I've struggled with the name Camp Stand-By-Me for a while now. Half of me thinks it's corny and Free Willyish, while the other half scolds me for being inconsiderate towards children with disabilities. So, since the kids have disabilities, the camp name must be extra sappy? What about The Camp at Vaughn Bay OR, if the namer has a sense of humor and full job security, Camp Pee Your Pants. It also forces my inner conscience to hum that song, "I'll stand by you. I'll staaaaaand by you. Blubber blibber blabber. I'll stand by YOU", a horrific daily occurrence.
Camp Stand-By-Me (BLAST THAT NAME!*^#!!!!) has nature trails off to the left side of it if you were facing up the hill from the bay. Because of it's hilly nature and campers' needs, the trails require boardwalk to traverse, giving it a bunch of switchbacks and wild bends in the road. The problem is that these boards are covered with what camp director Ellen dubbed "Northwest Slime", the most slippery substance known to mankind. I scoffed at this prospect at first (which I seem to be prone to do judging from previous posts, you think I'd learn something one of these days), but changed my tune quickly upon watching one of her dogs slide about 3 feet forward in an attempted stop. These boards are a menace to society.
Enter Americorps NCCC Green 6. Our daily routine: Ply up boards from the boardwalk with crowbars and hammer, pressure wash them, stain them, put a layer of sand on them for rough texture, apply 2 layers of sealant, nail those willies back in. The difficult part is managing drying time, keeping the process flowing smoothly, and the fact that everything bottlenecks at the pressure washer (because there's only 1.) When we are not working on the nature trails, we are disassembling bunk beds and reassembling new ones, moving truckloads of new furniture, or doing paperwork or other odd jobs.
Another problem is the Camp Director, Ellen. She is our first attrocious boss, a change of pace from the well-managed last 2 projects. She's like an oversized mother hen pecking at her chicks, but instead of using a beak she impugns us with passive aggresive clauses. Although not always around, we eat lunch at her apartment, which is above us. The tension in the room is palpable, sort of swirling around the room from person to person as she suggest dietary restrictions and healthy, sustainable living habits. Her austerity hurts. A little cloud of "smug" hangs over her head. She's one of those people that, as you see her coming your way, you can do nothing but groan and wish you were invisible so you don't have to go through this painful interaction and lecturing.
The maintenance guy, Jason, comes to camp 2 days a week. He is a baller. Funniest, most easygoing guy in the business. Sample conversation:
Jason: "What's up, mang."
Me: "Yo, Dawg."
Jason: "How's the wife and kids"
Me: "All 7 of them are doing well, thanks. And you?"
Jason: "Pregnant as all hell, but doing well."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ml_R9QisgRY
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Easter Seals Camp Stand-By-Me
This past weekend inspired one sure thing in my search for a career field: I WILL NOT work with disabled children. Some stuff I say here may be politically incorrect, even offensive. I apologize if it goes too far. I know some people relish the opportunity to handle kids' disabilities, to use every ounce of patience and persuasion available to them so that the kids may enjoy themselves. These human saints will find happiness in their work. I am not one of them.
Camp Stand-By-Me has the best intentions: Give parents of children with disabilities weekends to get some rest in their chaotic lives. In the summer, they can drop their kids off for weeks at a time. It certainly isn't too much to ask of us as Americorps volunteers to handle disabled children for one weekend. Many of my teammates found the work rewarding and, to add a touch of Hollywood, inspiring. I did not chime in to this sentiment. I found it to be an uncomfortable mix of exhausting, depressing, and boring. Exhausting because there's a constant pressure to straddle the line between letting them enjoy their time here and making sure they follow the rules. Depressing because there was no way to communicate with them, to find common ground, and no way to get them to listen to you. Boring because every activity takes 2 to 3 times longer to complete. Let me detail.
