"My kids were screaming at each other. Screaming. They were telling each other to shut up, and then two of the girls just walked away from the group and have been ignoring everyone, including me, ever since."
We stood a short distance away from the mass of cheering sixth graders who were waiting to go into the dining hall for dinner. My frazzled partner was a high school junior who had been a buddy of mine for a long time. I taught her in sixth grade, brought her to sixth grade camp with me as part of the counselor in training program when she was an eighth grader, had mentored her as a high school camp counselor last year and now this year. A girl normally peppy and silly, Miss A wore panic on her face. She looked a little nauseated, actually.
"So what things have you done to try to get the two back into the group?"
"I've tried talking to them personally, tried explaining why I picked the other girls to read at the campfire, and they just wouldn't talk to me. They wouldn't even look at me. And now they're going to be mad for the last two days of camp and make it miserable for the other girls."
I glanced at her group of girls. Sure enough, two girls were sitting behind the rest with exaggerated pouts on their faces. They deserved some props for their efforts at looking miserable. "They were upset about not being picked for campfire to read your cabin's speech?"
"I think so, but they were talking and yelling so fast that I couldn't really understand, and then after the fight, they stopped talking to me."
"When did the fighting start? How did you figure out who would read at the campfire?"
"Well, I told the girls there could be auditions. But then I realized that there wasn't time for that, so I just picked a couple of girls who I thought would be good for it. I think that was the problem...they thought it wasn't fair that we didn't do auditions."
Inside my head, I had a "this-is-all-too-familiar" chuckle going on, but Miss A was in her own personal Hell, so I gave her a course in Sixth Grade 101--sixth graders will hold you accountable faster than any other species on Earth, so admit your faults when you've made them and then help them get past the perceived injustice without passing judgement on them. I gave her a few talking points and suggested that she try again to have a dialogue with the girls away from the rest of the group. Miss A nodded her head weakly, but still looked queasy.
"You can do this," I told her. "I'll be hanging around out back, so if you need me to help, just give me a signal." The crowd of kids pushed into the dining hall, so I sent her in to get some dinner and think for a bit before having her discussion with the girls.
In the meantime, I joined the eighth grade counselors-in-training for dinner. They were having a "working" dinner outside because they had had a huge disagreement over what performance to do at closing campfire (which was occurring in about one hour). The group was trying to work through their disagreements, but most kids were still largely "leading" each other by making their voices louder, or speaking most often. After an afternoon of studying conflict resolution, I found their situation to be quite ironic and a tad worrisome that maybe they wouldn't experience success after all.
And then I noticed Mr. Know. He was one of the most vocal leaders of the group for the last few days. He was the guy who knew how to solve every problem and complete every task, but his way of gaining support from his group members was by trying to quiet them and invalidate their ideas. They were beginning to resent him, based on their disregard of his suggestions and directions during their attempts to plan their performance. However, during this dinner, he caught my attention.
"Meeks has something to say. Just listen! She has an idea!" He had figured something important out. He had learned to use his skill in assertion and confidence to promote his group mate who was being ignored by the group (as a result of their group strategy of talking over each other to assert leadership). Once he noticed Meeks was trying to speak, he spoke up for her. He stopped promoting himself and instead focused his efforts on another's needs. An eighth grader!
I watched in fascination, but then noticed Miss A walking out the back door with the two grumpy girls. She glanced over at me and I gave her a thumbs up. She nodded and began a quiet conversation that I couldn't hear.
I then split my attention between the two sets of teenagers struggling to support other people. The eighth graders appeared to have established a protocol to hear everyone's voice, and Miss A had her hands on her knees, looking intently at the two girls who talked with crossed arms.
Then, the eighth graders began to practice their skit, giggling as they tried out various movements and lines. Miss A and the girls were sitting down in the grass together, a little more relaxed, and talking while picking at the grass.
Then, the eighth graders were applauding, whooping, and bowing at their audience of one supportive teacher. Miss A and the girls were standing up again, and she looked at me. Weary. I flashed the thumbs up. She gave a slight shake of the head. Mission incomplete.
I walked over and introduced myself to the angry sixth graders. I listened to their recounting of the tale of injustice all over again. I helped them process in an effort to get to the root of their anger, which was that they wanted recognition and praise from their counselor, but not knowing me at all, they weren't sure if I was on their side or not. Miss A apologized with tears in her eyes, and the girls seemed to be considering what to do next. Then, another of Miss A's former teachers, who happened to be a teacher of the sixth graders, joined the conversation. Then another teacher joined. The girls were quickly talked down (as you can imagine they would with three teachers standing there), and they shuffled inside with their tails between their legs.
Miss A looked completely spent. Her other teacher and I sandwiched her in a hug and reassured her that she had done everything she could with two very stubborn and typical sixth grade girls. She managed a smile and walked into the dining hall to finish her dinner with the other high school kids. I watched her flop down into her chair and immediately all twenty-something teenagers in the room swarmed her, piling hugs on top of hugs on top of hugs. They melted into a huge mass of hugging, laughing kids.
I knew I had achieved my goals for both leadership programs; namely that teenagers realize that what's most important is how to fully support those around them, regardless of who they are or how difficult it might be. Real commitment means dedication and support without condition, and I would venture to say that there are plenty of examples in our culture today that communicate an entitled downgrading of commitment. Commitment is limited by conditions and convenience these days. I hope that kids who come to camp learn what it feels like for someone to have their backs unconditionally. It's hard to commit to something or someone unconditionally, but I want them to know that it's possible for those who choose it.
Camp ended the next day without much fanfare, and life returned to normal. I was emotionally exhausted and knew I had to be prepared for potential criticism of the counselor and CIT program upon return to school. It's hard for students in our district to miss a whole week of our rigorous curriculum, especially in high school. It's difficult for their teachers to know what they're sacrificing their class time for. No matter how many times I try to communicate the power of the camp experience for teens, it's almost impossible to describe just how much a child can change over a few days outdoors with nothing to focus on but supporting the people around them and getting through obstacles together. It's one of those "camp" things, though, that you almost have to experience to fully understand. Anyway, I prepared myself for critical feedback. Although what I was hoping for was something similar to what the teens had needed to hear at camp from me and from each other: "I trust you. I support you. I got your back." I think I needed to hear that more than I want to admit.
I walked into my seventh grade classroom after camp was over and greeted my students for the first time in a week. On my desk was a folded piece of loose leaf with a scrawling message: "I love you. I missed you while you were gone. Welcome back!"
Hmm. Maybe kids understand more about unconditional support than I thought.
