Right now, scattered across the historic Interlochen campus, are fourteen girls to whom I have become a combination of big sister and authority figure. These girls are not extensions of me. They are not my ducklings. They are fourteen individuals, all of whom have their own talents, their own stories, their own troubles and triumphs. And this summer, they are in my care. For the next six weeks they will be under the protection of myself and my co-counselor. Neither one of us knew we'd be working together until two days before the campers arrived. We didn't know each other at all a week ago. And now we're taking care of fourteen 16-year-old girls together.
On Friday night I was too excited to sleep. Our cabin was decorated, cleaned, organized, and totally ready to go. In less than eight hours' time, I would meet the girls with whom I would spend my summer. I was more excited for them than nervous for myself--I still remember the feeling of pure anticipation the night before my very first day of Interlochen. Three years ago, I was lying in McWhorter listening to a thunderstorm and unable to think of anything except just how lucky I was to spend my summer in a place like this. Now, one summer, two school years, and a year of college later, I still feel incredibly blessed to be here, this time as the magician rather than the audience member. (That metaphor, by the way, was stolen directly from my boss--thank you, Madam Director.)
Walking into my cabin three years ago, all I could think was, Will they like me? I didn't know if there would be any other filmmakers in my cabin. I prayed there would be. I didn't yet realize that the eighteen young women in that cabin with me would become some of the most influential people in my life. I didn't know that my counselor would become a role model for me, not only during camp but during my time here as an employee, or that my bunkmate would teach me a valuable lesson in how to protect my things, or that the two dance majors who slept on the opposite side of the cabin would be my inspiration to get a job here in the first place. I didn't know that that single, beautiful summer would set the tone for the remainder of my high-school experience. I didn't know that after one concert by the breathtakingly talented World Youth Symphony Orchestra, I would feel a deep conviction that I had to go to this school. I remember, after hearing that concert, I came running to the pay phones behind the cabins and punched in my parents' number. "I have to go here," I told them as I alternated between laughing and holding back tears of pure excitement. "I belong here. This is where I need to be."
That summer I learned more about myself than I could possibly imagine. I learned my strengths and weaknesses, some of which I am now only just learning to cultivate and manage. I learned how to form lifelong friendships, and how not to handle a relationship with a boy. I learned to write a screenplay. I learned to operate a boom. I learned about the wonderful concept of Stolen Dialogue, and I still use it today. I met people I never thought could possibly exist. I found out so much about who I was, and realized that as much as I'd grown, I still had so far to go. Three years later, a little farther down the awkward, terrifying, exhilarating path that leads to adulthood, I'm still not fully aware of just how much this place has changed me, both for the good and for the not-so-great. Every now and then I will experience a moment of shock when I realize something else that Interlochen taught me. I still cry at concerts. I still remember the sound of the Interlochen Theme. I still flash back to happy hours spent with Hannah and Nina every time I taste ice-cream from the Melody Freeze. I still laugh at the memory of the fake wedding on Main Camp, and watch Connorchap's videos every now and then just for a taste of nostalgia. True, the Academy later overshadowed my experiences at camp. But I never, ever forget that summertime at Interlochen is where it all started.
Now, this summer, it is their turn. The girls in my cabin are a mix of actresses and musicians, returners and first-timers, and they all look to us--me and my co-counselor--for guidance. Some of them are old pros, but they are not the kind who think themselves above speaking to us. Some of them are heartbreakingly vulnerable, and I know that it will be truly beautiful to watch them grow and change as they adjust to camp life and explore their talents in music and theater. Some of them are happy and outgoing; others are serious and introverted. But they are already becoming a family. I witnessed this last night.
Yesterday I woke up a half-hour before my alarm and knew it'd be useless to even try to snatch those last thirty minutes of sleep. I dressed in one of my "secret weapons"--a long, flowing skirt. This, and lipstick, has always been a confidence-booster for me; if I'm wearing something pretty, I'm a little more self-assured than when I'm wearing those heaven-forsaken shorts that Interlochen campers are subjected to every summer. Lipstick just didn't seem professional, so long skirt it was. I'm sure most of the parents wondered what kind of hippie-chick was going to be watching over their precious children all summer...but I only embarrassed myself in front of one parent, which I considered an accomplishment, given my track record. (I put my foot in my mouth so often I'm surprised the circus hasn't commissioned me as a verbal contortionist.)
Breakfast was a struggle. I was so nervous it was actually hard to swallow. My anticipation over the campers was long gone; I was a giant ball of nerves. Every possible disaster was running through my mind in full-scale detail. I was terrified. But I put on the smiles when welcoming campers and parents and, as I said, managed only one incident of embarrassment, during which I somehow mixed up the two types of diabetes, forgot the first step of CPR, and completely forgot not only a parent's name, but his daughter's name as well, less than two minutes after he said it (believe me, you don't want to know the look that was on this man's face when he was done quizzing me about my first-aid experience). Working my shift at the registration table was a picnic compared to that.
One by one, my girls filtered in. Each one had different parents, different talents, different ideas of "bare essentials," different laughs, different amounts of Interlochen experience, different levels of need concerning assistance with unpacking, and very, very different personalities. But they all had one thing in common: They were here for their art, be it instrumental music, vocal music, or theater. And that night, we bonded over name games, celebrity crushes, chocolate-covered cherries, and awkward jokes. It felt so much like my first night here that a couple of times I forgot that I was not just another girl in the cabin--I am now a counselor, a caretaker, a role model, someone they look up to and expect to look after them.
I almost expected no one to listen to me--in fact, that was my biggest fear in the days leading up to camp. But they listened, and asked questions, and got into bed when we told them to, and introduced themselves as asked, and put their things in the right places and didn't try to steal each other's storage space. They asked for permission and looked to me for the answer. I didn't feel like a counselor. I felt like a big sister.
One of the girls has similar parents to mine--very loving, but also very protective--and can't wait to go off to college. We bonded over that. Another girl loves musical theater and, like me, likes the male roles in most musical better than the female roles. We bonded over that. Another plays piano, not for her major but just for fun. We bonded over that. Another loves Brahm's Requiem every bit as much as I do. Can you guess what happened? Yep--we bonded over that.
I spent just a few minutes talking to each girl, and learned so much about who they are and who they want to be. These girls are just entering their junior year of high school but are already thinking about colleges, and they asked us for suggestions. I told them stories about Interlochen Arts Academy, and one of them told me she was thinking of applying. My awkward, Hagrid-approved sense of humor made them laugh. Some jokes fell flat, but that's to be expected. Bunk talk went fairly smoothly, even through the more awkward topics. By the time we were all off to bed, I was already thinking of them as my girls, my campers, not just a bunch of random girls I'd just happened to move in with.
But I do have to be careful, because they aren't "mine." They are "theirs." They are themselves, and this is their summer. And my job is to be there for them, no matter what. To pray for them, look out for them, provide hugs when necessary, offer advice when it's requested, comfort them when they don't get the chair or part they want and celebrate with them when they do. In short: I have to be for them what my counselor was for me. And I have to treat them as the precious individuals that they are--help them learn and grow into the artists of tomorrow, while letting them be the young girls that they are today.
Challenge accepted.
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