Firewatch Duty
“Firewatch” is a term we use at Camp for when a counselor stays awake from camper bedtime until counselor curfew. Campers believe that it means someone is designated to watch for forest fires in the night; however, staff know that “fire” is meant in a metaphorical sense – heated arguments between campers when they should be sleeping.
Tonight, I’m on firewatch. I put my four ten-year-old girls to sleep and sneak out to the bathroom that we call the “showerhouse,” which is a big structure with a roof and three walls, two of which are lined with toilets and shower stalls.
Not even a minute after my shift starts do I hear screams echoing from the nearest-by cabin, Fir. I toss aside my current book on the psychology of human behavior and jump into action. I run 10 yards over to the cabin of nine-year-olds to find that they are screaming their heads off because there is a mouse running across the floor of their cabin. The girls are losing their minds, banished to the top bunks with their comforters pulled up to their eyes for protection.
“Katie!” They scream at the tops of their lungs. “Get the broom! There’s a mouse in here!”
I scramble to pull their clothing bins and empty luggage from below the bunk beds to find the furry friend hiding out. For a while, I can’t find it. What I do find is food wrappers, even though we have a strict no-food tolerance policy at Camp to protect from unwanted visitors like this mouse.
“It’s Maggie’s fault!” The girls simultaneously accuse, as Maggie is their cabin mate and a camper allowed to have sugary snacks on hand for her safety as a diabetic. I instantly realize the destructive shame the girls are placing on their cabin mate, a girl who probably already feels a tremendous amount of guilt, over being the source of her friends’ anxiety.
“No, no! It’s okay!” I console them. “Maggie, when you eat your snacks, I want you to make sure the wrappers don’t fall from behind your bed. Next time make sure to put them in the trash can, okay?” We seal with a pinky promise. Just then, the mouse runs out of the cabin and the girls all cheer.
After the girls profusely thank me for saving their lives and I walk back to the showerhouse, I sit back down with my book. The chapter I’m reading is about destructive versus prosocial problem solving. Destructive problem solving ridicules and isolates individuals, enabling them to continue with the behavior that they are being shamed for. Maggie’s cabin mates, I realized, had engaged in destructive problem solving by blaming her for leaving wrappers lying around. On the other hand, prosocial problem solving is turning the incident into a teaching moment, engaging in empathy and accountability to help the person to not further engage in the behavior. Had the girls prosocially problem solved with Maggie as I had, they would have encouraged her to throw her wrappers away to the benefit of the whole cabin.
This metaphorical fire had turned into an incredible counseling moment, allowing me to apply my learned knowledge in a real-world setting. The life of a camp counselor involves immense amounts of problem solving and camper coordination throughout the day, and moments like this one serve as a reminder that counseling is not only about taking care of the children physically through keeping them safe and healthy, but also protecting them mentally and fostering a supportive playing, learning, and living environment.
