A Good Idea

Posted Jun 8, 04:54 AM by Kay Camenisch

It’s summer, and my thoughts wander back to my first experience at summer camp. I’ll never forget it.

Teen years are tough, so my parents figured I could use some
encouragement. Consequently, the summer before seventh grade, they sent me to camp to meet new friends. A good idea of wise parents, right?
The camp was held in eastern Kentucky on the campus of a former boarding school. Campers were stacked in dorm rooms—four to a room. A great idea, providing opportunities to build friendships, right? For me, it was more like a fiasco.

Two of my roommates were captain and co-captain of the majorettes at the largest school in the four-county region. I don’t know if it was the fact that they were seniors and I was a sub-freshman (we didn’t have middle school back then), that they
were majorettes and I was nothing, or maybe it had to do with the fact that I was from a country school and they were sophisticates from Whitesburg. I don’t know what their issue was, but Miss Snooty and Miss Snootier wouldn’t even speak to me.

I never found out why. Not enough words passed for a decent “Good morning,” much less to work out our differences. However, by the end of the week it didn’t matter—I didn’t want to be like them anyway.

Oh, but I had another roommate. I’m sure we were chosen to be together because she was my age and also in seventh grade. She was even a country girl. With so much in common, we could be special friends, right?

Wrong. She had completed sixth grade, but she looked like a fourth grader and acted like a third grader. She wouldn’t participate in any activities. At night, she ran across the hall to be with her friends until lights out. Meanwhile, I sat alone on the side of my bed, hunched forward so I wouldn’t crack my head on the top bunk. Every night, when she finally came to the room, our conversations revolved around “I wanna’ go home,” accompanied with copious tears.

Our team leader was clueless about how to make a team out of the likes of us, so we remained a dysfunctional family all week. The twirlers were afraid to get dirty or mess up their hair, and the kid was too shy to join in, so our team ran on half cylinders. We were always last. Competitions were not competition with us around.

I’d ’bout had it with trying to fit in and find a friend and was counting the hours ‘til I could go home. After the final campfire, my bunkmate was still mopping the floor with her tears. I assured her, “You can go home in just nine hours. You can make it. You’ll be sleeping all night; then your mother’ll come in the morning.”
My attempts to comfort only brought louder wails, “I don’t wanna’ go home! I like it here!”

Arrrrgh!!!

A clink on our second floor window interrupted, and I looked out. Richard, the camp-hunk, a football player from Whitesburg High, was standing below. He strummed his guitar and began singing. He smiled when his eyes caught mine—and he kept looking at me. A real-life jock from Whitesburg, looking at me!

Not only had I never been serenaded, I’d never even dreamed of being serenaded. I started singing along, then stopped; that’s not what movie stars did in the flicks. So I leaned against the window frame, trying to look dreamy and sophisticated—with my rumpled camp shirt, straight bangs, and ponytail. Anxious fingers twisted knots in the corner of the curtain.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to figure out what movie stars do when the singing stops. Our camp director, Mr. Killjoy, interrupted Richard and told him to get away from the girl’s dorm. The serenader winked as he left. My thirteen-year-old stomach flip-flopped three times in a row. Me! Seranaded!

I tossed and turned in my hard lumpy bed, thinking about my miserable week. But a secret grin kept creeping in. I had been noticed. Maybe I didn’t have to fit in with everyone; I could be myself and trust God with my life.

Fiasco? . . . Well, maybe camp wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Important lessons in life often seem difficult in the moment. I’m grateful for the experience because of the lesson learned. There are still times when I don’t seem to fit in. But when I think about that first camp experience, the awkwardness passes. I can relax, knowing there are many places where I fit in just fine.

And I must admit, summer camps I went to in later years were a lot of fun. If you’re considering a good Christian summer camp, I highly recommend it. It’s a good idea.