Editor’s Note: Brandon Alvarado has just self-published the book he wrote for his senior project. His collection is titled Please Fall in Love With Me (And Other High School Wishes), and he has allowed The Smoke Signal to run this excerpt. His book is now available for purchase at amazon.com.

I got my first job the summer before my sophomore year in high school. My parents made me get one not only because I would be making money, but they also didn’t like the idea of me sitting on my ass all summer long. My parents are both very hard working, as they are lawyers. They have worked hard their own lives, and my siblings and I are lucky enough to be supported by them because of the amount of work they do every day. Since a fair amount of teenagers, especially in an upper middle class suburb, think the world revolves around them, I didn’t always see this. But, I didn’t mind getting a job, as I liked the idea of being to earn a check for myself and feel a little more independent, or at least as independent as one can be at fifteen years old.

I began working as a counselor at my town’s local day camp from the end of June and finished by the end of July. The kids allowed to attend the camp ranged from kids entering first grade to kids entering seventh grade, and you were able to start working there by ninth grade. So I laughed at the fact that some of the “campers” were only a few years younger than I was, and I already had trouble establishing some control over a group of people.

The first year I started working at the camp, I was watching a group of rambunctious and very energetic first grade boys. I mean, wow. The amount of energy those boys had was insane, and it is giving me anxiety just writing about it now. I remember thinking that some of the parents totally put some cocaine in their cereal so they would be energetic at camp and then just pass out by the time they came home. Too far? Sorry, Sheila (a name I made up that is a mother of a kid I probably never had).

The group of kids was coming in one by one on the first day of camp. I am sitting down with my extremely bright yellow t-shirt/uniform on (assuming the camp wanted a bright feel that would make the parents feel like they were sending their kids to). Together, the counselors looked like a bunch of fresh lemons, so I guess seeing the color made the kids even more energetic. Could you imagine the camp counselors wearing black t-shirts to camp? Oh my god, the anxiety. I already had a sweating issue for basically a year in high school (I still sweat pretty easily but I don’t like to talk about it, so don’t bring it up), and the idea of wearing black t-shirts on a hot summer day would turn my body into a slip n’ slide, and that is not a good look for parents who are dropping their kids off to a seemingly safe summer camp.

I sit down on the first day with a classmate of mine, and I immediately sense some trouble. Honestly, both my classmate and I are shy writers. Actually, I am not that shy. So that’s not totally true. But I have total trouble taking control any group of people. I am not even able to make dinner plans without asking everyone where they want to possibly eat instead of making the decision. Am I really capable of handling a group of first graders? Sophomore year me thought I certainly could, but I really knew I couldn’t, so I am the perfect candidate for this job. As long as no kids get hurt or die, I’m good, I thought. All I had to do was get through a few hours of glorified babysitting and the kids would get home safely and parents would give a nice tip. No issues, no problem. Then, camp actually started.

The kids roll in, and many of them seem to be little athletes of the future. Many of them looked like middle school boys, as they walked in with basketball shorts wore their cologne: I am a first grader and I haven’t showered in five days because my mom can’t make me do anything. Nice. Comforting. Luckily, I smelled fine, and I apparently thought that everyone would understand that people in charge always smell the best in the room. Not having much to work with, my simple deodorant would do just fine.

I am seeing the same kind of kids, which is perfectly fine with me because they all seemed to be friends with each other. Perfect. Little kids that are friends with each other tend to wreak havoc on the entire group Cheaper By The Dozen style (or channeling the 90s film Problem Child) or stick with each other and don’t cause trouble except for the occasional “I fell and I need a bandage” routine. But, these kids were multiplying by the minute. We were warned about having a large group of kids, but we ended up having give or take twenty kids in one group. Luckily, my classmate and I had another counselor with us who looked like someone that would take charge.

I thought the kids are done coming in when I see one more coming out of the corner of my eye. This kid was different than the rest already. I could already tell. He walked in with some “trendy” blue shorts on, a t-shirt, and he didn’t smell like he just came from football practice. He had a mushroom haircut, which was similar to the one my younger brother worked in the early 2000s, and he had the cheeks the size of tiny melons. His name was Jake, and he was refreshing, and I was excited but also nervous to see how he would interact with the group. There were a few kids you could tell were loners, so I thought that maybe Jake would hang out with them instead of joining the already formed group of friends that were probably friends from school.

The first day went fine, as we gave the kids a chance to hang out at the park and play some activities, so everyone had a chance to do something they wanted to do. All right, I thought, Things will be fine.

