Usually when I tout "That's Above My Pay Grade" or "Not My Circus Not My Monkeys" I'm kidding. Because I am the one running the theatre, and in general they are my monkeys and I'm the ringmaster. Yet I do yell this thesis when the district, or the principal, make a particularly bone headed decision by which I must abide. I abide, but I whine. A lot. I whine A Lot. Sometimes I scream. I've even yodeled. To No Avail.
But at summer pony school camp, it really is above my pay grade. I am a lowly employee, clocking in and out to execute someone else's lesson plans, tend to someone else's miniature horses and deal with entitlement and narcissism in camp kids that I will likely never see again: it really is ABOVE MY PAY GRADE.
However...
Pony Camp is three weeks --Monday through Thursday--in June and Monday through Thursday for three weeks in July. In June, we get Juneteenth off, so it's not really three full weeks in June. There are not off days in July, since they start after the fourth of July. The kids enroll for June or July, ostensibly, as vacations are a thing that can happen and booking a pony camp for three hours only four days a week doesn't help in the scheme of things.
Some kids do both camps. My first "Above My Pay Grade" is noting that the camp curriculum is exactly the same both months. The science experiments are different, but the "in house" field trip from the aquarium is the same, and the curriculum still smacks of education, not camp. But I did what I was asked both rounds, even though I had several of the same kids both times. By the second week of July, they were becoming "bored" with the same routines. I would say don't let kids sign up twice, or make it more camp-y and less education-y, if it were not above my pay grade.
I had two kids who were involuntarily enrolled both months. By this I mean a parent enrolled them in the older camp because they had a sibling in the younger camp. One was the same kid, both times "Simon" was disinterested in anything that smelled like a pony or felt like work. He stood apart and shouted orders, held votes to support his agenda- ie: "Who wants to hear my story about spearfishing on a parasail?" He is nine, and clearly has no boundaries at home and a lot of money. He even told us how rich he is. He insisted we call his Au Pair his Au Pair and not his babysitter or his nanny.
We were running behind getting the ponies saddled one morning. Simon stood against the fence, loudly doing nothing to help, and shouted "This is taking too long," to which I replied "Maybe if you helped instead of complained, we could get done more quickly." His response spiked my mohawk, a defense I store away for the summer. He said "That's rude, you hurt my feelings." I looked him dead in the face and said nothing, I let the 'hawk and glare communicate for me.
So you know who Simon is as we go forward. Also, not my circus, not my monkey, so I have no fear of poking him with the 'hawk.
For the most part, June went off without a hitch. I wasn't exhausted, the kids -with a few exceptions--like Simon---were smart and happy to be there. The ponies were getting fed and walked and loved. I learned that sharks are made of teeth as shark skin is actually made of mini shark teeth and learned to bridle and saddle miniature horses with swollen, arthritic hands and a foggy brain.
July began quite differently.
Many of the repeat campers had behavior issues-especially my kids, who took it upon themselves to open gates without an adult and run willy nilly across the stable as I stood, shocked, trying to comprehend what had happened. By week two, the ponies themselves were acting up. A kid was trapped against the fence when Trixie freaked out while getting sprayed for flies. Taz had been separated so he could receive special food, and the other ponies really hated that. They were already mad at him and Gretchen Weiners-ing him out of the lunchroom, and now all they could to was whinny at him from across the stable. Two kids were stepped on, largely because they simply do not listen and follow instructions. This was rampant in July--whether first time camper or repeat, these kids Do Not Listen. No matter how many times it's repeated (every morning) demonstrated (every day) or sternly spit out after they suffer the consequences of their willful disobedience. Or ignorance.
Example "So you got stepped on. What did I say about crowding the gate? Do you remember I said 'don't crowd the gate'? What happened when you crowded the gate? You got stepped on, didn't you?" Then the one kid who listens piped up "I heard you, you say it every morning it's annoying." That's "Alissa". She was a repeat, turned nine on her last day and told me she was a writer the first day of camp in June. Alissa listens. I love Alissa. Be Like Alissa.
It should be noted I changed these kids' names in the June post, and then forgot what I called them. So if the descriptions are the same, but the name is not, assume it's the same kid and the names have been changed more than once to protect the children. We must protect the children!