I slept in the "older boys" cabin, with 7 campers and 1 other counselor hired by Camp Stand-By-Me. They boys were older than the average, if you hadn't guessed from their cabin name. 1 of them was blind and mute, he needed a wheelchair to get around and required 2 depends at night accompanied with a special absorbent sheet for when he wet the bed. Another spoke only 2 words: Wa-Wa and Beer! (or Beard!? I couldn't tell). He needed someone to hold on to going up and down the hill that makes up Camp Stand-By-Me, something due to his legs not functioning properly. He also would automatically wet the bed, and sometimes deficate in it. Another young man was severely autistic, speaking back to you only what you said to him. He would masturbate in his bed throughout the night. One camper had cerebral palsy, and when needing to pee in the night would have to notify a counselor of his predicament and we would carry him to the toilet. 2 more kids with down syndrome were unrelentingly stubborn, rendering it useless to even try to get them out of bed without physically lifting them up, which required a couple counselors. Sleep was limited to a 6 hours, way better than the 3-4 hours for those posted to the "younger boys" cabin. But the sleep was restless wondering when the next camper would need help in the middle of the night.
Little things like cleaning up their private areas after a bowel movement or urination, feeding them as they drooled and half the food fell to the ground, and persuading them to stay in my sight made the experience unpleasant. The most frustrating part was not being able to understand what they wanted. Many times I had to guess at their intentions and motivations. It's weird to finally be getting a grasp of human nature and social intelligence, only to be put in this situation and feel so useless. I hated the feeling. This was where it got boring. I gave up trying and so had only myself to "hang out" with. I don't blame myself for giving up. I'm not suited for this type of misery. I don't look forward to the next 2 weekends with the campers, early and late May. Then again I'll be positive and it will eventually end. Just hopefully this time I won't be the one fishing turds out of the pool with a pool net.
Camp Stand-By-Me has the best intentions: Give parents of children with disabilities weekends to get some rest in their chaotic lives. In the summer, they can drop their kids off for weeks at a time. It certainly isn't too much to ask of us as Americorps volunteers to handle disabled children for one weekend. Many of my teammates found the work rewarding and, to add a touch of Hollywood, inspiring. I did not chime in to this sentiment. I found it to be an uncomfortable mix of exhausting, depressing, and boring. Exhausting because there's a constant pressure to straddle the line between letting them enjoy their time here and making sure they follow the rules. Depressing because there was no way to communicate with them, to find common ground, and no way to get them to listen to you. Boring because every activity takes 2 to 3 times longer to complete. Let me detail.
I slept in the "older boys" cabin, with 7 campers and 1 other counselor hired by Camp Stand-By-Me. They boys were older than the average, if you hadn't guessed from their cabin name. 1 of them was blind and mute, he needed a wheelchair to get around and required 2 depends at night accompanied with a special absorbent sheet for when he wet the bed. Another spoke only 2 words: Wa-Wa and Beer! (or Beard!? I couldn't tell). He needed someone to hold on to going up and down the hill that makes up Camp Stand-By-Me, something due to his legs not functioning properly. He also would automatically wet the bed, and sometimes deficate in it. Another young man was severely autistic, speaking back to you only what you said to him. He would masturbate in his bed throughout the night. One camper had cerebral palsy, and when needing to pee in the night would have to notify a counselor of his predicament and we would carry him to the toilet. 2 more kids with down syndrome were unrelentingly stubborn, rendering it useless to even try to get them out of bed without physically lifting them up, which required a couple counselors. Sleep was limited to a 6 hours, way better than the 3-4 hours for those posted to the "younger boys" cabin. But the sleep was restless wondering when the next camper would need help in the middle of the night.
Little things like cleaning up their private areas after a bowel movement or urination, feeding them as they drooled and half the food fell to the ground, and persuading them to stay in my sight made the experience unpleasant. The most frustrating part was not being able to understand what they wanted. Many times I had to guess at their intentions and motivations. It's weird to finally be getting a grasp of human nature and social intelligence, only to be put in this situation and feel so useless. I hated the feeling. This was where it got boring. I gave up trying and so had only myself to "hang out" with. I don't blame myself for giving up. I'm not suited for this type of misery. I don't look forward to the next 2 weekends with the campers, early and late May. Then again I'll be positive and it will eventually end. Just hopefully this time I won't be the one fishing turds out of the pool with a pool net.
