Rattlin' Bog

Camp was almost over for the summer. Kids were running around on the lawn, playing foursquare, swinging on the swings and building fairy houses. I was racing a couple eight-year-olds around the lawn and losing miserably.  I wasn’t letting them win. The amount of times I have lost races, games of soccer, arm wrestles, and other stuff like that to people considerably younger than me is crazy. It’s embarrassing, really. 

“How are you guys so fast?” I kept yelling, trying to make them think I was surprised to lose to someone nine years younger than me. 

Before the kids could make me race a second time, the bell rang, signaling that assembly was about to start. “Time to go to assembly” I yelled unnecessarily. I don’t know why I do that. Everyone knows what the bell means. 

The kids all headed up the hill, some running as fast as they could, others trailing along behind, talking with their friends. I walked with the last few kids, talking with Piper about her stuffie blobfish, Blobby, taking in herds of happy kids around me, storing up their joy to last me through one more year of highschool. I couldn’t believe we only had one day left of the summer. I thought, for the hundredth time, about how much I was going to miss these kids. Especially Hazle. 

Camp counselors aren't supposed to have favorites.  I love Hazle, though. She’s such an adorably nerdy little kid. She’ll rattle on to you about surface tension while she builds a boat out of bark to sail in the stream. She’ll bring up the types of clouds while paddle-boarding. She has a huge vocabulary and isn’t afraid to use it. She says “I must say” unironically, for god's sake. Plus, she gets super excited about theater. She was in the chorus for a camp production of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and she talked about it nonstop. Cliche as it is, she reminds me of myself as a kid. 

When I get to assembly, I see Hazle herself sitting just inside the door. Her eyebrows scrunched up in panic behind her round, blue glasses. She looks upset. I know why. Emma. 

Emma is the leader of my unit. My supervisor, I guess. She’s in charge of all the seven and eight year olds at camp and all of us counselors who work with them. She just got the job a week ago, when Katie left, and since then, she’s been asserting her new power in all sorts of annoying ways. She’s implemented impossible to enforce rules, and made us enforce them. She’s tried to make the kids sit quietly on the rock wall right after lunch (which is impossible, trust me). Worst of all, though, is what she’s done to Hazle.  

Hazel had been at camp for three weeks by then. I was her group counselor for the first two weeks. The first day, Hazle refused to go into assembly. I never make a kid do something without first asking them why they won’t do it. I’ve been forced to do plenty of unnecessary things that seriously stressed me out. It was always by teachers who thought I was just being recalcitrant, or trying to get out of it. I promised myself I wasn't going to do that to my campers. 

“I don’t like crowds’ she told me, “Or places that are too loud”.

This made a lot of sense. It’s really loud in assembly.  I told her it was ok, and I sat with her outside of assembly on a rock. I was proud of myself for helping the kid. For being able to be that teacher who understands her. 

Every morning for two weeks, we sat on that rock, watching assembly through the open windows. Except for the day when they sang Rattlin’ Bog. That day, we sat far away from assembly, covering our ears. That was the day I saw Hazle have a real and true “freak-out” for the first time. At Horizons, Rattlin’ Bog is a loud ritual involving a bunch of the sports-ball-boys yelling “BOOOOOOOOOOOGGG” over the end of the chorus. When the yelling started, Hazle ran, covering her ears, and curled up into a ball on the other side of the lawn. A classic autistic freak-out, I had thought. As an autistic person myself, I can spot them pretty well. I pushed the thought out of my mind, though. No one had told me that she was autistic. She just had the vibes. And I’m pretty sure we're not supposed to go around diagnosing campers. 

I started calling the rock “Hazle’s Rock". I kinda loved that rock. I never told Hazle, but I liked sitting outside for assembly too. I never told her that I, too, hated crowds and loud noises. I never told her that, back at my school, I sat in a separate area at assembly. I wasn't sure if you were supposed to tell kids this kind of stuff. 

