Devil Child

Nicole Hagen
Sep 1, 2018 · 4 min read

Tufts of firecracker orange hair lick Tanner’s forehead, emphasizing the icy blue of his eyes. Freckles splat across his cheeks and nose, almost recklessly. His body is compact and strong, short for a nine year old. I was always his favorite.

The Ohio City Recreation center where I worked held their annual children’s summer camp starting June 11th, so for two whole months I was surrounded by snot and sugar rushes. Despite the brutal honesty of the kids and the long hours in the Ohio sun, I loved my job. The counselors were a mix of sorority girls and biomedical engineers, and somehow we all got along. Morning check-ins were spent discussing last nights episode of The Bachelor, and watching the kids give their parents one last squeeze before running to the playground, backpacks still in hand.

When Tanner checked in for the first time, he hugged every single one of us. His dad looked about fifty and drove a bumblebee yellow jeep. Tanner was always the first to be dropped off. As soon as he scampered off to his seat, my manager turned to me and whispered, “he may look cute now, but trust me, he’s the devil child.”

The first few days with Tanner I was memorized at his charm and sophisticated sense of humor. He would proudly declare that I was his favorite counselor and hold my hand on the long walks to the gym. He was loud and possessive, but I was happy to be his friend. Soon, however, the charm wore off. Tanner started playing rough with the other kids and picking fights, taunting the older boys and picking on the weaker ones. He began to regularly sit out because of his reckless behavior. We would sit with him on the pool bleachers for ten excruciatingly long minutes while he would sulk and watch the other kids swim.

Once Tanner was no longer my favorite, I was no longer his. Once I took away his swim time one Thursday afternoon after one of his signature meltdowns, he started walking alone on our walks to the gym.

Disliking Tanner suddenly became so easy for me. All of my coworkers shared a mutual distaste for him, so it was easiest to just roll my eyes at his over-saturated orange hair and keep my distance. I began to silently dread seeing the bumblebee jeep pull in each morning.

Sadly for my stuck-up, indulgent soul, writing Tanner off as a lost cause wasn’t what was going to happen.

One Wednesday afternoon after camp I overheard Tanner talking with another camper. “My brother’s staying with us for a couple of weeks so I won’t be at camp. He’s thirty and I haven’t seen him much, so my dad thought it would be best to spend time at home.” Later that day Tanner told me that his dad was married twice before, and this was his step brother, who he hadn’t seen for two years. His face flushed crimson when he told me this, and wore an aged expression that no nine year old should have to wear. I had never really paid much attention to Tanner’s dad before then, but memories of stern reprimands and unperceptive hugs flooded back.

Other boys at camp share similar stories. Byron, a quiet, tall twelve year old didn’t participate in any camp activities for days until our manager finally had to call his parents. When she rummaged through his file for his contact information, all that was found was a number for his social worker, and a note that said “newly placed foster child.” For the first couple of days he would nap during games because, as we would find out later, he wasn’t sleeping much at all at his new home.

So, we adjusted.

Byron was allowed to play basketball, one of the few things he enjoyed, while the other kids played dodge ball. Tanner, the seemingly entitled, attention-craving red head was given extra chances to behave, and usually took them. My job was no longer just to enforce the rules and let the kids have fun, but to give them a safe place to just be kids.

At the last week of camp, we all signed the campers shirts, permanently scrawling our impact onto the neon green shirts, hoping it wouldn’t rub off. Tanner gave me one last squeeze and tried to put on a happy face. He waved from his dad’s jeep, and I sighed, remembering our walks to the gym.

*names have been changed

Nicole Hagen

just a girl hanging out

    Nicole Hagen

    Written by

    20, sleepy, and crying.

    Nicole Hagen

    just a girl hanging out

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