Note: This letter was written over the course of two weeks, so it’s a hot mess. Forgive me. 

Dear Family,

Since the composition and posting on my last letter, July was lovely. The first five days of August, however, have been TERRIBLE. 

I am sick. Well, I’ve actually been sick for exactly fourteen days now, but it’s only recently progressed to the severity that I’m actually accepting the fact that I should not be at work, especially when that involves spending hours under the hot sun, surrounded by infectable children and adolescents. 

The symptoms started in the morning of Tuesday, July 23, when I awoke with a sore throat and stuffy nose. At the moment of rousing, I was immediately filled with dread, fearing that this illness, while mild, would soon progress to stages that would prevent me from working. And since it was only day two of the five in Science Camp, that would be especially bad. (More on that later.) 

Fortunately, the symptoms did not become unbearable that week. In fact, they stayed almost exactly the same the entire time, leading me to believe that they were simply a reaction to some new seasonal allergies. I was able to continue working through that week and the next, despite the gradual worsening of the congestion and the addition of headaches and vertigo to the mix. It developed a noticeably cyclical nature: I woke up each morning with a sore, swollen throat, slight headache, and moderate congestion. As the day progressed, the sore throat would gradually abate, the headaches would come and go with varying intensity, and the congestion would increase so that by bedtime, all nasal breath would be blocked by an impenetrable snot seal. Then I would go to bed, and the cycle would start anew (and slightly worse) the following morning. 

As the days went by and the illness got more severe, I told myself, “Hey, it’s been going on for so long; surely, it will have run its course by tomorrow.” All these tomorrows later, my suffering has only increased. 

But hey, there’s a silver lining: Now that I’ve written that whiny introduction, I have no choice but to write this entire letter today. After all, if I don’t post it by this evening, I’ll be fully recovered, and all that complaining will be outdated and irrelevant. 

…Right?

Science Camp 

For years now, KAH has offered four different summer camp programs: Camp KAH, Adventure Camp, Explorers, and Skate Camp. Everyone who works there refers to that first one as “day camp” (which is admittedly confusing, since they’re all day camps) and the others under the umbrella term “traveling camps.” 

Well, it looks like there are five now. Sometime back in April or May, Bret (one of my boss’s bosses) approached me to ask if I would be interested in spending a week away from Adventure Camp to work for an experiment of sorts: Science Camp. Unlike all of the other KAH camps, which run for nine weeks, this new traveling camp would be only one week long. It would serve as a sort of test run—a way to gauge interest, iron out creases, figure out general logistics through trial and error. John Henri, the “KAH Science Guy” who would be running the camp, had requested that Bret ask me to work there. 

Me specifically. Out of all the staff at all the KAH locations, I was asked to be one of the four Science Camp counselors. In our handful of interactions, John Henri had clocked me as a huge nerd—a huge, responsible, capable nerd, apparently—and deemed me a good fit. No pressure or anything!

I accepted the offer. It was terrifying. 

Flash forward to the week of July 22. I found myself one of four adults supervising a group of twenty-six kids on daily trips. We got in a lot of fun at the Baltimore Zoo on Monday before it started well and truly pouring, at which point we ran back to the vans. We had a scavenger hunt at the Patuxent Research Refuge. We found a lot of snakes, lizards, bugs, and even an eel over the course of a couple hikes. We explored cool interactive exhibits at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center and the Maryland Science Center.

The weight on my shoulders slowly lightened as I watched the kids have a blast. We’re waiting to hear if Science Camp will continue next summer. 

Adventure Camp

This part of the letter is being written on August 11, six days after the penning of everything that has come before this. I’ve gotten medicine from the urgent care doctor and am feeling much better. Still, I don’t feel like scrapping all of my oh-so-charming gripes at the beginning of this letter, so the intro stays. 

Today is the Sunday before the final week of Adventure Camp. It’s been a wild ride. I’ve had a great time bonding with campers and coworkers alike, and I cannot wait for it to be over. I’m grateful for my job—it’s a lot of fun—but I’m exhausted, y’all! Physically and mentally! I’m ready to return to my school year schedule, where I have some time to be indoors and doing activities that are a little less physically demanding. 

I have learned a lot this summer. Firstly: The preteen equivalent of a kindergartener’s “I drew a picture of you” is apparently “I made you fan art.”

