this this past week, I’ve had the humbling experience of working with the most difficult camper of my life. Miss Mary (pseudonym) is the textbook definition of contrary. She is completely defiant and seems to make it her sole mission to oppose anything I say. She talks over other campers. She will sneak out of the camp room. She will dunk her head in the sink just to cause a puddling trail behind her. She tries to scare the younger kids with stories of snakes and death all the while grinning. She gets frustrated when told not to do something and will just look at you and continue to do it. She will cover her ears and shout “everyone be quiet, everyone be quiet” when you ask her to lower her voice. She will sit on the ground and stare at you when you ask her to please move — her eyes piercing back as if saying, “How are you going to make me?”

I write all this first, but Mary is much more complicated than a washboard list of negative behaviors and qualities. My week with Mary reached the pinnacle on Thursday when I sat patiently while Mary had a 45 minute tantrum. She had run outside after I told her she could not talk over the other campers in our lunch program. She knew she was supposed to stay inside (I had told her many times throughout the week), so I stood my ground and put her in a proper time out. This is when the tears came. The cries got louder and behavior more defiant, but I just sat and listed. I had learned by that point in the week that a lot of her behavior was attention seeking. So I calmly listened while she screamed. And while I listened, my heart broke.

“No one listens to me. No one. Not anyone… They all just talk and talk and don’t listen… No one is my friend… All this is rules, rules, rules… Masks kill people and the animals… six feet, six feet… The governor ruined everything… how are we supposed to make friends with six feet? It’s all fake. It’s the governor’s fault. Everyone is just afraid… I haven’t been with anyone since school was let out… No one is around… I just did whatever… and now it’s all social distancing and rules.. My parents just wanted me gone, that’s why I’m here… How are you supposed to have fun? No one listens… Nobody cares… No one. Not anyone.”

These are just some of the sentiments this 9 year old shared. There is a lot going on in these words. Frustration at seeing other kids making friends, but no one making friends with her. Lack of understanding and stress around COVID-19 and the strange new world it has thrust us into. Overhearing information from parents that goes against county guidelines. Lack of structure at home during the school closures. This girl really is struggling with some serious things. I would wispier, “I hear you. I’m listening. You are right, this is so hard. You are being so brave.” as she repeated these thoughts over and over through tears. My suspicions were solidified with this break down: Mary did not have proper discipline or praise at home. See one of Mary’s previous meltdowns occurred after she got embarrassed from messing up a drawing. She begins screaming when she feels like people are not paying attention to her. She tells scary stories to captive an audience and feel powerful. She is not given any affirmation, so instead she takes attention. The problem is, you cannot make friends that way. Yet this is the only way she has learned to make people notice her.

She does not listen to authority in any form because she has never had a healthy fear of consequences. She has learned she can do whatever she wants and there will be no repercussions. If she screams to watch a movie, and you turn on the TV, she has won. She knows “if I want this, all I have to do is be obnoxious enough”. It is a lot more work to deal with the screams and tears than to just turn on Netflix. She has observed her parents disregarding authority and passing blame, and like a sponge, she mimics their same verbiage in her fits. She has never learned that sometimes you have to do something you don’t like just because it is the right thing to do. She has never learned sometimes you have to do something you don’t like just because it is a rule. Mary does not believe rules apply to her, just like her parents do not.

I saw all this still realize that there was much more going on that I would never see. I wanted to hold this girl even if she pushed me away and tell her, “You are amazing. You are special. You are loved. It is crazy right now, but you will be okay because I’ve got you. You don’t have to worry about any of this, because I’m holding you.” But for my own safety, I cannot hold a camper – I cannot hold a young girl who has never been given affirmation.

My mind was spinning as I thought of ways to help this girl. She needs positive affirmation. She needs to be noticed when she does something right or good. She needs encouragement. But she also needs discipline. She needs to learn how to take responsibility. She needs social skills coaching. She needs to learn some hard lesson that will make her life miserable for a while but her life would forever be miserable if she did not learn.

After the tantrum had resolved (I redirected her focus onto a chalk drawing she had done earlier, and we spent the rest of the day drawing outside), I sat back at my desk exhausted. And I realized something very important. I was not her parent. I was not her therapist. I was not her behavior coach. Her parents did not send her to camp to be “fixed”. Her parents were not paying me to fix her. In fact, it was impossible for me to fix 9 years worth of problems in one week. I think it is an admirable quality to want to help. But it was a relief when I realized in the most practical sense that there was nothing I could do for this girl. Yes, I could tell her that her art project was pretty. I could praise her for keeping her hands to herself. I could try my best to correct her inappropriate behavior. However, when it came to psychological issues and home life, I had no power.

I was saddened by this realization though it was a necessary revelation for my own peace of mind — It was not by job to fix her. Heck, it wasn’t even my responsibility to discipline her. It was just my job to get her through the day. So what did I do the next day over the lunch program?

I put on a movie.