Summer is approaching
and the days are getting warmer.
Middle-schoolers are abuzz about what summer camp they will be
attending, and which bestie they hope to bunk with. This takes me back to my brief camp
experience years ago in the mountains of the Midwest. Due to some serious homesickness and
introversion, I did not attend a camp as a child. However, during my sophomore year at college,
I was persuaded by friends to interview at a popular camp for a summer
position. I did not have all the right
spiritual answers, nor did I have any singing talent, athletic prowess, nor leadership
abilities. They really must have needed
help because I landed the position as a kitchen server (basically a waitress
and a dishwasher) for one month at their eighth and newest location on a
beautiful lake.
Before summer arrived, I made plans
to follow a few guys up since the camp was about five hours away, and I was
navigationally challenged. Many of my
close friends had gotten jobs at different camp locations or had gotten jobs in
their hometown. The guys I was to follow
were new acquaintances, and they were going to call me the night before we were
to leave for camp. Finally, it was the
night before camp, and I had all the t-shirts, bug spray, and stationary
packed, but I hadn’t received a phone call from the caravan leader. My dad helped me plan my route as this was
pre-gps/smart phone era. I found my way
to a very new, off-the-paved-road camp, and I felt quite accomplished. Until I learned the reason that my caravan
leader didn’t call-I arrived at camp a day too early. There were several brochures with dates on
them, and I looked at the one that had the wrong date. There were many leaders already at camp, so
don’t worry, I had a place to stay. It
turns out my navigator did call the night before I was to leave, but I wasn’t
home.
Little did I know, a camp has a
specific culture full of songs, cheers, and stories. I did not know one single cheer, but I tried
to look the part by wearing sporty casual clothing and no make-up. However, my sensitive allergies flared up
with the screen windows allowing all the nature to breeze in and out of our
living quarters. Soon my eyes would not
allow me to wear my contacts, and I developed a rash on my legs. Most of the time I had my hair in a ponytail,
and I was donning an apron. Working in a
hot kitchen in the summer didn’t agree with my face either, so my usual clear
complexion disappeared. I couldn’t
compare with the athletic, tan counselors all around me, but I absolutely loved
the fellow kitchen servers I worked with all day.
Work week was loads of fun and just
as the title of the week conveys: work.
We actually made the beach for the camp on the edge of the lake by
clearing trees and rocks. We cleaned,
worshipped, and prepared for the campers.
We also had a little time to socialize with our college peers who had
come to this woodsy sporty camp. One
afternoon after lunch, all the counselors were congregated in the
cafeteria. The staff called out all of
us kitchen workers to the front porch.
They decided it was time for us to be properly introduced to the
counselors. But I did not categorize
their method of introduction as proper!
They called out two strong male counselors who would be responsible for
carrying a kitchen worker between them, each leg resting on one counselor’s
shoulder. Then a leader would announce
their name over a loudspeaker as these two hunks burst through the doors of the
cafeteria and into the crowd. As an
introvert, this was a nightmare to me. I
also have a tendency to worst-case scenario unexpected situations. In my mind, I was definitely going to pass
gas loudly onto the shoulders of these guys for all to hear. The guys were quickly making their way around
to the back of the cafeteria. I had
already positioned myself as the last in line.
I had to move swiftly, which isn’t really in my DNA. I burst through the doors on foot, slapping
high-fives all the way, with my face bright red, I’m sure. The carrier guys behind me looked a little
puzzled as they shrugged at each other.
I heard some laughter among the obligatory cheering in the crowd, and
someone yelled, “Nice entrance!”
There were many opportunities to
meet other college students during the work week before campers arrived. During one social event at the park, we were
standing in a line. I worked up the
courage to turn around and introduce myself to the guy standing behind me. “Hi, I’m Susan.” “I know,” he said, “We’ve already met. I’m
Blane.” I was so embarrassed that I had
no recollection of us meeting. Fast
forward a few weeks later to the cafeteria.
Blane approached the counter with an empty juice pitcher, and I said
hello and reached for the pitcher to refill it for his table. My sassy friend and fellow kitchen server ran
up strictly to embarrass me, and to act as though I had been asking about him,
which I had not. She said, “What’s your
name?” “Blane,” he said. She turned to
me and said, “His name’s Blane,” and she flittered away giggling to herself
leaving me standing in silence with a red face.
She really had no idea of the name forgetting history I had with this
guy, and she was just trying to embarrass me at random. It worked!
One of the traditions at this camp
involved birthdays. If it was a male
counselor’s birthday, all the female counselors and kitchen workers were
supposed to come give the birthday boy a kiss on the cheek in front of the
whole cafeteria. This thought terrified
me, and as I heard them singing happy birthday, I ran quickly to the back of
the kitchen behind the third row of supply shelving. I heard a loud thwack of a broomstick behind
me, and I turned to see another kitchen server hiding in the broom closet. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who
despised this tradition because another kitchen server questioned all ten of us
later, “Where were y’all? I was the only one who went out there!”
One final memory remains that
happened close to the end of my month-long camp experience. I was outside with my fellow kitchen
workers. One of the staffers had a
bicycle that wasn’t currently being used.
I hadn’t ridden a bicycle in years.
I was interested in checking out this bicycle as I had never seen one
with foot straps over the pedals. I
asked if I could try it out. I managed
the bike until it was time to disembark.
I was very distracted as I was talking to my friends, and I forgot to
take my foot out of the stirrup before swinging my leg over the bike. I landed on my side on the ground still
attached to the bike.
My camp experience was brief and
quite frankly embarrassing. The theme of
camp that summer was “Worth It All.” For
those campers and counselors, I’m sure it was.
And for those lasting memories, times of growth, and laughter, I suppose
it was for me too.
