Amper Scamper Little Camper

About fifteen minutes after consuming a cinnamon and sugar cake donut in Linesville, Ohio, came the turn onto Lake Road. My parents would announce our proximity to Sheldon Calvary Camp with weighted importance. And in the backseat, my tummy would turn, fried dough and nerves suddenly not settling well. The possibilities of Camp gone right and on the flip side of my indigestion, Camp gone wrong ping ponged through my mind. 

Camp gone right was the vision where I would accumulate a bunch of green eights, our team would win the banner, I would become best friends with my cabin mates, and most importantly my annual camp crush would finally figure out that it was me he was searching for under the big tree in the middle of camp. We would watch the fourth of July fireworks together, eat M&Ms and drink Cokes as we watched the sunset over Lake Erie every night, we would perform in the Sunday Chapel skit together, he would ask me to the banquet, we would part ways with tears, and the promise to write to each other until we were reunited at Camp next year. And as we pulled onto the gravel road in our Transport Van, I willed this vision to be my reality and my stomach to stop doing flips. 

Camp gone wrong was everything the alternate version wasn't. It was losing. Losing morning and evening competitions, losing the electives that I wanted, losing the good people in my cabin, and every year, year after year after year, losing my crush to a Shadyside girl. It was always a Shadyside girl. They were built with longer, skinnier legs, hair and skin that seemed to look better after a KYBO spa, and a cooler calmer indifference to the world. 

The story of 9 years going to Calvary Camp was a mix of these two scenarios. I loved the camp-wide competitions, especially the one hosted by the forest, I loved learning and growing at electives, I loved the songs we would sing, the peaceful environment around the Chapel, I loved the laughter at rest time and devotion, and I loved the forever friendships I made at camp. I never found love. In total, I probably had 6 camp crushes - half campers, half counselors. All unrequited. 

This year, I made the turn onto Lake Road from the other side of town. Google had mapped an alternative route from Pittsburgh to Conneaut, Ohio, so we missed Linesville. And we missed the donut shop. The turn didn't carry the same familiarity or teen fantasies, so I imparted my nerves onto my kids who would be first time campers this year. Amper scamper little campers that is.

Bobby didn't seem to have any of those tummy twisting anxieties and when we arrived he was immediately ready to release himself from my affection and desire for him to need me. He had his cousin, his friends, and his charisma, which true to form, helped him glide through his first year. 

Mary took on a double dose of nerves. She entered a brave new world without a friend in her cabin, without knowing what the week would bring, and with an introversion polar to Bobby's personality. After a couple tears, she said goodbye, stoic and resolute as ever. She has always been a fearless leader - and her camp experience was no exception. 

Two weeks went by. We got some letters. Mary contributed four. Bobby one, thanks to his cousin for mailing it. The camp administration posted pictures. I could glimpse Bobby fishing, shooting a bow and arrow, and goofing off, and I could see Mary painting, making bracelets, and finding her way in a campfire circle. 

Yesterday, we picked them up - dying to hear their stories and revelations. Eager to feed them real food and welcome them back to civilization.  

Bobby had had the camp experience that one of my crushes might have. Carefree, central command for attention, went to the banquet with someone - despite him saying it was a group thing, won an archery award. He also came home tanner. And I didn't think that possible.  

Mary wanted to portray her experience as negative - that she couldn't break into a cabin of friends who came together from Alexandria, VA. But when you dug into it, she loved much of what I did about camp. The songs Hiding Place and Day is Done from Chapel, eating treats at Canteen and watching the sunset, getting two green eights and apparently two elusive black tens, learning how to paddle board and do Yoga, bringing home painted rocks, and laughing about secrets stored at camp, between campers, maybe about a crush or two. 

I wanted them to guest blog - to write out their experiences - but they declined. I thought it might help them process the ups and down and in betweens. That yes, Shadyside girls always get the guy. That Cabin 10 boys have a way of getting in trouble. That the food will always be bad and the slop bucket will stimulate vomit. That there is a secret language of songs, rhymes, and sayings that only Calvary kids can know. That even though you didn't love everything, you come home unable to stop talking about all of it. I've committed what they've told me - the rest, will be theirs to keep and hold. And whatever lives on Bobby's disposable camera, well ... I can't wait to see.  

Camp will always be something that we do. Because finding a place where kids can cut out electronics and explore a deeper sense of who they are, how they show up, and what they are capable of, is an experience they need to keep coming back to.  

And as an Easter Egg, camp was certainly something that built character - character that will be necessary for my next blog entry ... 

Lo.