Freezies, Lake Ontario and Other Things the Experts Won’t Tell You About Kids

I have never considered myself to be an expert with kids. I think they are fun to be around, but I  never really thought about spending long periods of time with only kids. I barely even babysat before. When COVID came around, I started teaching dance lessons with a family friend for a few young kids and found that I actually enjoyed the experience. The end of school was approaching, and I decided that I wanted to pursue a summer job and found an opening for a counsellor at a day camp in my neighbourhood. The interview went well and I was officially a camp counsellor for the first time. 

After five weeks straight of spending my days with toddlers, I have learned a few things. One: there will never be a time where they are able to put their shoes on the right feet the first time around. Two: if they decide that they do not like the food, give up... there is no hope. Three: “Hakuna Matata” may as well be the national anthem. Four: everywhere is an eligible bathroom. 

A piece of advice: kids are smarter than you think. Case in point, the freezie scenario. If you have to bargain with a kid, the way to their heart is with a freezie. Those sweet, syrup-filled, ice pops hold more weight in those kid’s lives than I will ever dream of holding. At our camp, when kids have a minor injury, we usually offer them a freezie to use as ice and then allow them to eat it. Within the first three days of this happening, they caught on. Daily, we have around seventeen occasions of kids trying their absolute hardest to convince me that they are vitally injured, and if they do not get a freezie to ease their pain right at that very moment, they may never be healthy again. Recently, a camper began her quest to get a freezie by trying to convince me that the creases in her elbow were proof that she’d fallen and needed some ice. Kids may not be able to tell their right shoe from their left, but they will find the flaw in your freezie-medical system and exploit it for their own gain. 

Sending kids to camp after a year of being inside, with most of them having never gone to school is difficult for many reasons. I have tried and failed to explain the concept of sitting in a circle (if anyone has any advice please email me); keeping their masks on is equivalent to asking them to explain the Collatz Conjecture, and they have never had to dress themselves before. This led to a few problems.

On my very first day, changing the kids for water play was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life. Clothes were everywhere (mind you, they have no idea which clothes are theirs), towels were on the opposite side of the room, and no one had any clue what was going on. I tried my best to help, and eventually, we did make it to the water, but it was safe to say we needed a better system. One of my campers was getting picked up at 12:30pm. As I walked him over, I heard his mother laugh shakily and then ask, “Whose clothes are you wearing?”. On my first day, I had to stand in front of that poor mother and tell her that no, I did not know whose clothes her son was wearing. Thankfully, she laughed it off and brought the clothes back the next day. 

The fact that 16 kids are running around also lends itself to some scary moments. I’ll never forget the second day of camp when my co-counsellor came up to me and told me that a young girl had brought cashews in her lunch. My mind went into immediate overdrive, trying to remember if anyone in our cabin was allergic, if she’d already eaten them or had touched anything. Technically, first on that list of things of what I should have been panicking about was that I was, in fact, allergic to cashews; but my mind generously skipped over that fact.

Something else about my cabin: the kids really like beads. They collect them, hoard them, and they are hidden in every crevice of the camp. Outside, the kids will dig through the ground looking for them and have collections that leave their pockets overflowing with plastic shapes. I never thought much of it, since we had never had a problem with any of the kids acting dangerously with them. One day, we were having cabin time while the kids played with toys and I sat watching them. Then, a boy came up to me and in his quietest, most innocent voice told me, “I stuck a bead up my nose.” Now, there are many ways to react to that statement. I settled with, “Sorry, what?” He repeated himself. So there was a bead up a kid’s nose. Ok. Cool. Nope. Not cool. I jumped up and grabbed his hand and led him to the door, intending to take him down to the office. Thankfully, before I got out of our classroom, my mind calmed. I turned to him, plugged one side and made him blow as hard as he could. The bead came out. 

Besides these kids giving me heart attacks and moments where I forget about my own allergies, they genuinely make me laugh. One of my favourite moments I had this summer occurred when I was giving out freezies and decided to ask a few trivia questions for fun. I tried to make easy ones, like ‘What’s my name?’ and ‘What city do we live in?’. Then, I guess I got too ambitious. I asked, “Can anyone name an ocean?” From the back, a boy opened his mouth, and, at full volume, screamed, “LAKE ONTARIO.” The rest of the kids nodded in wholehearted agreement. 

Throughout the weeks, I have genuinely gotten close to these kids. I know their personalities, their preferences, even which kids definitely need to go to the washroom even though they are not telling you. I find myself happy to spend time with them, even though their shoes are definitely on the wrong feet. We began going to swimming lessons when the Government allowed it, and many were afraid of the water at first. After a few lessons, one boy told me that he did not want to dunk his head in the water, so I told the swim staff. After the lesson, I saw that his hair was soaking as he ran up to me and exclaimed that he dunked. I love when the kids play with each other, when I watch them become friends, even just for an hour. It makes me so happy when a boy proudly asks me to watch him as he shoots a basketball into a high net. I love these kids. 

When this summer ends, not seeing these kids will be a genuine shock to me. I’ll miss the happiness, the laughter, the stress and the frustration, but I am thrilled I have gotten to grow as close to them as I have. There’s only one thing that’s certain: I am never listening to “Hakuna Matata” again.