Teenage Camp Counselors Give Me Hope For Humanity

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At the rec center, in the hallway between the small rooms that house summer camp classes, young campers and teen counselors put on the most heartwarming show.

As I trudge up the Stairmaster in front of a window that looks out onto this hallway, I can see clear hope for our species. As a pragmatic optimist, I don’t have zero hope — but I know folks do, and I’m not blind. Sometimes it’s hard to watch us do our thing, because oh baby, we nasty.

But we’re divine at the rec center as kids aged five to eight exhibit equal parts hilarity and vulnerability while the counselors display a sensitivity that will change how you think about humanity. The show is free for anyone willing to go undercover as an unassuming exerciser, where you can spy to your heart’s content, and no one will ever know.

But that’s not true. Often the little ones notice and gawk. What is that old lady doing? Why is she climbing stairs to nowhere? Why is she waving at me? Why is the world so weird?

It all starts with these little duckling campers.

They follow the teenage camp counselor in a well-sequenced line or a jumbled wad, with an errant few bouncing off the walls, making their way from one classroom to the next. There is much hope for humanity in this line, in these ducklings, but above all, in those teenage leaders.

The leaders have different styles, and they tailor each interaction with their ducklings according to what is needed. Often, the counselors are charged with escorting a single camper to the bathroom in the big, scary locker room. This is what someone disguised as an exerciser often gets to observe with undercover glee.

There is the tall, athletic teen counselor who towers over his small campers with tenderness and clear amusement. One day, one of his campers needed to segment the journey to the bathroom into small challenges, and this teenager made plenty of space for it, enjoying it as much as the youngster.

In Segment One, the little camper moved from Point A to Point B with bunny hops and finalized it with a firm hand slap on the nearby wall. Segment Two stretched from Point B to Point C with absurdly tight zigzags and was finalized with another firm slap on the wall. The alphabetized journey proceeded in excruciating specificity and duration, but this camp counselor proved there was hope for our species through his chuckles, his gentle prods on the shoulder of the duckling, and his loving patience with this creative, spontaneous child play. Since he understood joy and was decades away from being jaded by life, he even hopped and zigzagged a bit in camaraderie.

Does hope grow in you when you see this? It does.

A duckling can be way out there dangling on the chandeliers, or cautious and shy. I’ve seen teen counselors bend in instantaneous empathy toward a fearful child, squat next to them, speak calmly and with understanding. From my undercover vantage point, I can’t hear what they’re saying, but their face says it all: I hear you, I feel you, I care.

I’ve seen counselors play catch with an energetic child in a racquetball court while they wait among the flock for the next event on the itinerary. The ducklings congregate according to friendships or focus — be it standing in a small circle in conversation or following each other around the court on hands and knees. But a few take the balls strewn about and begin to play. The counselors will engage, partly to play, partly to keep it at a low, safe simmer.

One day, I watched a teen corral a flock of campers adorned with ornate backpacks and other travel paraphernalia into a small cluster and then guide them up the stairwell without bodily harm to the ducklings or to potential rec center members coming the opposite way.

There is a vacillation that comes with the job of summer camp counselor — back and forth between compassionate goofing at the small child level and managing the scene as an adult. It’s impressive how readily they can flip the switch, how well they know what to do. Even when leading a group of children up a stairwell, I’ve seen these teens bend to whisper reassurance to an anxious child, stand and take the child’s hand in theirs, then remind the two racing kids already ascending the second flight of stairs to slow down, pay attention, and stick to the right. 

In one automatic swoop, they will replace a hat that fell to the floor, yank down the back hem of a princess dress caught up under a backpack, and flash a friendly nod to an elderly man shuffling down the steps past them. It’s heartening to see them care like this.

But their attention doesn’t only focus on the ducklings. It toggles. It’s interesting to observe the lightning-quick change on the face of a counselor as they come in contact with another their age — a romantic interest perhaps or a peer. It’s a lot like watching the body adapt on a sports field, immediately and with ultra-flexibility.

There is one camp staff member who is unique among the teens. She is formidable, ten feet tall with dark hair falling across her commanding shoulders. She walks with the posture of an ocean wave, with a torso puffed forward and confident like the bow of a ship. Her voice is confident like a storm. She is the Camp Director as seen in printed designation across the back of her camp-issued shirt. The rest of the smaller, shorter shirts around her have Camp Staff, Camp Counselor, or Counselor-in-Training on them. You will never not see her if she’s around.

The ducklings, however, barely notice her, as their concerns are steadfastly directed at far greater things, namely their buddy’s curlicue no-tie shoelaces doing a wild wiggle dance with every step. This is how it should be.

And this is how it is in the hallway in front of the exercise room at my local recreation center. Teens lead or follow according to what’s playing out in front of them. They are budding professionals who care, who pivot on a dime, who are the connection between the four-foot-high community and a much taller world. They can still remember what it’s like to be a child, I imagine, so they value empathy because they know it’s what a child needs.

When the camp day is over, they all disappear from the hallway in front of me and this teary-eyed exerciser is left plodding up steps, joyful. Exercise is good for us, there is no question. Exercise in front of these beautiful young people is even better. It builds cardiovascular capacity, muscle fiber, and so much hope. What if the world could see what I see?

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Hope you're well, friends.