FFNet took down my stories Perfect and I'll Try because they had song lyrics in it, God forbid...I've reposted them without the lyrics after having been grounded from posting for it...by a website that should spend more time...nevermind, I don't want to lose all my stories...

SNFA awards

Winner--Childhood Traumas Round One--Blindsided
Winner--Stuck With Me Round Two--Innocent Mishap

What is a Counselor?
By Howard Galloway (changes exacted without permission)

Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood there occurs in human development the age which is physically and psychologically impossible. It is that unfathomable stage known as the camp counselor, a creature undefined by the psychologist, misunderstood by the camp director, worshipped by campers, either admired or doubted by parents, and unheard of by the rest of society.

A camp counselor is a rare combination of doctor, lawyer, Indian, and chief. She is a competent child psychologist with her sophomore textbook as proof. She is an underpaid babysitter with neither television nor a refrigerator. She is a strict disciplinarian with a twinkle in her eye; a minister to all faiths with questions about her own. She is a referee, a coach, a teacher, and an advisor. She is an example of womanhood in worn out sneakers, a sweatshirt two sizes too large, and a hat two sizes too small. She is a humorist in a crisis, a doctor in an emergency, a song leader, entertainer, and play director. She is an idol with her head in a cloud of wood smoke and her feet in the mud. She is a comforter in a leaky tent on a cold night and a pal who just loaned someone her last pair of dry socks. She is a teacher of the out of doors, knee deep in poison ivy.

A counselor dislikes flag, waiting in line, Polar Bears, and rainy days. She is fond of sunbathing, exploring, teaching new games, an old car named Betsy and days off. She is handy for patching up broken friendships, bloody noses and torn jeans. Good at locating lost bathing suits,getting rid of spiders, playing Pigmania and Wah, and catching frogs. She is poor at crawling out of bed on rainy mornings, remembering paperwork and going to bed early.

A counselor is a friendly guide in the middle of a cold, dark, wet night on the long winding trail to the latrine. She is a dynamo on her day off, exhausted the next day, but recuperated in time for the next day off.

Who but she can cure homesick campers, air out bedding, play sixteen games of Wah in succession, whistle Dixie through her fingers, carry two backpacks, speak Pig Latin in French, stand on her hands, sing 37 verses of "Three Magenta Flamingos" and eat four helpings of Sunday dinner.

A counselor is expected to repair 10 years of damage to Jamie in 10 days, help Sally reach her full potential, rehabilitate Grace, allow Emily to be an individual, and help Megan adjust to the group. She is expected to take care of the most prized possessions of 16 parents much older than she. She is expected to lead them in fun and adventure - even when her head aches; to teach them to live in the out-of-doors - even though she spends nine months out of the year in Boston, New York, or Detroit; to teach indigenous activities - even when she can’t spell the word; to guide youngsters in social adjustment- even though she hasn’t even reached the drinking age; to ensure safety and health - even with a sunburned nose, a Band-Aid on her thumb and a blister on her heel.

For all this she is paid enough to buy the second text in psychology, some Advil, some new socks, two tires for Betsy and some new sneakers. You wonder how she can stand the pace and pressure. You wonder if she really knows how much she is worth. And somehow, you realize you can never pay her enough when, as she leaves at the end of August, she waves goodbye and says, “See ya next year.”

And I do.