more camp

As the summer approaches and I prepare to leave for my job as a camp counselor, I find myself thinking about the camp that I worked at last summer. It was an extremely small camp for LGBTQ teens and was only in its second summer. It had a lot of kinks that were no where near worked out, and actually ended up getting shut down by the police after its third week running. I mean, you’re supposed to rough-it at least a little bit at camp, but not to the point where health code violations are being committed constantly and campers stand by terrified as police officers descend on camp.

ANYWAYS, that’s not really the point of my story. The kids for the most part had a great time at camp. In a town where cisgender, white, male gayness is widely accepted, my brilliant group of co-counselors did a fantastic job of working to be inclusive and making sure all the campers’ voices were heard and taken seriously--and that everyone had a great time. The heads of camp were not as versed in trans and non-binary identities as they should have been. This unfortunately led to some big mistakes, such as the volunteer who told a young trans woman camper to “try at least wearing some make-up or girl’s clothes,” despite the fact that this camper could be endangering themselves at home by doing so; or the fact that several of the young trans men at camp suffered from rashes and chafing from running around in wet or sweaty binders without daily access to washers and dryers. These were some of the major failings of camp, and these and other problems stemmed from a lack of awareness and a complete caring on the part of the heads of camp.

On the third day of camp, the entire camp was invited to attend the wedding of one of the counselors and his partner. Although at first I found it rather odd that we were bringing a group of teenagers to a wedding where we only very slightly knew one of the grooms, it actually turned out to be a lot of fun. We hung out in a rented house, eating home-made soup and chatting with men who we had just met. One of the campers even gave a heart-warming toast to the newlyweds that pulled on the heart-strings of some of the people who we had just met. This day set the scene for my view of the town that would be the backdrop of the camp I was working at: everyone was so friendly and inviting, and in the days following the wedding the guests we had met would greet us when we ran into them in the street with a hug and leave us with a word of encouragement. Everyone in town seemed SO INCREDIBLY NICE and warm and welcoming, that I almost completely let my guard down. The only thing I had to worry about was keeping the kids safe and engaged in what we were doing, but I was for the most part unconcerned that anything bad would happen to anyone as we roamed about town all day, and sometimes night. I felt like I could talk to anyone who walked by, and that the entire population of the town was looking out for one another.

come join the party!

The camp had rented out a multi-purpose room downtown right off of main street where we could eat lunch, play games, listen to our guest speakers, and so on. The room, being made up almost entirely of windows, was of intense and inexplicable interest to passersby, who ranged from the casual gawker to the intrusive uninvited front-door opener. Eventually we started to lock the front door and cover some of the windows with paper to avoid the feeling of being observed like zoo animals, but on an evening before we had begun this practice we had one very friendly visitor. The middle-aged man knocked on the front door, and when we answered he introduced himself and explained that he owned the inn just two doors down on the opposite side of the street. He set down a bundle of pens bearing the name and address of his inn and a bag of candies. #redflag #candyfromstrangers “I think it’s really great what you’re doing,” he said “I wish there had been something like this for me when I was a kid.” He was very supportive of and excited about the camp and seemed like a genuinely kind person, which is why I felt like it was ok to stop and talk to him later that day as we passed by his inn on the way to the shops and the beach--that, and the fact that everyone we had met over the past few days had been so nice, accepting, and supportive of camp. People who we had met only briefly at the wedding would stop in the street to say hello and hug us, and the whole town was so gay friendly that there seemed to be this atmosphere of camaraderie and people looking out for eachother.

As we walked down the street later that afternoon, we saw the friendly man in the driveway of his inn, and so I waved hello. He ran over and told us again what a good cause he thought camp was. He asked me my name and we shook hands. “Where are you from?” he asked. When I told him I was from Rhode Island he became very excited and exclaimed that he himself had grow up in Rhode Island, and when I told him what town I was from he was ecstatic. “Oh my god that’s where my parents live!” Wow, I thought, what a cool coincidence! “Oh you’re such a cutie,” he added. He seemed as if he could have gone on chatting all day, but I excused myself, explaining that I had to walk the campers to the location of our next activity.

