Company: MedPage Today/Role: (Lifestyle Blog) Article Writer [link]
The Best Girl
I was a counselor at a sleep-away camp some years ago. I wanted to be a counselor for teenagers, because I thought they would be easier to handle at that point in my life.
To my surprise, the camp administrators decided to house me with 9-year-olds instead, and it totally blindsided me. I had never hung out with 9-year-olds before, and had no idea what to expect.
Most of the girls were more mature than I thought they would be ... in slightly disturbing ways. I noticed how much they seemed to rely on technology, and how much they adored male bodies and revealing clothing. Sometimes, I would begin to read books during our leisure time, but found myself silently listening to their odd conversations because I was curious and, I guess, because I was also protective by default.
There was one girl, Danielle, who didn’t really fit in (and attempting to explain why just feels so irritating). She didn’t fit in because she was smart. I say this because she never ceased to surprise me with her problem-solving skills when her counselors or fellow campers needed a hand.
There were two times in particular when she seemed particularly unique to me. The first one occurred before an amusement park trip (the campers got to take a field trip to an amusement park once per month). The buses were parked outside of our cabin cul-de-sac, and time was running out. The campers had their camp T-shirts on, and we were all ready to go.
One camper suddenly misplaced her $20 bill. Though admission to the park was already included with payment for camp, that amount of cash from her parents seemed equivalent to an entire day of ice cream and souvenirs, so my co-counselor and I tried coming up with a quick solution.
My co-counselor finally asked her if she could borrow money from one of her friends if she needed to buy a souvenir. She appeared deflated by the suggestion.
Little Danielle then popped out from the group and said, "Wait, I have an idea!" and walked toward the beds. She got on her hands and knees and proceeded to crawl on the ground beneath the row of beds in our cabin. While she slithered around, my co-counselor and I looked at each other and shrugged.
Then, I heard Danielle's voice -- "I got it!"
I remember her yelling jubilantly, as she came up from another camper's bedside. She was raising the $20 over her head as she climbed out, wiping the dust off of her clothes. She handed it back to the camper who had lost it; the girl was happy to get it back. We figured that it must have fallen while the girls swept the floors earlier that morning.
The second distinct memory about Danielle took place on a rainy morning. We counselors and the girls were on our way to breakfast. My co-counselor was first and I acted as a caboose, guiding the girls out the door. Danielle was in front of me, but I caught her eye when I stopped short.
My umbrella spontaneously refused to open. I said to her, "Go ahead... follow the girls. I'll be right there," and began shaking my stuck umbrella.
Danielle just stood there. She said, "Can I look at that for a second? Please?" I was skeptical, but I gave it to her.
She lightly squinted and stared at the metal rod, turning it around in question. It only took a moment before she stuck her hand underneath the fabric and jiggled something, causing the umbrella to spring open. She gave it back to me, and it was good as new.
"Ready?" she asked, before taking my hand.
--
The longer it took for Danielle to fit in with the other girls, the more I understood why. Though she was helpful and seemed to be fun enough to hang out with, she was just different than the rest because she loved learning, and her awareness always seemed present.
The other girls weren’t necessarily dumb, but predictable, unlike her. And no matter what I or the other counselor did to help, the other girls just didn’t let her into their clique. But, the more I knew her, the more privileged I felt to have gotten to know the person she was, especially after learning that she also looked up to me.
One evening, midway through the month, she came to me crying. She told me that she couldn’t talk to anyone because she didn’t have any friends, and she was homesick.
The 9-year-olds had to have a strict curfew at bedtime. They were allowed 10 minutes of flashlight time, and had to have lights out at 9 p.m. If the administrators (who rode on golf carts around the camp) saw a camper outside of her cabin, she would be penalized. Only the counselors were allowed to sit on the cabin steps quietly and guard the cabin after the kids went to sleep.
It was almost 8:30 PM, and I wanted to console Danielle. I told her to stay awake a little longer after "lights out" so we could talk. Whatever the consequences were, they didn't matter to me. Her feelings were a priority.
After all of the girls were sound asleep, I walked over to her cot and asked her if she was awake. She whispered, “yes,” and I took her hand. We quietly tiptoed in the dark to the door before finally reaching the gently-lit cabin steps.
We sat, and I asked her if she was okay. I asked her what the other girls were saying to her that made her so upset, and told her that she could talk to me. She indeed told me everything that was bothering her, and eventually started crying.
This hurt me deeply, because I had grown to love her. I didn’t know what to say. I spoke the first words that came to my mind.
I told her, "You are smart, and awesome, and mature for your age. The other girls just haven't caught up yet. I wish I could help you understand and not be so sad."
Then, an administrator rode by on a golf cart, stopped in front of the cabin, and raised his arms in question at me – seemingly very irritated. I motioned with my hands the best I could to say “Please, just 10 minutes.” He reluctantly nodded and drove away. I sat down again.
The little girl asked me, “We are not supposed to be out here, are we?” I said, "No. But before we go inside, I want you to understand something."
She looked at me.
"You are smart, and kind, and fair, and as long as you stay true to yourself, and continue to be who you are right now, you’ll find that you'll soon be able to do things that other people cannot.”
She listened.
A little while later, we both sneaked back inside, got into our cots, and went to sleep.
As days went by, she seemed to smile more after that night, and I even saw her develop friendships with older girls from a different cabin.
A few weeks later, she was finally allowed to see her parents again when they came to pick her up. I saw her point to me from across the cabin, and then her and her parents walked over to me. Her father shook my hand, handed me a $50 bill, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Thank you."