by aem

Created on: March 12, 2009

They were always beautiful. The girl counselors, with their long pretty hair and the way their clothes fit them perfectly. They always had wonderful singing voices and could lull even the most hyper child into a sound slumber. They were always kind and generous. And I was always in awe of my beautiful camp counselors. My favorite counselor used to underline every word in a birthday card, and I mimicked that style, while rolling my jeans up and curling my hair like she did. I wished I could be them, but knew I could not even come close to their perfection.

Then one summer, I was old enough to be a camp counselor. I filled out my application and prayed to God that I would become one of the chosen ones. Even though I couldn't sing well enough to lull even a weary child to sleep, nor was I that beautiful, and I always seemed to have stains on my clothesI wanted to be a counselor more than anything. I wanted to see life on their level of perfection.

Hooray! I was chosen. I eagerly awaited camp with great anticipation. On the first day of staff training, they handed me the staff counselor shirt. It was orange and too large for me. That was my first hint that being a counselor did not automatically assume perfection. Next, I was assigned a cabin full of 12 loud, noisy, boy-crazy girls that "borrowed" my clothes without asking, and ate too much candy. I didn't have time to take a 5 minute shower, let alone curl my hair.

However, I learned life lessons I still use today. I learned that some people may seem tough on the outside, but they only need someone to listen. I learned that children are precious gifts, with strong emotional souls. I learned what empathy meant, and how a hug can solve just about anything.

One day, while attempting to catch my breath at the ice cream shack my ten year old camper came up to me sobbing. I automatically assumed that a boy must have been mean to her, or she got in a fight with a cabin mate. Unfortunately, this was not the case. She said between tears that her Father left her family a month ago, and it was her fault. I gave her a big hug and calmed her fears. We spoke for awhile and afterwards, she grinned up at me and said I was her favorite.

After that, I realized my counselors were never perfect. They might have been tall and pretty, but I remembered them as perfect because they were kind to me. They listened and empathized and were there for me when other grownups weren't. And even if I couldn't sing, I was beautiful like them because I cared.

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