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Great Northwest
What's better than a fresh start? Not much. I ended transition in Sacramento with a vague uneasiness of the days to come. Green 6 (my team) is down to 8 members, 5 girls, 2 seven-year-old boys, and me. Before my Central Virginia God-loving sports enthusiast left to pursue other interests, the burden of trustworthy maledom was split between us. Now it falls on me. The other two don't have the girls' trust, and refuse to take on any responsibility (even though one of them is the "Team Leader"). So it's me who's left to quell the storms as they approach. Beyond that, it is imperative that I stay even-keeled, not blow up, and, in turn, lose my respectability. This will be the hard part if you know my past. I also can't retreat to a mental hole if things start to turn sour because there's nobody left to step in and mediate the disparaging remarks being thrown around. I'm uneasy about my transition to manhood. Is it worth spending so much effort on people I don't necessarily like?
Monday rolls around, next stop: Washington. Not exactly. First we go to iHop for breakfast. Anyone been to that place recently? I left feeling like I had just been suckered into an internet money scam. I've never thought poorly of iHop before; I usually sling myself onto that bandwagon if the opportunity arises. This morning was no different. I couldn't wait to devour some savory pancakes with a carafe of fresh orange juice. Our budget was 9 dollars. Since my bladder was filled above it's tolerable capacity, I got back to the table with less than a minute to spare before the waitress would politely require my order. I ditched the pancakes. Two eggs, 2 bacon strips, home fries, toast. Yum. For 8.99. What I got was worth between $2.12 and $2.14. The eggs came from mini-land, the hashbrowns looked more like the dish that someone brings to a potluck that nobody touches, and the bacon seemed to be the meat from a mouse, or another small rodent. It was a good meal for pinocchio. For 8.99. Tricked by that blue roofing. Never again. There's this mystique about iHop, but I don't know where it comes from. Insanely overpriced, average portion sizes, annoying blue roofs. They just have a bright-colored menu with all sorts of great deals and specials! YA!!! (just don't look at the pricetag.) damn you capitalism and good advertising. All you can eat pancakes? NOBODY CAN PHYSICALLY EAT MORE THAN 2 OF YOUR FLUFFY ASS PANCAKES! And they make my mouth dry. iHop? iStop.
We stayed the night in Portland after about 8 hours of driving and a couple stops. I met up with some Hamilton alums who had moved out after graduation (Lars, Jesse and Steve Rowe for those who care.) They showed us a cross-section of Portland, and I liked what I saw. We arrived at what looked like a residential neighborhood on the north side of the city on Monday at 11 pm. I wasn't sure what the plan was, but Lars said he had some places in mind. We walked about 2 blocks before we reached a mini main street that had everything you could ask of a neighborhood. Italian, Mexican, Bars, Strange shops, normal shops, even light bulb store. And the bar we walked into was occupied by people, an astonishing fact considering the time and place. I got a great vibe from Portland, Oregon.
We arrived in Key Corner, Washington the next day around 2 PM and met with our bosses, Ellen and Jason. Ellen runs the camp, and acts like a camp director should in my mind: Smart, tough, omniscient of her camp. She rubbed people the wrong way because it was obvious she would be demanding, but thats alright by me. Rather have that than a wishy washy complainer for a boss. Reduces my responsibility I hope. Jason is the man. He approached us wearing a US Soccer jersey from Champion that I think was size Xtra Small. It just barely covered his belly button, a sweet shirt by just about any standard. He is the maintenace guy for the camp and he constantly cracks jokes and grins like a ninja turtle or Tiki Barber (they are one and the same). He'll be our day to day boss as we revamp the nature trails. I look forward to his leadership style and overall nature.
This weekend about 25 campers are staying at Easter Seals Camp Stand By Me (where we are). Their disabilities range from Autism to Down Syndrome to Epilepsy. The training they have given us has only made me more apprehensive, as they outline only teh worst case scenarios. I'll get back to you on how it turns out... if you stick around after these messages from your local station.
