First Graders: And How They Pouted, Pushed and Pulled into My Memories.
So I traveled to Cow Country this past week to group led a herd of first graders. Yes, I led. Let me repeat that again. I was a leader. Scary, huh? But don’t even think scary until you counsel first graders like these. The whining, complaining, moaning, eating, vomitting, farting, yelling, screaming, kicking, biting, piggy back rides and constant need of attention really gets to you after 5 days. But I held tough. Were you like this when you were in first grade?
I swear to you, and give you my word of honor, that there was not one moment of silence in that five day span. Not one. I swear to you.
They told us to prepare ourselves, so me, being the ignorance that I am, bring a pillow and a sleeping bag and all the essentials you need on a trip to a cabin. Sounds right, right? EHH. Wrong. To truly prepare for counseling first graders, I advise this: four-not two-ear plugs, a pair of the yellow plastic cleaning gloves, an biohazard waste container, your choice of pleasure food (be it ice cream, sedatives, etc), an extra set of silverware, a bat to fend off unwanted visits and a shepard’s cane to bring back any stray wanderers. And that’s not on the "Optional Bring To Camp" list. That’s on the "Mandatory Life-Sustaining Essentials" list. You have to go into situations prepared, folks. It’s the first lesson you learn in Boy Scouts. And yes, sadly, I have graduated Boy Scouts.
Chelsea was my first biohazard. Literally after our second meal together. But in all other aspects as well. The first time Chelsea laid her eyes on me, a wonderful melody of birds suddenly appearing struck up in her head, while a dazed chant of Elton John’s "The Bitch Is Back" struck up in mine. She ran to me and gave me a hug, and from then on, wouldn’t leave my side. Sound cute? You’re damn wrong. The girl would ask continually for piggy back rides, so much so that to this day I still wake up with pains in my side. They remind me of her, and that helps so much…So this girl: this blonde haired, pot-bellied, wet-nosed little girl would cling to me like shit on velcro day in and day out. The worst of it, though, was that she didn’t have any manners. You’d think she’d be cutely likeable with her pot belly. But no…oh dear god no. No. She would scream decibals at the dinner table for more steak (the only good food we had that week), she would grab my hair and pull it to make it more "sticker-outer" in her words, she would punch my buttocks to get my attention, even if she saw that I was already speaking with someone, she would growl at me if I told her to ‘go to bed please,’ she would constantly try to pull my name tag off, she always hugged me to make up for her wrongdoings, and worst of all, worst of all of it: she would pout. And oh, do you remember how we used to pout. We pouted like professionals, people. We really did, because whenever I remember her, I remember my friends that did it just the same. We pouted like it was a game or something, not really knowing the mental crazedness it was causing our superiors. Oh boy, the pouting.
Another boy had a state of sleep walking. The first night was acceptable: it was okay. He only tipped over a flower vase and played the piano in an un-desirable key. That was okay. But the second night he got up, he tripped off his bunk bed, woke up crying, woke the whole cabin up, and then proceeded to run around when we tried to get him back into bed. He was still asleep, apparently, and was calling us ‘demons’ and ‘vampires’ while running away in fright. That was a night, let me tell you. However, the kid - once conscious again - actually proposed to my cute co-leader, Amy, so he was all good in my book. The kid had guts…well… maybe he was just sleep walking when he got down on one knee… Ehh. The kid had guts, just give him credit.
So, on the whole, I had a good experience leading my first graders. I even taught my group what "sharting" meant. The camp was a success, the group leaders were praised, and I was given a certificate to Mcdonald’s for my efforts - which I promptly threw away after remembering my vow after seeing "The Corporation" and "Fahrenheit 911." In conclusion: I encourage all of you to volunteer at these camps for primary students, for the distinct reason that people like me are too scarred to ever go back without rationally thinking it out first. Please, do it. There has to be a first time for everything, and even if you don’t make it out half-alive, just remember this: Next time you do it, bring everything on the "Mandatory Life-Sustaining Essentials" list. Everything.