Which brings me to my Trans Flag school shirt, which I wore a few times. "Commander Pride"+ trans flag=Kennedy High School. The shirt was unnoticed until the last day, when weirdly I had two teachers and the office human tell me they liked and appreciated it. Maybe it was because it was the last day, maybe it was because things have become aggressively more hateful in the world in one short month. No parents even noted it, or even a kid. Kids don't notice anything, and it's worse than ever. But that's another thought for another day.
By the second week the ponies were definitely showing signs of aggravation. Stepping on kids, bucking at each other, choosing to run instead of let a kid put their bridle on. But the worst was when Rocket freaked out on the pony wheel. We were all standing there, he was not left alone, but the ponies were all jumpy. They wouldn't be still on the wheel, and we think Rocket lifted his front leg to scratch at a fly, and in that instant the other ponies moved forward, so when he brought his leg back down it got tangled in the chain. Unfortunately, the short chain is attached to the bridle on one end, and the wheel on the other.
Rocket roared up, trying to free himself. His eyes were wide and he whinnied mightily. He backed up against the fence, reared up once, then twice. Then he took a knee, he just stopped and kneeled, looking at us. It was amazing. I swear he knew he was stuck, and he knew if he just waited, a human would help.
Animals are perfect, and we underestimate them. A human issue caused his problem---chained to a pony wheel---and he knew a human would fix it.
But Rocket's freak out, plus Trixie's, and the general pony unease had me contemplating the Yellowstone Caldera, and the asteroid and the knowledge that animals feel shifts that we do not.
The kids had all been a bit disengaged as well, but simultaneously on the edge. I witnessed two meltdowns when kids were going to miss saddling the ponies----here is where I wonder why you enroll your kid in a three week camp knowing your vacation is the second week of camp, which the kid will miss--a kid who became angry that the others laughed when he said his dad was going to remove an app from his phone, parents who arrived chronically late for pick up---sorry, but 35 minutes late without a reason like traffic is not acceptable, please put down your phone and acknowledge me putting your kid in the car. Sigh. But the LuLu, the Big One, was Simon---a habitual bully and entitled SNOT--bullied four kids inside of twenty minutes. And then, the next camp day, burst into a squall when another kid jumped from a bench and said "Boo". I see you kid, you have the victim thing down pat. Hopefully someone above my pay grade intervenes before middle school.
On Alissa's last day, Weds, she read the "Fatter Diplomas" that she and Elisa had written. They decided that the ponies were all deserving of acknowledgement for putting on more weight. Both girls were repeaters, and were present the first day when Taz' ribs were showing and he was being being bullied by Gretchen Wieners -who literally head butted him out of the trough -to being fed special breakfast and lunch separately from the others. They grazed Trixie and Orbit before we all left for the day. They were part of that, and it mattered to them, and they noted the change. So "Fatter Diplomas" were written for each pony. On her last day---her ninth birthday---Alissa unscrolled each diploma and read it directly to every pony. They were all "honored" and she even called out Orbit for being "elderly". I recorded each one and sent it to the school director. Because...not my circus, not my monkey, but the director should know these kids are capable of creative and respectful thought. I strung the Fatter scrolls together and hung them by the bridles.
And the Last last Day, which was pretty chill --bread making with pony rides---until ten minutes before pickup, when my assistant and I looked out the window and saw the ponies by the playground.
The ponies should not be by the playground. They should be in the corral.
Well shit. That's on me, I did not latch the gate. The ponies are smart, and they just pushed their way out to all of the glorious green grazing they could want.
And so...we managed to again repeat "Do not scream at or run at the ponies" and watch the consequences as the kids screamed and ran at the ponies.
Rocket's response---Rocket is their leader---was to toss his mane and bellow "WOLVERINES" like Patrick Swayze as he charged straight toward them. It was glorious.
Luckily I was able to herd the kids along the only real escape route, using their unhinged energy to block it and push the ponies back where we could at least rope them. My wonderful assistant got the treats and was able to get Patrick and the other Wolverines led to the corral, where I blocked them in. Once the ponies were wrangled and stowed, one kid said "That was the scariest thing I've ever seen."
I just looked at him. "What is one of the primary rules of being a pony wrangler?"
His eyes were wide. For a second I could see him processing his answer. Finally, he spoke. "Don't run or scream at the ponies."
I said "Yes. And be nice until it's time not to be nice."
Okay, I was mixing my Swayze references but the kids are eight years old and never get me, anyway.
It's fine. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
I'm just the one training them.
Scene.
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