To be virtuous. To be...

I’m never more aware of my shortcomings as a teacher than when I go to camp. Of course, I didn’t know that until last weekend. I’m pretty sure last weekend was the first time I had been back to camp since August, since I started teaching. And that’s kind of terrifying, when you consider I had visited at least monthly for the four years before that.

I was just so much more relaxed, at ease, more able to joke, to kid, to connect with the campers in a way that I don’t think I can as a teacher, at least not as often.

I don’t really know why they’re different... but they are. They are so distinctly different. Where at school I quickly lose my patience with students talking, at camp I simply move on, or address it calmly. I think I do that at school, too... but after doing it day in and day out for months the effect starts to wear off. It starts taking more, and requests start feeling like threats of missed recess, and you don’t realize how much you hate doing that until you’re back between snow coated trees, repeating over and over again that “No, we can’t do any more melt-a-beads.” But the reaction isn’t frustration; it’s laughter, because it’s comical how many times you’ve been asked.

I don’t think camp and school have to be as different as they seem right now, in these moments where I feel the gap is a distance I dare not try to travel. Today I started out saying, I’m going to try to have patience like I have at camp. It’s 2:20 right now, and I’m sure I failed before lunch was even thought of. It’s going to be harder than I want it to be... most things worth doing are... but I want to start to bridge that gap. I need to.