Monday rolls around, next stop: Washington. Not exactly. First we go to iHop for breakfast. Anyone been to that place recently? I left feeling like I had just been suckered into an internet money scam. I've never thought poorly of iHop before; I usually sling myself onto that bandwagon if the opportunity arises. This morning was no different. I couldn't wait to devour some savory pancakes with a carafe of fresh orange juice. Our budget was 9 dollars. Since my bladder was filled above it's tolerable capacity, I got back to the table with less than a minute to spare before the waitress would politely require my order. I ditched the pancakes. Two eggs, 2 bacon strips, home fries, toast. Yum. For 8.99. What I got was worth between $2.12 and $2.14. The eggs came from mini-land, the hashbrowns looked more like the dish that someone brings to a potluck that nobody touches, and the bacon seemed to be the meat from a mouse, or another small rodent. It was a good meal for pinocchio. For 8.99. Tricked by that blue roofing. Never again. There's this mystique about iHop, but I don't know where it comes from. Insanely overpriced, average portion sizes, annoying blue roofs. They just have a bright-colored menu with all sorts of great deals and specials! YA!!! (just don't look at the pricetag.) damn you capitalism and good advertising. All you can eat pancakes? NOBODY CAN PHYSICALLY EAT MORE THAN 2 OF YOUR FLUFFY ASS PANCAKES! And they make my mouth dry. iHop? iStop.
We stayed the night in Portland after about 8 hours of driving and a couple stops. I met up with some Hamilton alums who had moved out after graduation (Lars, Jesse and Steve Rowe for those who care.) They showed us a cross-section of Portland, and I liked what I saw. We arrived at what looked like a residential neighborhood on the north side of the city on Monday at 11 pm. I wasn't sure what the plan was, but Lars said he had some places in mind. We walked about 2 blocks before we reached a mini main street that had everything you could ask of a neighborhood. Italian, Mexican, Bars, Strange shops, normal shops, even light bulb store. And the bar we walked into was occupied by people, an astonishing fact considering the time and place. I got a great vibe from Portland, Oregon.
We arrived in Key Corner, Washington the next day around 2 PM and met with our bosses, Ellen and Jason. Ellen runs the camp, and acts like a camp director should in my mind: Smart, tough, omniscient of her camp. She rubbed people the wrong way because it was obvious she would be demanding, but thats alright by me. Rather have that than a wishy washy complainer for a boss. Reduces my responsibility I hope. Jason is the man. He approached us wearing a US Soccer jersey from Champion that I think was size Xtra Small. It just barely covered his belly button, a sweet shirt by just about any standard. He is the maintenace guy for the camp and he constantly cracks jokes and grins like a ninja turtle or Tiki Barber (they are one and the same). He'll be our day to day boss as we revamp the nature trails. I look forward to his leadership style and overall nature.
This weekend about 25 campers are staying at Easter Seals Camp Stand By Me (where we are). Their disabilities range from Autism to Down Syndrome to Epilepsy. The training they have given us has only made me more apprehensive, as they outline only teh worst case scenarios. I'll get back to you on how it turns out... if you stick around after these messages from your local station.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A week has gone by since I've moved out of Alpaugh, a place that will always hold a special place in my memory. What an annoyingly great experience. How many restrictions existed there? Spotty cell service, no internet or tv, living with 9 people in 2 bedrooms, working long hours in hot sun, 1 means of mobility, no money. In hindsight, I'm so glad I survived it, but I did not enjoy my time there, no matter how much I say it. Too much easily accessible information exists to be sequestered in remote places at this age. Right now, my thirst for learning outweighs that for soul-searching. I'm happy to have endured it, happier to be away from it.
We spent the past week back at McClellan, where 6 hours a day of brain-washing occurred back in October. This time the 7 teams deployed to the Gulf area came home, meaning the entire Americorps NCCC Pacific Region was back in Sac for the first time since training ended. I expected a week long party of sorts, but was surprised to find a lack of enthusiasm amongst the crowds. As predicted by those wiser than the typical corps member, teams became extremely tight over the 4 months away and found it difficult in their psyche to return to the old McClellan Air Force base. I was one of them. It's easier to be around the people you know well than the ones you assumed you knew well. Many had high expectations for returning, and were severely disappointed to experience the changes everyone, and by default themselves, had undergone. Yet after the first couple days things settled down and a slight nostalgia swept over the campus as tensions eased and friendships were renewed.
