Talk:Essay:Working for CTY (Anonymous)

You have an interesting take on alums working later on. I (a non-alum) worked at CTY for a few summers, and I saw a lot of alums work in different positions. What you don't mention (and perhaps you didn't experience it) is that the staff often has as intense and lively a social experience as the students, and the alums who make it as staff are the ones who tap into that. Unfortunately, to be really happy and successful as a staff member, you have to let the students do their own thing, as they (along with the administration) are usually uncomfortable with too close a relationship between staff members and the student culture. --Flyingdics 16:56 10 August 2007

TIP

I knew that I didn't want to go back to CTY, and they also had minimum GPA requirements (which I never would have met at my rather challenging college). I decided that I would go to a different program- Duke TIP- and being an RA there was absolutely the most amazing, rewarding job I have ever had.

Some of the rules were stricter, and some were far less strict. I was at a tiny campus compared to CTY Lancaster, so the staff was all quite intimate and the students all knew each other. It was an amazing experience, and while I got paid so little, and worked SO hard (night duty was the worst), I would have gone back the next summer in a second... except for two things. My school let out very late, and TIP starts very early, so I couldn't make it to the first session. And, well- the money. I got a job doing research for over twice what TIP paid.

But I'm so old now, I have no idea what it is like. I do know that some of the staff I knew at TIP are still my friends, and I'm in contact with so many of my former "kids"- I've gotten to watch them grow up and graduate college at this point!

I think it's important to note that a reason many don't come back is the pay and the other opportunities available- like resume boosting internships that will get you into law or med or grad school.

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First of all, let’s begin by addressing the fundamental issue here: this person is trying to romanticize their experience at CTY like it’s some kind of rite of passage for overachieving teenagers. Sure, it's nice to reflect on how you “loved” your time as a camper and now you want to “give back” as an RA or TA, but this entire piece feels like someone trying to sell you a used car with a glaring crack in the windshield. They start off with “I was one of them,” but what they should really say is, “I’m one of the very few people who haven’t jumped ship after one summer.”

Let’s break this down, starting with their cheerful declaration that CTY administrators see alums as a “liability.” That’s not surprising. Being a former camper can be a curse. The “camp experience” is often one where you float in a bubble of unrealistic expectations, surrounded by equally delusional peers. Here, they claim that administrators are worried about alums reliving their glory days—because, apparently, “reliving camp” is a fatal flaw. The writer, almost naively, says “it’s a problem for a small number of CTY alums,” but what they don’t seem to realize is that that “small number” is likely the bulk of them. If you were a camper, what would be the first thing you would want to do when you’re in a position of power as an RA? Relive the carefree, magical days of your camp summer. It's hard not to get caught up in that nostalgia—especially when you remember it fondly, like a college freshman who drinks two shots of tequila for the first time and assumes they’re a seasoned expert.

The writer claims that being an alum is beneficial because alums “understand the traditions” and are more “sensitive” to them. This sounds nice on paper, but have you ever met a group of people so obsessed with their own inside jokes that they can't function outside their little bubble? No one outside CTY cares that much about "Canon songs" or whether the playlist has been correctly executed. The truth is, your old traditions will inevitably feel out of place, outdated, and downright cringeworthy in a professional environment. Seriously, you’re trying to dance to “Canon” at a party? Maybe try out some new music for a change? The dance committee’s job isn't to replicate camp memories, but to curate an enjoyable event for everyone—something alums and their narrow vision of "tradition" completely miss.

And now we come to the crux of it—the most infuriating part of the whole thing: the deep disillusionment with CTY as an organization. The writer’s bitter sarcasm about “placating neurotic, scary parents” is spot-on but completely unoriginal. What did you expect? CTY is a summer camp for gifted teens, not an artsy commune where kids are allowed to explore their true selves in a safe environment free of adult supervision. At the end of the day, the program exists to make money, and keeping parents happy and their kids safe is their top priority. Instead of accepting this reality, the writer complains about “silly rules” they must enforce and their “exhaustion.” Cry me a river. They knew what they were getting into. The gig is grueling, yes. But it’s not like anyone’s holding a gun to your head to keep coming back. If it’s so unbearable, maybe it’s time to reconsider your life choices and stop pretending that every year spent in CTY is some heroic act of selflessness.

Next, we move to the obligatory “here’s what the job is really like” section. Where the writer makes it sound like being an RA/TA is akin to life in a warzone. Being a “24-hour babysitter” sounds horrendous, but what did you expect when you signed up to look after a bunch of overachieving kids who think they’re saving the world with their intellectual prowess? Of course, you’re going to be drained! But let’s not pretend you’re some sort of martyr for these kids. The real problem here is that no one wants to face the fact that most of these kids are high schoolers playing in a pretend world where they think they’re gifted and mature enough to change the world—and guess what? They aren’t. If this job is truly “emotionally exhausting” and draining to the point that you’re physically incapable of using your free time to be a human, maybe that’s your cue to look elsewhere.

And let’s talk about the isolation. Oh, the isolation. If you thought CTY was going to offer you a harmonious, sun-kissed, teamwork-driven utopia, you clearly missed the memo. Of course, you’ll be stuck in some rural or suburban hellhole for six weeks with nothing but fellow CTY workers. How could anyone possibly think this is a good idea? Sure, it may sound like fun during your summers as a camper, but when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way to escape, you quickly learn what a nightmare that isolation really is. There’s no life outside of camp, you say? No kidding. What did you think would happen when you sign up for a summer job in the middle of nowhere?

Finally, the salary. $2100 for six weeks. Let’s all take a moment to let that sink in. Are you actually being serious? What are you supposed to do with that amount of money? Consider it a glorified internship. If you’re still coming back to CTY for the paycheck, you're probably in denial. The real value here is the "prestige" of having been an RA or TA at CTY—not the money. The job itself isn’t about financial gain; it’s about status. The illusion of being a responsible adult who gets to enforce the rules and wield power. Except that the job isn't about having power, it's about dealing with the constant anxiety of making sure you don't lose your position because you're "too friendly" or “too much like a camper."

In conclusion, this article is a love letter to self-imposed martyrdom. It’s a melodramatic recounting of someone's decision to become a glorified babysitter for the summer, all while complaining about the rules they agreed to follow. Sure, CTY has its merits—it provides memorable experiences, especially for campers—but working as an RA or TA isn't as romantic as this writer makes it out to be. It’s grueling, isolating, and, honestly, a test of patience for anyone brave enough to try it. So, if you think you’re up for a summer of constant exhaustion, overwhelming rules, and endless nostalgia that ultimately leads to frustration, by all means, sign up. Just don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were getting into.