The next day, we all met at the local swim club in our town. This swim club was a place where teenagers were able to work as lifeguards or as the people that check your cards to make sure you’re actually a member. It was open during the summer, and my family used to go to the swim club almost every weekend. Being a spoiled suburban upper-middle class kid, I wanted a pool in the backyard like many of the other kids in my school. We did not have enough room in our backyard for a pool, so my brother, sister, and I would blow up a small pool my mom bought from the store and we would put it on the bottom of the slide to make our own trashy waterpark. We loved it, and then we would go to the pool (my mom would say, “You have a pool! We go to the swim club!”) to congregate with the other little kids in what was obviously just a giant toilet.

You can’t even imagine the amount of times the employees would get out of the water because a little kid had a “little” accident, which meant they completely defecated themselves in open water. When a kid leaves, frankly, a giant turd in the water, parents should not be allowed to act like the kid had a little “slip” and leaked. No. Absolutely not. Besides, the pool was half water, half urine, and just a lot of chlorine, so many of us kids could have had more diseases than we could possibly understand during a time where things were just much simpler.

So, I gave you that explanation as a major reason why I didn’t wear my swimsuit on the days we went to the pool as a camp. The counselors were allowed to swim with their kids, and that sounds almost creepy on paper, but it looks totally fine in real life. When I was kid, I used to put the water I just explained before in my mouth and then spit it out on my brother and sister. Yes, I took the urine and feces touched water into my mouth and spit it out. I think I paid my dues, and I am not going back.

But, I wasn’t going to tell the kids all of this because their childhood bliss should not be ruined by the truth of community swimming pools. I was not going to be the bearer of bad news because those counselors are absolutely the worst. It’s like a teacher who comes in and only screams at kids and reminds them that they are failures. Very counter-productive, and it would certainly not get me a tip. That’s called real priorities.

So, the same boys come back for their second round of bliss. They come one by one, and soon I find Jake leaving his car and literally skipping over to our group. Ugh, a kid that I would have totally been friends with. He was also the sweetest kid, and he had the most adorable first grade voice. He was already my favorite of the group, even though that feels unethical, like when mothers say they don’t have a favorite kid but they totally do.

Together, the Camp Mafia walked to the table that we would plant ourselves at for the rest of the time. We waited for the swim test, a test every kid has to take before they open the pool, while sitting at the table. Since first graders’ patience resembles the size of an ant, they are already running around. Everyone has their bathing suits on, and Jake even has a swim shirt that looks like the one my mother used to put on me because I would get sunburnt on my shoulders (and because I was chubby). But, I chose not to connect with Jake about that one. Apparently, I would soon find out that Jake and I would connect on something else.

As everyone sits down and eats their snack, Jake scurries off to find his backpack, and he fumbles around until he finds something that I made his trademark for the rest of the summer: a magic wand he apparently got from a circus. He takes he out, and it was like time slowed down. The magic wand was pink and had a little veil on it, and many parents would assume it was made for little girls under the age of eight years old. Instead, the real demographic is kids who sweat frequently and wear fitting swim shirts, like Jake and myself. Jake begins running to everyone and sharing his “magic.” The other kids don’t know how to react, as they have probably never seen anything that “feminine” being held by another boy. We still live in a society that teaches children that boys and girls have separate toys to play with that match both their gender and their “masculine” and “feminine” traits that they are just “magically” born with. It is something that we don’t think about very often, but many of us are guilty of doing it. So, it is safe to say the other boys were probably not used to this.

I heard some of the boys giggle, and I saw them looking at Jake. But, I also saw Jake playing with the wand like no one was watching, and it reminded me of my own childhood. I would play with dolls and play with wands like no one was watching, like there wasn’t an “issue” to bring up in the first place. There is innocence in children that I sometimes wish I still had. There is a time in everyone’s lives where they don’t know what is right and what is wrong. They don’t know which toys are supposed to be played with by each gender. They don’t know that it is not acceptable to urinate in a public pool, and they do it anyway with glee and absolutely no shame.

I thought about the time I brought my doll to school for show and tell. I didn’t understand the idea that because I was a boy, it was weird for me to play dolls. I knew that my parents were wary of it, but I didn’t understand why. I didn’t know what the other kids would think of me because I didn’t care. I was excited to be showing off my brand new doll that my mother bought for me at the store. There was no shame that went with it, no strange feelings. I just felt happy.

When Jake first showed off his wand, I thought to myself, Wow he is brave for doing something like that. I questioned if he understood what some of the other kids, and even some of the counselors, would think of him. I really thought, This kid has balls. But, I realized that this was a child that wasn’t “brave” for bringing his wand to camp. That was just the way I thought of it because I am so used to hearing about what kids should and should not be playing with. This first grader did not bring his wand to camp to start a social revolution. Rather, he is an innocent first grader that is blissfully unaware of the social cues that we learn as we grow up.