Another lesson I learned came from the kids who always sit at the back of the bus. You know the ones—the big kids who know just how much better and cooler they are than everyone else. They like to test boundaries, to see how scandalous their loud discussions can get before an adult calls them out. 

One day, one of them made a “short bus” joke. I can’t remember the exact context, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t intended as a jab at people with disabilities. The kid in question was most likely using ableist language to call his friend stupid. 

Nonetheless, the joke was ableist, and I wasn’t going to let that stand. 

I spent the large majority of my high school experience at a special ed school. The short bus that picked me up every morning did so more for emotional reasons than academic ones, so I wasn’t exactly the short bus rider these kids were imagining when making the comparison. But I didn’t feel the need to tell them all that. 

“I took the short bus,” I commented casually. 

The laughter quieted. The kid who had made the joke offered an uncomfortable apology, which I accepted lightheartedly with something along the lines of, “Just don’t do it again.” 

In reflecting upon this, I think I’ve come to understand why it worked. Those kids didn’t need some adult to tell them that they were being mean. They needed to see the face of someone they were being mean to—to know that there was a face. That a short bus is full of human beings, not mannequins who cease to exist when they exit your field of vision. 

Or maybe they were just afraid of getting in trouble and are still making short bus jokes left and right when I’m not around. Maybe the face I showed them has since been the subject of ridicule whenever it’s turned away. If that is the unfortunate case, I am pleasantly surprised to realize that it doesn’t make me regret my decision. 

It is now Saturday, August 17. Yesterday was the last day of camp, and I have learned one more lesson. 

Per tradition, all of the KAH traveling camps spent their final day at Medieval Times. Per tradition, everyone was encouraged to come in fancy attire. And per a more recent, personal tradition, I donned the most formal article of clothing I own: my top hat. 

Side note: The decision made two years ago to wear a top hat to Medieval Times was not very thoroughly thought-out. I just heard the word “fancy” and immediately thought, “Well, there’s nothing fancier than that.” I didn’t consider until we arrived that someone might see me and think I’m an idiot who doesn’t know the difference between the Middle Ages and the Victorian Era. At that point, a feeling of mild embarrassment swept over me. 

Then, I realized something: I’m wearing a top hat. So… who the heck¹ cares? I certainly don’t. And if someone else does, so what? They’re gonna silently pass judgment on the time traveling gentleman? Okay, sure, if that helps them fill the void in their soul, or whatever. This time traveler could not care less.

So I guess I actually learned two lessons, one of which is that, for some absurd reason, my confidence grows and my inhibitions vanish when I put on a top hat. Maybe it’s something about embracing my own weirdness, making an active choice to be strange instead of trying to suppress it. 

Side note over. Back to the original point:

Since yesterday was the only day I could pack light (I would normally need to bring lunch, a swimsuit, a towel, lots of water, sunscreen…), I swapped out my regular backpack for a smaller one.

Guys, I know that several of my past few letters have been incredibly gendery, so I’m trying really hard to dial back the queer in this one, just a bit. That’s only one facet of who I am, and while it is something of which I am very proud, I want to share more of myself than my queerness. 

But this story, while short, has left an impact on me, so I’m going to tell it.

The stripes on the bag are the non-binary pride flag. At two separate points during the day, I received compliments from middle schoolers from other camps. I’m not talking about passing compliments—both times were clearly deliberate. Each kid broke away from their respective group and approached me, just to say, “I like your bag.” 

The moral of the story is this: Our world’s youth appreciate seeing people like them. I’ve heard a lot of talk about representation in media, but not as much about real people in the wild. So maybe I should wear pride stuff more often. 

That, and top hats. 

Other stuff

Our parents abandoned us to go to Maui, so Grace and I had a beach day at Sandy Point with the Eskelsens on August 10. It was Emily and Jon’s anniversary, which makes it even more incredible that they wanted to spend a day with us. Love you, guys.

Now it’s Monday, August 19. I’ve officially been working on this letter for two weeks. This is terrible.

You know what’s not terrible, though? Mushrooms. There are some fantastic mushies growing in our backyard right now. I’m obsessed. 

Okay, I think that’s all for this letter, folks. And, we’ve managed to keep it under 2,000 words! I have no fun conclusion, but feel free to applaud anyway. 

Love,
Ari