The Wages Of A Summer Job

Last week I revisited some of the summer jobs of my long-ago youth. (The Summer Job of Personal Growth) I was reminded of this topic when my wife and I visited our youngest son recently at his summer job at Hume Lake Christian Camps high in the cool, clean air of the Sequoia National Forest. Tough gig, right?

In that column, I reminisced about one particularly sweaty summer spent out in our family’s garage sorting through thousands of nuts and bolts and other zinc-plated hardware without the benefit of even a transistor radio to help me pass the time. As coincidence would have it, the rules for counselors at Hume Lake don’t allow them to have their iPods on duty either. Even more unique in this day and age is that there is absolutely zero cell phone reception up there. And no internet. Or TV.

Oh, the horror of it all.

So what does everybody do all summer? They live life. They explore. They sing songs. They talk to each other. I mean, deep, meaningful conversations. They study the Bible. They pray. They play. They play some more. They experience the beauty, wonder and joy of God’s creation without the almost overwhelming digital distractions so present in our lives today. Sounds like heaven to me.

On any given weekend, my son doesn’t know what job he’ll have the following week until a staff meeting on Sunday afternoon. Although he has worked some weeks as a cook in one of the camp’s kitchens (they feed as many as 1,200 hungry campers at each meal!), most weeks he works as a counselor to a group of boys of either elementary, middle school or high school age.

That means he spends the next six days being the boys’ confidant, mentor, security guard, pastor, nanny, activities director, trail guide and surrogate parent. He eats all three meals with his guys and sleeps in their cabins (or covered wagon in the case of the younger boys). So far this summer, he has experienced the joys, stresses and frustrations of caring for homesick kids, frightened kids, bored kids, angry kids, troubled kids, barfing kids, lonely kids, clingy kids, kids who won’t eat, kids who won’t stop eating, gassy kids, kids with acute arachnophobia and everything in between. 

As camp staff, he’s gets a weekly salary (which works out to be around $4 an hour) plus meals and a place to sleep at night. When he isn’t counseling, his living quarters are unfortunately only slightly better than sleeping in an abandoned rail car in suburban Fresno.

As I write this, he has two more weeks at camp until he comes home for several days and then leaves again for his sophomore year in college. He is exhausted beyond his ability to express it. He has caught several of the nasty colds and flu bugs that have raced through the camp this summer. He deeply misses his friends and family. He misses the internet and his music.

And he couldn’t be happier.

During our visit, my wife and I saw that our son has already earned something that won’t show up on any pay stub: namely, patience, fortitude, resilience, commitment and most importantly, what it means to be there for a kid who needs comforting, advice, strength, guidance, friendship and reassurance at any hour of the day or night.

In fact, my son said something during our visit that confirmed our suspicions. During a quiet moment, and with a heavy sigh, he said, “Dad, I think I’m starting to understand what it’s like to be a parent.” Let me tell you, it was all I could do not to dance around the room like the quarterback on a winning Super Bowl team.

But I didn’t. My face muscles almost cramped from trying to keep a straight face and not grin from ear to ear. I simply said, “Well, mom and I are very proud of your dedication and commitment to these kids, son. You’re certainly learning a lot this summer.”

At least I think that’s what I said. I couldn’t actually hear my own voice over the Mormon Tabernacle Choir belting out the Hallelujah Chorus in my head.

Please don’t tell the folks who operate Hume Lake, but I would have paid THEM to hire my son this summer. I’ll see you ‘round town.

Note: This is an edited version of my column first published yesterday, 8.4.11 in the Crescenta Valley Weekly newspaper (cvweekly.com).