I have become so used to what is expected of boys and girls that I immediately had thoughts about Jake bringing his wand to camp, to be quite honest. I wasn’t thinking that it was wrong for him to bring the wand. Absolutely not. Do you really think the kid who brought both his doll and his calendar to show and tell thinks it’s wrong because someone brought in their wand to camp? No. I remember being the only boy who would play with the dolls in the giant dollhouse our teacher brought into school. I did not judge Jake for bringing his wand, but I was worried about the reaction from everyone else.

I wish the world has progressed a bit and we don’t have to worry about which toys belong to each gender, but we unfortunately do not live in that world. I don’t think we will be able to live in that world for a long time, if ever, because there are too many people focused on proving their “masculinity” to everyone else through the toys they played with, the way they walk, the way they talk, and through the friends they have. Being that person that stood out among the other kids, and not willingly for a long time, I have become used to hearing that boys shouldn’t play with dolls. Boys shouldn’t talk like that. Boys should be hanging out with other boys. Boys shouldn’t have only girl friends. I have become used to hearing how society expects me to act because there apparently is nothing worse than someone being different than everyone else. God forbid that happens. Well, good thing I don’t believe in God then.

I finally understood why I was so interested in seeing Jake interact with everyone else. It wasn’t only because Jake stood out in the crowd, but it was also because I am Jake in so many ways. The major difference between him and I, besides our age, is that he has the innocence that I no longer have. That cannot be controlled, no matter how much many parents probably want that to happen. Jake will eventually lose his innocence too, as it is one of the side effects of becoming older.

I was that boy that brought his doll to school. Then, I learned that boys were not supposed to do that. They would be made fun of for that. They would be called names. They would be considered an outsider. If I knew that when I was in kindergarten, would I have brought my doll into school? I don’t know. But, what I do know is that the way society has perceived toys and gender roles in general has been stuck in my head because that has been what I have been taught ever since I was a child. I was taught to be feel bad because I liked dolls instead of basketball. I was taught to not tell anyone that I like to play with dolls because people would make fun of me. Dolls were a girl’s toy. And boys playing with toys that belonged to girls was wrong.

Jake didn’t know this. He probably still doesn’t know this, but I can’t be sure. Jake brought his wand to camp, and I immediately had thoughts about it because I have been taught to even slightly question it. I wish I didn’t have to think about that, or else maybe I wouldn’t be guilty of trying to follow “gender roles” in little ways. I think for the most part, I have been able to do things that would be considered “different” than what other people do. I perform stand-up comedy, where I willingly ridicule myself for a laugh from some of the people that used to call me names. I write about my own insecurities, my wants, and my fears because it is both therapeutic and makes me feel even just a little important in a world that doesn’t know who I am. But, I still have fears that have caused me to maybe not do something that I have wanted to do. Can I read my book in public, or is it too “girly?” What would people say if I did this or that? Does the way I speak bother people? Does the way I walk make me prone to insults and humiliation? Listen, I am not that important, and most people don’t give a shit about what I do, or at least that is what I like to think.

Jake had a temper that I didn’t realize he had until he confronted some of the boys about his wanting to play with the wand. He was defensive, and he was embarrassed that the other kids even questioned his playing with the wand. I could tell this was not the first time someone has asked him about it because he was quick to defend himself when he shouldn’t have to. It was silly for me to think at the time that he was living in a world completely full of innocence and bliss. You learn social cues and behavior from the people around you and the environment you live in. Lucky for him, he still has enough bliss to push past the questions and probable teasing to keep bringing his wand to camp and playing with it like no one is there. I hope he keeps that. I wish I did, as it took me years to figure out that just because society has an expectation doesn’t mean that we have to completely follow them. That’s a perk of living in a free country like this one that I take advantage of more and more. But, I have had these expectations lodged in my head so many times as a child that it gets harder to push past them, and it took me a long time to even begin enjoying trying to push past them. I hope Jake does the same, and I hope he doesn’t stop playing with his wand because someone tells him boys aren’t supposed to do such a thing.

I also sometimes wish to be a kindergarten child again, blissfully unaware of how the world expects me to act. I wish I could be back in the classroom with the doll, not realizing that some of the other kids would be judging me. But, at the same time, I don’t want to be blissfully unaware because I would be able to push past what others think to do what I want to, and sometimes that is more satisfying than not being aware of what is out there at all.