The next time we walked by, an hour or two later, he was still outside his inn, and he waved and yelled, “There’s my boyfriend Miles!” I laughed at this seemingly harmless joke, and he ran down to the street again. “You really are very cute,” he said. “If you ever need a boyfriend give me a call.” Although it seemed like he was still joking, I couldn’t quite tell if his jokes were getting weird or not. Was he calling me cute like when my mom says that I’m cute? #mymomthinksimcute Or was he being weird? Even when my mom’s friends say I’m cute it’s obviously a compliment, but I didn’t know this middle-aged-inn-owner guy and I couldn’t tell if he was being nice or creepy. I excused myself again, explaining that I had to get back to the multi-purpose room to watch the campers. By the third time that I had to walk past the inn about another hour later, I was feeling a little uneasy. Luckily, the inn owner was occupied talking to the head of camp and some of the camp board members, so I thought I could walk by unnoticed. Once he spotted me, however, he abandoned his conversation and ran over once again. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a lesbian.” I was so caught off guard that I just stood there and didn’t say anything, even as he advanced into my personal space. At this point I was getting very uncomfortable, but I thought, everyone here is so nice, he must have just made a mistake. He then hooked a finger into the front of my tank top and looked down my shirt at my chest, presumably to see my scars. “I didn’t know,” he said again, “I thought you were a cute little gay boy. But I should take you out to dinner so you can educate me.” At this point my discomfort and confusion levels were both off the charts, and so I excused myself again saying that I needed to keep up with the campers. As I ran off he shouted, “I really will take you out to dinner, it’s your job to educate me you know.”

#whatwhatwhat

#ineedanadult

leaves a bad taste in your mouth

So obviously there were several things wrong with this interaction; violation of personal space and entitlement to invade that space, hitting on someone much younger than you, implying that trans men are lesbians (I assumed he was investigating my scars because someone working for camp who he had been talking to had told him that I was trans…), and implying that it was my job, as a trans person, to educate him. The last time that I saw him that day, however, was by far the worst. Back at camp it was getting slightly darker as we walked the campers back to the multi-purpose room for the last time that day. The plan was for me and two other counselors to go grocery shopping for dinner for the campers and then prepare the meal while the other counselors entertained them. The head of camp drove the mini-van to the multi-purpose room to pick us up to go shopping, and as he parked in the lot adjacent to the inn my heart began to quicken. As I walked quickly around the van to get to the passenger’s side door, the inn owner ran out towards me. As the head of camp entered the drivers seat, the two other counselors waited on his side for him to unlock the van so that they could sit in the back seat, and so I was alone on the other side of the car as the inn owner advanced towards me. “Unlock my door please!!” I said nervously, but the driver didn’t hear me as he was getting settled, and the inn owner approached me once again. “There’s my boyfriend,” he said as he put his arm around my shoulder--now I was cut off from the door, as he had positioned himself so that I couldn’t reach the door handle and that the door would have hit him if the driver had tried to open it. The driver however, merely rolled down the window. “Miles is my boyfriend,” he said to the head of camp, who didn’t notice me as I flashed him the most intense “help me” eyes I had ever given anyone. “I didn’t know you were transgender,” the inn owner said to me, “but I’ve always wanted to adopt a transgender boy.” “I have parents!” was the only thing I could think of to say. The head of camp laughed, thinking that we were joking, but I could tell that the other counselors sitting in the van had picked up on my discomfort. “I would be a bad foster parent though,” said the inn owner, “because I would adopt kids and then fuck them.”

