I teach the oldest group at camp (12-year-olds), which is great because they know enough English that I can whip out my US Weekly and play games like, “Who Wore It Better?” (and my spin-off, “Whose Bottom is Bigger?”, Beyonce or Kim Kardashian?) and then challenge my class to competitive dodgeball. I have no reservations about pegging a pre-teen boy and yelling, “You’re out! Yes, your shirtsleeve counts as part of your body. Get off the court.”
But outside of my group most of the kids are so young that our job is markedly similar to herding sheep — picking up stray members of the flock by their shirts and placing them back in line is commonplace.
The ONLY time I can get the 5-year-old “maternas” to sit still for minutes at a time is when we are playing “Down by the Banks of the Hanky Panky”. Here is a quick rendition. My voice is similar to a boy’s during the late stages of puberty, but luckily for the youngins my self confidence is so high that I belt out tunes anyway.