For the month of July, I am living in Cambridge dorms as a mentor for a high school summer camp with seventy one kids. I love it except for nights like tonight. A rumored "toga party" is keeping me up into these wee hours. Every so often, a kid will open his/her door and peek out to see if I am asleep. I am determined to outlast the little suckers. I am terrible at disciplining. Normally, I just let things slide like late nighters of dying people's hair or kids being a little late for curfew. I understand what it was like to be their age and the desire to be respected. Everyone needs mercy. However, drunk minors are no good hence the sleepless night of patrolling.
New dorm trend: Both girls and guys are shaving half of their heads and leaving the other side long. Let's just say the parents are not thrilled. I have received many a phone call.
We spent the evening at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston with a tour guide, something I highly suggest. Despite their half-witted attempts to sneak around, these kids are brilliant and I love spending time with them. I am amazed at their knowledge of art history and their ability to create. I would stare at a painting and one would explain the history and the concept behind each piece of work. Artists are misunderstood geniuses. Every brush stroke they make serves a purpose. They taught me this as they analyzed and discussed pieces together. I feel an art history course in my near future.
We split up into groups in the museum. Mine, of course, was the best.
Also, I highly suggest seeing Chihuly's glass exhibit and a glass blowing demonstration.
The other mentors I work with are artists as well. They are fabulous. When the kids are in class, we hang out in a hallway and they work on their own art. I watch and hopefully soak in the creative fumes. I had every opportunity and more to dive into this way of documenting history and I failed. Tonight, I am humbled.
