Camp Kern

From the moment I got back from Camp Kern in sixth grade, I couldn't wait to be a senior in high school and be one of the counselors. All throughout high school I listened to seniors rant about how amazing being a counselor at Camp Kern is and how much fun they had. But to say that after I experienced it I was a little let down would be a huge understatement. Day one: The bus ride to the camp with all the sixth graders. Definitely fun, but the first glance at just how energetic these kids were going to be all week. Then lugging suitcases and sleeping bags to the cabin and having only a short period of time before the longest three days of my life. There is literally not one second of rest. From the time you wake up in the morning(when you're ACTUALLY getting up for the day, not the ten times that a sixth grader wakes you up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night), it is non-stop action. Day two: Running around hunting for fossils with kids who absolutely refuse to follow directions. Listening to the same teacher yell the exact same words to the disobedient children over and over and over again. Finding out at eleven o'clock at night that the seniors are not allowed to shower because the sixth grade girls took too long and it is "time for bed." Not that it was too much of a dissapointment considering the scalding hot(literally, you can not stand directly under it) shower water. Then having the girls in your cabin talk so much that a teacher comes and makes you sleep with the cabin door open, letting whatever bugs wish to enter come right on in. Day three: FINALLY. The home stretch. Or so you think. Yes, the beef in your breakfast burrito is exactly the same meat that they used in the hamburgers, sloppy joes, and the salsbury steak. But getting through yet another meal of picking through lettuce at the salad bar and eating all the bread you possibly can to keep yourself going has barely begun. A three hour game of playing indians and settlers is coming, and it will be never ending. When the teachers come to get you and tell you the buses are arriving soon, run for your life. Run for the candy that the kids have been eating all week and stuff your face. You need sugar. You need to lay down in the parking lot on the hot pavement and sweat until the bus arrives. When the bus does come, an hour late, it's hard not to laugh at the overly excited second batch of seniors ready to have the "time of their lives." Good luck.