When Emma became the unit head, all that changed. Emma wouldn’t let any kids stay outside of assembly for any reason. I wanted to explain how Hazle needed to be outside, but I never argued with my colleagues. I just didn’t. I never argued with anyone. I was too scared to make people mad at me. Instead, I did what I could to make it easier on Hazle, and quietly hated Emma. 

I slipped into assembly next to Hazle. Since Emma had been making her sit inside, I had sat next to her– feeble buffer between her and the world. 

“Hi Hazle!” I greeted her cheerfully.

“Hi,” she replied weakly.

“Emma made you sit inside again?” I asked, knowing the answer. She nodded. 

I continued to make conversation, trying to distract her from the crowds and noise around her. 

“What are you going to do for your open today?” I asked her

“I’m going to do the King Arthur role play in drama” she replied, finally smiling.

“That’s going to be so much fun!” I exclaimed, genuinely excited for her. Amy (the theater counselor) always did the best role pays. 

Stuart, the camp director, got up on the stage. 

“Good morning, Horizonites!” he boomed in his British accent. 

“Good morning, Stuart!” We all chorused back. 

He began to announce the things that would happen in assembly today. Singing Country Roads. A skit by some nine and ten year olds. An announcement by John about how many bowls of pasta he could eat in one sitting (we had all been taking bets). Rattlin’ Bog. Rattlin’ Bog. Damn.

Hazle and I looked at each other. The fear in her eyes was genuine. If it hadn’t been so scary, it would have been funny: Rattlin' Bog striking fear into our hearts. I made a decision. 

“When they start singing Rattlin’ Bog” I whispered to Hazle “I’ll take you outside. Then we can come back in for the rest of assembly.” 

She smiled relievedly at me and nodded. I gave her a thumbs up. I didn’t want to defy Emma, but what else was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to subject this kid to the torture of Rattlin’ Bog for Emma’s sake. I wasn’t going to let my social anxiety get in the way of being a good counselor. 

It was a quality assembly. Country Roads was, as always, awesome; the nine and ten year olds skit was hilarious; and John ate six and a half bowls of pasta, which was pretty close to my guess of five or six. When Duncan got on stage to lead Rattlin’ Bog, I looked at Hazle and motioned outside. We headed outside, and away from the lodge where assembly was. Just like that, we were back to our earlier tradition. We sang along quietly, and each danced by ourselves. I danced in place with bouncy steps, while Hazle frolicked nearby. Assembly was fun again. 

Then I saw Emma, striding across the lawn. Uh-oh.  She walked up to us. 

“You need to be in assembly” she chastised, looking accusingly at me. 

“We’ll go back in after this one song” I pleaded. 

“You need to go inside,”  she insisted.

I knew what I had to do. I had to stand up for this kid. 

“Emma, Hazel has trouble with loud noises. Rattlin’ Bog is really loud. She really needs to be outside for this song.” I argued.  She has trouble with loud noises” I finished weakly. 

I wondered if I should tell her  that I think Hazel is autisitc. The word autism certainly scares people into cooperation. It sounds much more real and serious than “has trouble with loud noises”. Still, you're not supposed to just go around diagnosing your campers. Plus, if I told Emma right then and there, Hazel would hear,and that’s not the way you want to find out you might be autistic. 

I couldn’t believe I had actually done that. In all my years of being the weird kid, forced to do things that terrified me, I never stood up for myself like this. I guess it took having someone small to protect to get me to speak up. 

If this were a middle-school realistic fiction book, Emma would have listened to me. She would have said “Oh, ok then” and let me stay outside. Hazel would have hugged me and told me I was her favorite counselor ever. Emma never would have made Hazle go into assembly again. She would have gone away with more compassion for people who couldn’t do everyday things. Unfortunately, life isn’t a coming of age story. 

Emma simply insisted “You can’t be out here,” and led us back to assembly like wayward sheep. Luckily, by that time, Rattlin’ Bog was over. I sat, defeated, next to Hazle for the rest of assembly.