Camp Gitmo

Ah, the joys of summer camp.
You see, for me the word 'camp' has two meanings. An affectation of mild astheteness or a place of detainment.
It seems that summer camp is a mild variation upon the latter.
We have some asthetes (mostly those aged about 3 or 4 years old, they love to shout, scream and jump about and I am in the process of beginning to adore them).
We also have a large number of detainees. These children are older and generally just as amusing but in a slightly different way.
The real detainees are the teenagers who work camp.
They make me ponder on what it was like when I was fifteen.
They remind me how it was to be single minded.
They remind me how it was to be bloody minded.
They make me remember people mangement skills that I had hoped to forget.
Deep down they are good kids, but by god they make my days strong,
they test me and yet I must not show failure to their tests.
I am reafirmed that my vocation is to work with younger kids.
Having said all of that I must admit that the one particular teenager assigned to my command is a decent lad who does what I ask (and I ask, I do not yet have to tell or order) and is helpful and polite in every manner and tone.
But still, teenageness is another world, one that I have no wish to visit again for some years to come.