As I settled back into a groove here, I began to realize that July is fast approaching. Some of my closest friends from orientation are going to New Orleans, meaning I won't see them again until the last week of July, our last at McClellan. With this realization comes a freedom that always seems to accompany knowing how little time a group of people has in your life. Humans tend to be conservative knowing that they'll see someone regularly in the future, and downright reckless when ensured that they won't. As the week began to move along, I noticed (at least thought I noticed) a transition to that freedom.
I went out on the town one night to dinner with the old Pod and a night of cheap drinking at Olde Tavern, our downtown hotspot. While there I ordered 5 redheaded sluts for $17 (redheaded sluts = jager, cranberry juice, something else). Noteworthy here is the cost of those drinks. Not only were they cheap, but they indicate that each Slut was $3.40 a piece. I thought about this as I brought them back to the table, tried to justify the price, and couldn't. Did that bartender just arbitrarily pick a number between 15 and 20? Either way, about 3 dollars a shot is insanely cheap. Did he screw up? What the hell is going on here? The place is the most beautiful hole in the wall, the type of joint that when anything extraordinary happens, everyone can fall back on the old proverb: "Only at Olde Tavern." Now that's my kind of bar.
Team Dan Dropkin-Frank trolleys off to Gig Harbor, Washington tomorrow to being project #3. I expect a challenge, but can't decide if I'll rise to it yet or shrink from it. One thing I know is I can't wait to write about something new on this damn blog, Alpaugh really dried me up. Hopefully I can find a pick-up soccer night also, I'm pining for some action. Until next time...
We spent the past week back at McClellan, where 6 hours a day of brain-washing occurred back in October. This time the 7 teams deployed to the Gulf area came home, meaning the entire Americorps NCCC Pacific Region was back in Sac for the first time since training ended. I expected a week long party of sorts, but was surprised to find a lack of enthusiasm amongst the crowds. As predicted by those wiser than the typical corps member, teams became extremely tight over the 4 months away and found it difficult in their psyche to return to the old McClellan Air Force base. I was one of them. It's easier to be around the people you know well than the ones you assumed you knew well. Many had high expectations for returning, and were severely disappointed to experience the changes everyone, and by default themselves, had undergone. Yet after the first couple days things settled down and a slight nostalgia swept over the campus as tensions eased and friendships were renewed.
As I settled back into a groove here, I began to realize that July is fast approaching. Some of my closest friends from orientation are going to New Orleans, meaning I won't see them again until the last week of July, our last at McClellan. With this realization comes a freedom that always seems to accompany knowing how little time a group of people has in your life. Humans tend to be conservative knowing that they'll see someone regularly in the future, and downright reckless when ensured that they won't. As the week began to move along, I noticed (at least thought I noticed) a transition to that freedom.
I went out on the town one night to dinner with the old Pod and a night of cheap drinking at Olde Tavern, our downtown hotspot. While there I ordered 5 redheaded sluts for $17 (redheaded sluts = jager, cranberry juice, something else). Noteworthy here is the cost of those drinks. Not only were they cheap, but they indicate that each Slut was $3.40 a piece. I thought about this as I brought them back to the table, tried to justify the price, and couldn't. Did that bartender just arbitrarily pick a number between 15 and 20? Either way, about 3 dollars a shot is insanely cheap. Did he screw up? What the hell is going on here? The place is the most beautiful hole in the wall, the type of joint that when anything extraordinary happens, everyone can fall back on the old proverb: "Only at Olde Tavern." Now that's my kind of bar.
Team Dan Dropkin-Frank trolleys off to Gig Harbor, Washington tomorrow to being project #3. I expect a challenge, but can't decide if I'll rise to it yet or shrink from it. One thing I know is I can't wait to write about something new on this damn blog, Alpaugh really dried me up. Hopefully I can find a pick-up soccer night also, I'm pining for some action. Until next time...
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