Nico Martinucci

11/6/07

Naked Kids, Lions, and Sex – Oh My!

            I woke up.  It was seven in the morning – another early day.  I got out of bed and donned the Pepto-Bismol pink Staff t-shirt, which everyone on staff had to wear, and despised as a result.  I had taken this job as a Day Camp counselor thinking it would be no more complicated than baby-sitting.  During my training, it had been described to me as “herding cats,” which was more or less what I had come to expect when working with young children.

            But that day was Friday, which was Lake Anza day.  This was my first Friday of the summer, and I was still getting used to the camp dynamics.  When we got to the parking lot at 9:30, there was a cold fog hovering over us.  As the kids arrived on buses, they split up into their groups.  Role was taken, snack was eaten, and games were played.  By the time eleven rolled around, the fog had burned off and the day was starting to get hot.  We lined the kids up to go in through the gates, and our group, the youngest, was in the very back.

            That first Friday was the first time I had been in Lake Anza since I was young, yet everything I saw as I walked in seemed strikingly familiar.  As I walked past the one-way revolving brown gate and the green booth complete with window, cash register, and eternally bored attendant, I saw the small swallows nested in the rafters of the huge overhang right near the entrance, the shady picnic tables next to the closed snack bar that once sold ICEEs for a couple dollars, the steep grass hill which leads straight down into the hot and welcoming sand, the life-guard’s tower that was once white, but now is yellow with wear and tear.

            After everyone was inside, and the lifeguard had given his talk, all hell broke loose.  It was like nothing I had ever seen before; kids running everywhere, bumping into each other and falling down, getting stung by bees, pushing and throwing each other in the water, eating lunch when they weren’t supposed to, and not applying enough sunscreen.  All of a sudden, Berkeley Day Camp’s mantra of “organized chaos” was all making sense to me.  Unclear of what else to do, I jumped into the water with the kids, and had myself a good time.

            At long last, it was finally the end of the day.  I had already gone down to the water to call the kids out, and tell them to go get dry and get dressed.  I was sitting on the grass, helping one camper get his shoes on, when I felt a timid tap on my shoulder.

“Um, teacher?  I can’t find my clothes…” said Eric, who was only five, and who was one of the more troublesome campers that week.  He tended to wander off into other groups and not hear directions, and had a knack for losing his jacket.

As I turned around I quickly saw that he wasn’t lying.  There he stood, completely naked, both hands lifted to the sky; one was clutching his recently removed sky blue swimsuit, the other hopelessly empty.

“Well, uh, Eric,” I stammered, “Where did you see them last?”

“Um, I can’t really remember…” he said.

“Ok, did you check your back-pack?”

“I think so.”

“Were they there?”

“Nope.”

“Well what about around your back-pack?  Did you look on you towel, or next to you shoes?”

“Mm hmm.”

“And no luck?”  By this time his head had dropped in shame, and he shook it a few times back and forth to answer me.

“Well, whadyah say we go look in the dressing room?”  I asked.

“Ok!”  He seemed suddenly happy again, after realizing that we might be able to find his clothes after all.

            I slowly stood up, told my leader where I was going, and set off up the hill with Eric.  Much to my dismay, he insisted on latching onto my hand for the entire trek, and I could feel he wasn’t going to let go until we found his missing clothes.  We made our way up the concrete path, passing looks of confusion mixed with astonishment, something akin to what I was feeling.

            We walked into the boy’s dressing room, through the colorful streamers hanging down to keep the swallows out.  By this time, almost all the campers had been in and out, yet there was a plethora of Lost and Found strewn across the room.  This is going to be quite a hunt. I thought to myself as I began rummaging through all the pants and shirts.

            “Are these yours, Eric?  Eric.  ERIC.”  There was a small fly buzzing around his head that had captured his attention, which I had learned was more than enough to distract him from the matter at hand.

            “Huh?  Oh.  No.”

            “How bout these?”

            “Nope.”

            “These?”

            “Nope.”

            “Ok, what about these?”

            “Um, YEAH!”  Immediately, he runs over and snatched the pants and shirt out of my hand, without so much as a thank you, which I would learn to live with as the summer went on.  We began walking back out, and I decided to give Eric a little life lesson about holding onto possessions.

            “Eric, from now on, I want you to…”  As I turned to address him, I suddenly noticed I was talking to empty space.

            You gotta be kidding me…  As I looked up, I saw the naked little boy taking off at a run, down the grass hill, onto the sand, and into the abyss of mothers, towels, random kids, and sand.  Yet as I saw him get lost in the crowd, I couldn’t help but admire his lack of inhibition, and be surprised at how comfortable he was being naked around hundreds of other people, neither of which I would expect from such a small child.

