The Importance Of Being An Aide
I hopped off the bus, my backpack bouncing against my back. A combination of gravel, road salt, and snow crunched beneath my boots as I turned down my driveway. Leafless trees lined my pathway, their branches heavy with wet snow. All the way down the drive I slipped and slid as fast as I could without landing in a snowbank. I didn’t particularly want to contribute to my dour mood. It had been a stressful week: there had been a rehearsal for the musical every day; several important deadlines were coming up; and, most importantly, I hadn’t heard from my camp yet about being accepted into the Aide/CIT program. The camp director, Claudia, had said she would send out the rejection and acceptance letters nearly a week before, but I had yet to receive so much as an empty envelope. Being an Aide had been my dream ever since I started going to camp six years prior and had let my role models inspire me. While the Aides are still technically considered campers, they act as leaders in
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A moment later, my mom opened the front door and our two dogs pelted out to greet me. They jumped toward and made noises of excitement. With an outstretched hand, I scratched various ears and regretted foregoing my gloves that morning. One would think I would have learned my lesson about cold fingers after living sixteen years in New Hampshire, however one would be mistaken. Looking up at my mother to utter a greeting, I first saw the huge grin on her face and then noticed the white envelope she clutched in her hand. Wordlessly, I reached out shakily to take it. Quickly, the letter was torn out and I skipped ahead to the important bits: “I am pleased to offer you a place in our 2017 Aide/CIT Program”. Finally, my shoulders relaxed and I let out an unsteady breath through smiling lips. Somehow, the cold didn’t seem so harsh
A moment later, my mom opened the front door and our two dogs pelted out to greet me. They jumped toward and made noises of excitement. With an outstretched hand, I scratched various ears and regretted foregoing my gloves that morning. One would think I would have learned my lesson about cold fingers after living sixteen years in New Hampshire, however one would be mistaken. Looking up at my mother to utter a greeting, I first saw the huge grin on her face and then noticed the white envelope she clutched in her hand. Wordlessly, I reached out shakily to take it. Quickly, the letter was torn out and I skipped ahead to the important bits: “I am pleased to offer you a place in our 2017 Aide/CIT Program”. Finally, my shoulders relaxed and I let out an unsteady breath through smiling lips. Somehow, the cold didn’t seem so harsh