martha27
10-17-2005, 11:37 AM
i tried to post this as a counselor article thread but it wouldn't let me! so i thought i would post it here. i can't remember who sent it to me but ive had it a while and i think it's great :)
What is a camp counsellor?
Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood there occurs in human
development an age which is physically and psychologically impossible. It
is that unfathomable stage known as â camp counsellor a creature
undefined by psychologists, misunderstood by camp directors, worshiped by
campers, either admired or doubted by parents and unheard by the rest of
society.
A camp counsellor is a rare combination of doctor, lawyer and Indian Chief.
He is a competent psychologist with his sophomore textbook as proof. He is
an underpaid babysitter with neither a television nor refrigerator. He is a
strict disciplinarian with a twinkle in his eye. He is a minister of all
faiths with questions of his own. He is a referee, a coach, a teacher, an
advisor. He is an example of adulthood in worn out tennis shoes, a
sweatshirt two sizes too large and a hat two sizes too small. He is a
humorist in a crisis, a doctor in an emergency, a play director. He is an
idol, with his head in a cloud of wood smoke and his feet in mud. He is a
comforter in a leaky tent on a cold night and a pal who just loaned someone
his last pair of dry socks. He is a teacher of the out-of-doors, knee deep
in poison ivy.
Counsellors dislike reveille, waiting in line, inspections and rainy days.
They are fond of sunbathing, exploring teaching new games, and old car
named Henrietta, and days off. They are handy for patching up broken
friendships, bloody noses and torn jeans. They are good locating lost
bathing suits, fishing ax handles, playing the guitar and catching fish.
They are poor at crawling out sleeping bags on rainy mornings, remembering
to salt, and getting to bed early.
A counsellor is a friendly guide in the middle of the cold, dark, rainy
night. He is a dynamo on a day off, exhausted the day after, but recaptured
in time for the next day off.
Who but a counsellor can cure homesickness, air out wet bedding, play 16
games of pick up sticks in succession, whistle Dixie through his fingers,
carry two packs, speak pig Latin in French, sing 37 verses of You cant go
to heaven and eat four helpings of Sunday dinner?
A counsellor is expected to repair 10 years of damage to Sally in 10 days,
and make Jerry into a man, rehabilitate Anne, allow John to be an
individual and help Kathy adjust to the group. He is expected to lead the
most prized possession of 16 adults much older than him. He is expected to
lead them in fun and adventure, even when his head aches; to teach them to
live in the outdoors even when he spends nine months a year in New York
City, Los Angeles or Chicago; to teach indigenous activities when he cant
even spell it, to guide them in social adjustment when he hasnt even
reached the voting age; to insure health and safety with a sunburned nose,
a band aid on his thumb, and a blister on his heal.
For all of this, he is paid enough to buy the second textbook in
psychology, some aspirin, some new socks, two new tires for Henrietta and
some new tennis shoes.
You wonder how he can stand the pace and pressure. You wonder if he really
knows how much hes worth, and somehow you realize you can never pay him
enough, when as he leaves in august, he waves goodbye and says see you
next year
heather
What is a camp counsellor?
Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood there occurs in human
development an age which is physically and psychologically impossible. It
is that unfathomable stage known as â camp counsellor a creature
undefined by psychologists, misunderstood by camp directors, worshiped by
campers, either admired or doubted by parents and unheard by the rest of
society.
A camp counsellor is a rare combination of doctor, lawyer and Indian Chief.
He is a competent psychologist with his sophomore textbook as proof. He is
an underpaid babysitter with neither a television nor refrigerator. He is a
strict disciplinarian with a twinkle in his eye. He is a minister of all
faiths with questions of his own. He is a referee, a coach, a teacher, an
advisor. He is an example of adulthood in worn out tennis shoes, a
sweatshirt two sizes too large and a hat two sizes too small. He is a
humorist in a crisis, a doctor in an emergency, a play director. He is an
idol, with his head in a cloud of wood smoke and his feet in mud. He is a
comforter in a leaky tent on a cold night and a pal who just loaned someone
his last pair of dry socks. He is a teacher of the out-of-doors, knee deep
in poison ivy.
Counsellors dislike reveille, waiting in line, inspections and rainy days.
They are fond of sunbathing, exploring teaching new games, and old car
named Henrietta, and days off. They are handy for patching up broken
friendships, bloody noses and torn jeans. They are good locating lost
bathing suits, fishing ax handles, playing the guitar and catching fish.
They are poor at crawling out sleeping bags on rainy mornings, remembering
to salt, and getting to bed early.
A counsellor is a friendly guide in the middle of the cold, dark, rainy
night. He is a dynamo on a day off, exhausted the day after, but recaptured
in time for the next day off.
Who but a counsellor can cure homesickness, air out wet bedding, play 16
games of pick up sticks in succession, whistle Dixie through his fingers,
carry two packs, speak pig Latin in French, sing 37 verses of You cant go
to heaven and eat four helpings of Sunday dinner?
A counsellor is expected to repair 10 years of damage to Sally in 10 days,
and make Jerry into a man, rehabilitate Anne, allow John to be an
individual and help Kathy adjust to the group. He is expected to lead the
most prized possession of 16 adults much older than him. He is expected to
lead them in fun and adventure, even when his head aches; to teach them to
live in the outdoors even when he spends nine months a year in New York
City, Los Angeles or Chicago; to teach indigenous activities when he cant
even spell it, to guide them in social adjustment when he hasnt even
reached the voting age; to insure health and safety with a sunburned nose,
a band aid on his thumb, and a blister on his heal.
For all of this, he is paid enough to buy the second textbook in
psychology, some aspirin, some new socks, two new tires for Henrietta and
some new tennis shoes.
You wonder how he can stand the pace and pressure. You wonder if he really
knows how much hes worth, and somehow you realize you can never pay him
enough, when as he leaves in august, he waves goodbye and says see you
next year
heather