Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Camp
Well, it's practically official that I will not be at camp this summer. I've got a good job that's worth keeping, and I've got some courses lined up to take. The only thing that will get me through is knowing that I am graduating, and can return soon, or go into teaching as soon as possible. Camp makes my year. It's made much of my adult life. It's the most positive thing I've ever experienced.
Last year, in my sixth year of camp counselordom since i started, I had the privilege of writing the content for the camp's new Web site. I really love how it turned out. Check it out, if you have a minute. I guess if anything I should be grateful I got to play with kids all last summer, and play mini-golf and video games and drive go-carts, and mix paints, and watch movies, not to mention all the fun I had with the counselors in our off time as well.
Going running every evening, out in the country moonlight. Then raiding the huge freezer and making ice cream sundaes or cheese sticks, or going out to the scenic overlook and sitting in a camping chair and drinking beer under the stars.
I found out last summer I could make up silly songs on the spot with my guitar. I would just take it outside during downtime and walk around and sing to the kids. I could sing about the shirt they were wearing, or the way they grinned. Sometimes I'd ask them what I should sing about, and before we knew it I had "The duck song" and "The Elephant Song." Things like that.
And I'll never forget the dances every week. Some kids would just sit and watch everyone. Others would run around the room, making their own fun. Some girls would gather in groups and dance in a circle. Some little boys and girls would dance together.
I won't forget letting the girls get rowdy before bedtime. Painting all their little nails. I bought these tiny scented polishes in rainbow colors. They loved those.
I miss the notes they wrote me. Some of them I've kept forever. I know one day I'll have to get rid of them, but it's so hard to give away the things that children give you. I still have ceramic fish and hearts and other animals they made for me.
I'll miss singing on the bus, and explaining things to them at the museum. Asking all their curious questions. Making them laugh.
And I'll miss the more serious moments where they'll open up to you, and a foster kid will talk about how they miss their parents, or a little girl will tell you she lives with her grandmother, but she studies hard.
I'll even miss rolling out of bed and putting on my bright orange camp t-shirt and khaki shorts for the millionth field trip, slurping bad camp coffee, serving up breakfast to the kids and talking and joking about who knows what.
I'll miss underwater races and getting dunked in the pool, and going down the water slide and getting out and hearing a voice say, "Let's go again!"
Let's go again. I've gone again almost every summer. I know I'll be there to visit this year. I know this isn't where things stop. I just have to do what I have to do. For now.
Well, it's practically official that I will not be at camp this summer. I've got a good job that's worth keeping, and I've got some courses lined up to take. The only thing that will get me through is knowing that I am graduating, and can return soon, or go into teaching as soon as possible. Camp makes my year. It's made much of my adult life. It's the most positive thing I've ever experienced.
Last year, in my sixth year of camp counselordom since i started, I had the privilege of writing the content for the camp's new Web site. I really love how it turned out. Check it out, if you have a minute. I guess if anything I should be grateful I got to play with kids all last summer, and play mini-golf and video games and drive go-carts, and mix paints, and watch movies, not to mention all the fun I had with the counselors in our off time as well.
Going running every evening, out in the country moonlight. Then raiding the huge freezer and making ice cream sundaes or cheese sticks, or going out to the scenic overlook and sitting in a camping chair and drinking beer under the stars.
I found out last summer I could make up silly songs on the spot with my guitar. I would just take it outside during downtime and walk around and sing to the kids. I could sing about the shirt they were wearing, or the way they grinned. Sometimes I'd ask them what I should sing about, and before we knew it I had "The duck song" and "The Elephant Song." Things like that.
And I'll never forget the dances every week. Some kids would just sit and watch everyone. Others would run around the room, making their own fun. Some girls would gather in groups and dance in a circle. Some little boys and girls would dance together.
I won't forget letting the girls get rowdy before bedtime. Painting all their little nails. I bought these tiny scented polishes in rainbow colors. They loved those.
I miss the notes they wrote me. Some of them I've kept forever. I know one day I'll have to get rid of them, but it's so hard to give away the things that children give you. I still have ceramic fish and hearts and other animals they made for me.
I'll miss singing on the bus, and explaining things to them at the museum. Asking all their curious questions. Making them laugh.
And I'll miss the more serious moments where they'll open up to you, and a foster kid will talk about how they miss their parents, or a little girl will tell you she lives with her grandmother, but she studies hard.
I'll even miss rolling out of bed and putting on my bright orange camp t-shirt and khaki shorts for the millionth field trip, slurping bad camp coffee, serving up breakfast to the kids and talking and joking about who knows what.
I'll miss underwater races and getting dunked in the pool, and going down the water slide and getting out and hearing a voice say, "Let's go again!"
Let's go again. I've gone again almost every summer. I know I'll be there to visit this year. I know this isn't where things stop. I just have to do what I have to do. For now.
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