#nonononononono

#notrealnotrealnotreal

#getmeoutofhere

At this, I pushed my way out of his arm and dove into the front seat of the van, and the head of camp finally noticed that things were getting creepy. “You’re saying a lot of things...” he said to the inn-owner as I tried to roll up my locked window, “and some of them are very inappropriate.” I continued to frantically press the window button, despite the fact that it obviously wasn't doing anything. The inn owner walked up to the window and hooked his pinky finger around two of my fingers, and the way that he blushed and looked sheepishly at me absolutely made my stomach turn. I cannot describe the look he gave me or how creepy it was when he turned away from me to look at the ground and then gazed back at me like an embarrassed child. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ll just have to come to dinner with me so you can educate me.” At this the head of camp told him that we had better be on our way, and began to pull out of the driveway. I was too skeeved out to say anything right away, and the head of camp asked me if I was alright.

“Ummmm,” I said, “Not entirely. That guy is really creepy…”

“I think he was just joking,” said the head of camp.

“He said he wanted to adopt me and then have sex with me…”

“Yes that was a bit weird.”

“He’s a grown man.”

“Well, you’re almost a grown man.”

“No but that was like really gross. And he kept asking me out to dinner…”

“Well me might just have to set that up so he can help us get access to that kitchen he was talking about!”

....

#EXCUSEME

Apparently creepy-inn-owner wanted to help us gain access to a kitchen space that was much closer to our multi-purpose room than the kitchen where we were currently cooking camp meals, and apparently the head of camp thought that he was making a funny joke when he implied that he should pimp me out to creepy-inn-owner for the good of the camp. I spent the night crying in my tent as my co-workers generously picked up my slack. When I thought about the sexual thoughts that this man had probably been having about me, I really felt like I would vomit. It wasn’t until the next day that the head of camp was sympathetic to what had happened to me and offered me the day off.

i'm taking a sick day

The next day, I took the bus to my grandmother’s house, which was just a few hours away. My grandmother and aunt could tell that something was wrong, but I was hesitant to tell them what happened. I felt ashamed. I felt stupid. I felt just plain creeped-out. I will never forget that disgusted feeling that stuck with me for days and crept back each time I was reminded of that man. I felt dirty, and like I would somehow be passing on this uncleanly feeling to my relatives if I told them what had happened. I felt ashamed and so stupid that I had let it happened, I kept thinking to myself, What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell this creep off? How could you let him talk to you like that, let him touch you? Why didn’t you stand up for yourself and stop this from happening? I felt completely responsible for what had happened, like it wasn’t his fault at all and that I was an idiot for letting him harass me. I felt anxious and unsafe, and was kicking myself for letting someone get to me like that.

It wasn’t until I told my mother what happened that I felt a lot better. She told me that something similar had happened to her when she was young, and when she expressed her disgust at what this man had said and how the head of camp had handled the situation, it was like she was took all of my anxieties and all the blame I had placed on myself and transferred it to this man. She made me realize that it was completely and solely him who had been in the wrong, and when she understood why I had felt the need to be nice (though she assured me that I really didn’t), I didn’t feel like such an idiot anymore.

The harassment I experienced was obviously not the worst thing that could have happened and pales in comparison to the harassment and assault that many people--namely women--endure every day worldwide. I did take away something from this experience that I find very valuable and have tried to apply to my life since. That being: you don’t owe it to anyone to be polite or hold a conversation with them--especially if they’re making you uncomfortable.

trust your gut

Since the start of my transition, I have almost constantly been asked questions that I don’t want to answer. Now I can more or less see it coming. I usually starts the same way; someone will walk up to me and say “can I ask you a personal question?” like, “do you grow facial hair yet?” “when/why did you decide to transition?” “Why did you change your name? Your old name was so nice.”

…….

#rollofeyes

NEWS FLASH

--> If you want to know about the logistics of transitioning, you can consult this thing called the internet.

--> If you want to know my personal feelings about transitioning but feel the need to ask me if you can ask me about my feelings first, then maybe we aren't close enough to discuss those feelings.

--> If you want to tell me your personal opinion about some aspect of my transition, I really don’t care.

Even if whoever you’re talking to is not making you feel uncomfortable or queezy or scared, you still don’t owe strangers a conversation if you don’t feel like it, and you certainly don’t have to let them grab a hold of your clothes or put their arm around you.