The rich pre-teens are unionizing at summer camp

For the past three months, I've been teaching at a tennis camp for six to sixteen year-olds through a private (read: expensive) club outside of Milwaukee. My day starts around 8:00 am, when moms in brand-new Mercedes SUVs and dads in sports cars and grandparents in equally fancy but slightly older vehicles pull into the parking lot of the outdoor facility consisting of sixteen pristine tennis courts. A few kids ride their bikes, which I've noticed are either inherited retro models or fresh off the rack of a sporting goods store. Most parents drop their children off, wave goodbye, and go about their days. A few hang around and watch in the bleachers. Some older siblings are forced to stay until their brother or sister's class is over, faces buried in phones and books.

The first sessions of the day are designed for full-fledged beginners: either those who have only just developed the motor function required to hold and swing a racquet, or slightly older kids who are trying the sport for the first time. There's no shortage of shitheads in these classes, but, by and large, they're my favorite to teach. They're spoiled and predominantly filthy rich children, sure, but they're still children; most of them are eager to learn and participate. At the end of the day, they just want to run around, talk to their friends, and maybe hit a few tennis balls. I mean, same here.

As the day progresses, so too does the skill (and the median age) of the campers. The 10:30 am session, which consists primarily of pre-teen girls, is the largest of the day, sandwiched right in the middle of camp, when the sun starts to go full Eye-of-Sauron onto the courts. On especially hot days, we take frequent breaks in the shade and avoid prolonged periods of running. Even if the weather isn't particularly oppressive, campers can remove themselves from an activity whenever they feel like it. We don't necessarily advertise this information, in part because we try very hard to avoid dealing with parents who feel as though their money isn't being put to good use, and in part because a great deal of campers straight up hate tennis. Tennis camp is something their parents sign them up for to get them out of the house that doesn't require the same physical intensity as, say, basketball or volleyball camp. It's sad, but it kinda makes sense.

For these campers, we try to mix in games whose outcomes aren't entirely dependent on one's skill or athleticism. Often, we have a reward for the winners and/or a "punishment" (we try to avoid this term) for the losers. Sometimes the winners get to pick the next game; sometimes the losers have to pick up all the balls – usually things they'd be doing anyway, regardless of the game's outcome.

One day, it was decided that the losers would take a lap around two courts (roughly the equivalent of fifty meters on a track), at whatever pace they wanted. We played it out (the details aren't important; I think it was a serving game), and it was close. But when the game ended and the winners cheered, I turned to the losing team and found them all sitting in a circle, legs crossed, avoiding my gaze. Two of them, identical twin girls whom I can only distinguish by their racquets, were snickering. They were by far the most outspoken tennis defectors, and it appeared that they'd convinced their entire team, many of whom genuinely enjoy tennis, to go on strike. I gave them them an, "okay, haha, let's be good sports and do a lap now." Nothing. They just sat there.  When I asked what they were doing, they said they'd "unionized." I chuckled again, encouraging them to do what they'd agreed to, but none of them moved. When one girl finally stood up, I thought they'd break, but she went straight to the parking lot. Her mom was there to pick her up. Camp was over. Nearly a dozen middle-schoolers had stood their ground with collective action – and won.

Frustrating as it was in the moment, I look back on their recalcitrance fondly. I'm fairly certain none of them understand unionization beyond protesting something you don't want to do (and that's part of it!), or that their parents might very well be participating in union-busting efforts at this very moment, but it gave me a glimmer of hope. After all, the children are our future, and maybe even the trust-fund babies can have a good idea or two.

(If they do this again I'm gonna flip.)