In many ways, working at a summer camp confronts me with my worst fears. I have hyper-active sheep dog instincts; much to my friends' dismay, I am incapable of travelling with a group of (sane, sensible, adult) people without constantly counting heads, herding people, and worrying about logistics, legality, emotional stability of everyone involved, morality, and myriad other things. This trait is even more pronounced when it comes to caring for children, who, as we all know, are willing to climb high walls, eat toxic flowers, wander into the path of oncoming trucks, maim each-other, develop hurt feelings, and break expensive computer equipment if you so much as take your eyes off of them. So, by the end of the summer, either I will calm down a bit (head counts every two minutes, say, instead of every thirty seconds), or I will have a heart attack.