© 2011 WordChaser, Inc.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

What a week. I’m sure more than a few regular readers will think this week’s post will be about the royal pain in the … er, I mean …the royal wedding of last Friday. With the deconstruction of societal norms in full swing, I admit it was wonderful seeing such an unabashed celebration of traditional marriage, in the mother of all churches no less, between one man and one woman (how quaint!). Having said that, the fawning and slobbering mass of press corps camped out in London for days on end was nothing short of pathetic. It’s difficult to think of these folks as serious journalists when their “reporting” was more in keeping with People magazine or Entertainment Tonight. And to think that the major networks have closed a majority of their foreign bureaus in cost-saving measures. Yet, they certainly had the money to send Katie and Barbara and Matt and Al and Meredith and a first-class jumbo jet full of pampered news readers to London for a week or more of inane blather on everything from hats and dresses to exposes on the gardening shed where Kate Middleton’s mum began her online party favor business. Blimey. 

And for all of that energy and expense invested in the wedding of the decade (or at least since Lady Diana married Prince Charles in the farce of the century), the story was all but abandoned within two days as news from Pakistan commanded everyone’s focus. Breaking news was that Osama bin Laden – a truly evil man who had successfully hidden from the Western world for almost a decade, had not only been located, but had died from the sudden onset of lead poisoning courtesy of the US Navy SEALS Team Six.

I’ll only say that I’m torn between immense pride in our military’s special forces (who serve with the same unrivaled levels of excellence and sacrifice no matter who their Commander In Chief might be), and my gut reaction to the cringe-worthy, mob-like public displays of euphoria at the killing of another human – no matter how deserving of death that person may have been. As much as I love seeing crowds chanting “U! S! A!”, there’s something sobering and unsettling in many of those eyes. Patriotism is one thing. A lot of this celebration seems more like blood lust. I could be wrong, and hopefully I am.

Also, some of the loudest celebrants have been people I’ve seen adamantly opposing the death penalty for other, less-notorious crimes. What gives?   

The surprisingly powerful and sustained winds that blew through my community of La Crescenta this past weekend made me consider discussing the recent devastation and loss of life throughout Alabama. After all, with a tornado season that has already exacted a historic toll on thousands of our fellow Americans, I can certainly tolerate my trash cans being blown around the yard by Santa Anas.

 

Each of the subjects above has been covered ad nauseam, however. Besides which, I’ve already tested the limits of your tolerance for troubling topics with my column of last week. And by the way, I can’t thank you enough for your many heartfelt emails of condolence at the passing of my dog, Sierra. We have some wonderfully compassionate people living in these foothills.

In spite of all the major news stories of late, the events most on my mind right now are much closer to home. For example, next week my wife and I will drive down to Point Loma to help pack up our youngest son’s dorm and bring him back home after his freshman year away at college. When we dropped him off last August, this date seemed impossibly far away. Now it’s just around the corner and I like that. A lot. Unfortunately, his homecoming will be short lived. He’ll be leaving again the second week of June for a summer-long job at Hume Lake Christian Camp.

The same weekend we’re in San Diego, another son will be loading his pickup to begin the 1,200 mile drive home from Missoula where he’s been studying wildlife biology this school year. With our blessing, he recently decided to apply for official Montana state residency next year, so this will be his last summer home between semesters. Let the record show that we fully intend to enjoy every moment he’s home. He’s been in Montana since last August, so for the first time in years he and I didn’t attend the annual opening of fishing season (a belated Merry “Fishmas” everyone!) in the Sierras this past Saturday. We have a lot of catching (up) to do.

Just this week my wife and I also received our official wilderness permit that allows us to attempt the hike to the summit of 14,505 foot Mt. Whitney at the end of summer. The keyword here is “attempt.” Let the training hikes begin!

So, let the Royals celebrate, the U.S. military congratulate, and the people of Alabama commiserate. I’ve got my mind on our kids coming home, on a summer that’s almost here and a calendar full of challenge and adventure. Bring it! And if we’re not too busy, hopefully, I’ll see you ‘round town.

Note: This is a longer, edited version of my column first published yesterday (5.5.11) in the CV Weekly newspaper (cvweekly.com).

© 2011 WordChaser, Inc.