A summer filled with endless memories

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For some of us, a summer job represents the essence of an absolutely booked schedule during the break we’ve longed for approximately nine to tenth months, depending on our tolerance for the overflow of assignments that high school brings about. Even then though, I decided to take a left turn and endure the enriching experience that entails the prospect of holding a job, automatically embracing the enormous responsibility of basically becoming a mother to about twenty children, for 8 hours straight. That’s right, this summer I worked at a daycare that bestowed me with the incredible prospect of meeting the most amazing children I’ve ever come across as well as creating a working community that became more like a family to me, as they behaved as such.
Yes, not all was joyful and colorfully portrayed as a candy world of happiness during my term as a semi-teacher to these children, for the moments when they became just that, children that is, did arrive, and it was a challenge to placate their incessant energies without anyone being either emotionally or physically harmed. I got kicked, screamed, and even spit on; I changed about a thousand diapers, served around 500 plates of food (all three meals provided throughout the day, that is), and consoled numerous children when nothing seemed to go right, read infinite numbers of books, ones I’d read about five times already, but nevertheless, felt fulfilled at the idea that I could make a child’s day with such small actions. Ironically enough though, I stubbornly argued that kids were my least favorite prospect to deal with and negated the simple idea of having to spend an entire summer with them even if I was receiving pay for it. The truth is though, there are not more thankful human beings on this Earth than children, who everyday demonstrate to you that they love you in every single way conceivable, when their small, hopeful faces greet you as you cross the front door of their classroom. My every perception of what a child represents absolutely changed, and my thoughts of being easily annoyed by them were challenged to the point of utterly helping me develop tolerance and patience for them that I thought I’d never willingly gain. The very essence of my being was tweaked a bit, when I became a part of these kids’ lives, when their minds had adapted to the idea of having this young adolescent play such a role of responsibility with their lives, for they counted with me, along with my other two co-workers, to maintain them safe and sound throughout the day.
Believe it or not though, 68 days is enough to develop an eternal friendship with a child that is consciously or not eternally thankful for the attention one provides them while at a daycare. At the end of the day, every single day, although exhausted from running up and down trying to keep up with the pace of my children, as I affectionately came to call them, I felt satisfied with the action I was committing to, with being a role model, a teacher, a care taker, whatever it may be perceived as, in simplest terms, for becoming part of a small person’s life. Not only that though, I feel that I grew as a person, as I took full responsibility and maturity to perform my job and task as accurately well as possible, and the encouragement the children gave me to wake up early each and every summer morning, was an extra boost to this whole experience.





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