(His actual hat is pictured here:)
I get made fun of for wearing his hat, but it serves a simple purpose that has nothing to do with power or envy or the simple desire to emulate him -- it has to do with the fact that when people see me in that hat, they know -- without asking or thinking -- that he isn't here and all inquiries should go to me.
So yeah -- I wear a lot of hats at camp.
(Incidentally, when asked why I replace him, I always answer: "They needed another short Jew with clipboards." Truth is, I've just done it before and I'm good at it and it's easier to replace me elsewhere than train someone new for this...same reason they didn't make me a unit head and kept me as the archery head...but that's another story.)
At the beginning of the year, Otis, the director, gave us his speech about us being a team. He is a huge Patriots fan and equated himself to Bill Belichick, the head coach and perhaps the greatest modern mind in football. He said some people are defensive folk, some offensive folk, and together, we compliment one another and make the perfect team. That nobody should be what they aren't, and that's what makes us great.
I immediately looked at my friend and said, "I think I'm Troy Brown." Troy Brown, for those non-football fans, was with the Patriots for 15 years. He has been a receiver, a defender, a punt-return and kick-return man, and been the designated man to sit out to allow others to play. Essentially, he's done it all, never once complaining. (He was even once put down in the depth chart as the emergency quarterback.)
Fridays are the hardest day to change roles -- not because I have problems with it, but because everyone's role because more difficult -- and in the case of the registrars, it becomes the most stressful job at camp. Any lost camper at the end of the day is the fault and responsibility of the registrar. And with the hecticness that is Friday, there is infinite opportunity to lose someone. (In my 6 years of being his backup, I have not lost anyone...though last year we had to have a camp director drive a kid home because I sent the buses home -- with direction from a higher-up -- before he got on the bus.)
But I love it. I like feeling valuable. And while my regular job is valued and I am quite good at it, there's something about changing it up and being able to move one -- or more -- step(s) in a different direction in order to make sure the camp as a whole runs without fault.
The strange thing -- while I've done three or four jobs this week alone -- is that I realized this week that they all pale in comparison to my most important job at camp: friend.
As much as I love being professional support to a staff of 70, willing to take over whenever anything needs to be done, I love even more being able to be emotional support to a group of one -- a sole soul (sorry, I had to) who needs someone to talk to or someone to hug.
And with all the jobs I do at camp and all the things I can put on a resume, that -- the one that won't get me in the door to interview for a future job, the one that doesn't add a bonus to my paycheck (even though the others don't, either...), the one that doesn't come with limelight of the whole staff and parents and campers seeing -- that is the one I'm most proud of.
It's the one I'll miss the most when I'm gone.
And it doesn't even come with a straw hat.
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