Fifteen minutes later, he came back to his back-pack wearing just his pants, and with no shirt in sight.  Eric spent the rest of the day and the ride home with no shirt – just his jacket.

* * * * * * * * * *

            During the fifth week, we took the kids to the San Francisco Zoo.  Our goals were to split up the kids, each one of us with a group, take them around to everything they wanted to see, and meet back at the gate by two.  One of the campers in my group, Tristan, insisted that we see the lions, and would focus on nothing else.  I looked at the map, and while drawing out our route through the zoo, I made sure to include the stop at the lion house.

            Most people at the zoo that day looked to be in other summer programs, wearing their matching pastel t-shirts and doing scavenger hunts to find various animals.  But there were also a few parents there, pushing their kids in strollers, or telling their children not to jump into the cage to go play with the fuzzy bears. 

            After seeing the emus, kangaroos, and anacondas, we stopped to have lunch at the penguins, which was incidentally right next to where the lions were.  This aided in Tristan’s speed-eating – he wanted to get to them as quickly as possible.

            “Can we go see the lions NOW??” he said.  It was the 27^th time he had asked.

            “Tristan, buddy, it’s only been about five minutes since we sat down for lunch.  Did you really eat that ENITRE piece of pizza?” I asked in disbelief.

            “Mm Hmm.  I want to see the lions!!”

            “Tristan, they’re not even there right now.  They’re eating lunch too.  We gotta wait for them to finish eating lunch before we can go see them, alright man?” I had finally learned the value of the five year-old’s complete trust in everything that you said.  I felt bad about lying, but it turned out to be for the better in the end.

            “Ahhh maaaaaaaan.” Tristan was only five, but had already mastered the art of whining.  I had him sit down and take some deep breaths while the other kids finished their lunches.

            As they finished up, I had them pick up ten pieces of trash each, pack up, and we set off.  Although the actual Lion House was closed, all the pens with the large cats were open air and people could walk around the back to see them.  As we made our way through the large archway, we came upon the first cage, which was occupied by a few sleeping lions.  Tristan was not impressed.

            “Why aren’t they moving?” he asked.  “Are they dead?”

            “Nope, I think they’re just taking a little nap after eating lunch.”

            “Ahhh… Ok..” he replied.  The look on his face was one of pure disappointment.  I quickly checked my map and knelt down beside him.

            “It’s alright, man.  There are more lions down this way, wanna go check them out?”

            “Ok!” he said as he took off running, my futile shouts of ‘Walk please!’ trailing behind him.  As I ran to catch up, we passed the panthers, the leopards, and the tigers.  When I finally caught up to Tristan, with the other six kids close behind me, we had made it.  There, basking in the warm sun, were two huge lions; one male, one female.  As Tristan got up on the railing, the lions decided to get up as well.   They paced around slowly, pawing at each other, and being friendly.  Then, the unthinkable happened.

            During one of the male’s laps around the female, the male began to paw at the female’s tail.  No… The female laid down, her legs spread slightly.  Oh God.  Please no…  The male slowly got on top of her, and started, well, thrusting.  This can’t be happening.  What am I supposed to tell these kids?  My mind was racing as I looked on, almost ashamed to be watching.  Do I lie to them?  Tell them the lions are just playing?  Do I tell them the truth?  Tell them the origin of babies?  All of a sudden, I was torn from my thoughts by an entirely unexpected shout.

            “LOOK!  THEY’RE HAVING SEX!!”  As I looked down at Tristan with his outstretched arm and pointing finger, his mouth formed a perfect O of astonishment.  As I turned around, I noticed that the watchful and incredulous eyes of every mother, baby sitter, and child in the vicinity were pointed in our direction.

            “OOOKKK, um… let’s go see some Grizzlies, guys.  C’mon…” I began herding the kids away from the fence, not really knowing what to think or say.  As we made our way away from the lion house and away from pure embarrassment, I couldn’t help but be surprised, to say the least.  Tristan’s pure honesty and matter-of-factness was startling. He had had enough maturity to utter a simple exclamation about the lions’ activities that wasn’t tainted with a single “Ew!” or “Gross!”  I, however, was ashamed to watch; averting my eyes, getting the kids out of there as fast as possible, and retelling the story to my friends, which was followed by barrels of laughter every time.

            Looking back, I would say that “herding cats” was an appropriate job description for a camp counselor.  But these were no ordinary cats, mind you.  They would pounce on you with no warning, take you by complete surprise, and make you think twice before predicting their next move.