Camp Colored Glasses: Part 1

Excuse, excuse, special circumstance, short unsatisfying explanation, excuse. There really are very good reasons for why I have not yet posted anything about camp, but rather than go into them, I'd rather just start talking about camp.

First of all, let me say that the transition from camp world to 'real' world is not easy. Not once at camp did I have trouble falling asleep at night, but already this week, I've had a couple nights where I've just layed in bed, awake, trying to fall asleep but unable to because I still had energy left. I still want a nap time at 2:15. But, as with anything, what really defines a place is the people that are there. Camp wouldn't be the same without our campers or the counselors and supervisors. Home wouldn't be home without my parents and brothers. The Estate wouldn't be the same without the guys that live there (we'll miss you, Kevin). Not that one is any better than the other, they're just... different.

Life certainly hasn't been boring this past week. I've worked 8 and 9 hour days all week (except today, obviously), hung out with family, bought a car. I've got packing to do for school, and a to-do list a mile long. But again, it's different. The work I do here (construction) certainly pays better than camp did, but it doesn't impact others or myself the way being a camp counselor did and does. For example.

Last summer I worked 5 of the 6 weeks of camp in Pickerel, the youngest boys cabin. I loved it. They're cute and funny (a little harder on the bed-wetting and home-sickness front), excited about camp, and they crash hard at night. And this summer, I only worked in that cabin once. After a whole summer of middle and oldest boys (9-11 and 11-13), which was by no means a bad thing, I finally got to work in Pickerel. And what really got me excited was that Tommy, one of my returners from last year, was coming back and would be in my cabin.

This is Tommy. Cute little kid, to be sure. He was adopted from China, and he is... kinda deaf. That headband you can barely see is called a bone conductor. The way I understand it (and I could be completely wrong) is that he has a device in his skull that the conductor transmits sound to, and it acts as an eardrum. Sorta like a cochlear implant, but I'm not sure how those work either. But regardless of what it is or how it works, this is Tommy.

It is impossible to pick a favorite camper. At least for me it is. But Tommy is certainly up there. When he arrived on Sunday and finally recognized me (I had a lot less hair this year), his face shone with a smile bigger than the one in the picture. And every morning, after my co-counselors would revive me from my coma (wake me up), even though I was still groggy, grumpy, and half-dressed, Tommy would run across the cabin from his room into mine, give me a big hug that always caught me by surprise, and then go finish getting ready.

The point of me telling you about Tommy is that he loves better than I ever could. As with most deaf or hearing impaired kids, Tommy doesn't speak well, so sometimes I had to ask him to repeat himself. A lot. And he would always patiently repeat himself, or sometimes sign it to help me out. With signing, he taught me all week. Bull, pizza, lizard, red, left, and more. Sometimes I'd forget and ask him the same sign 3 times in a day, and he always patiently showed me. What was even more remarkable to me was that even when I had to punish him (sitting out from pool time, not being able to color for a couple minutes, that sort of thing), he still wanted to be with me. And Friday night, as he realized that he would have to leave the next day, he wept.

Like I said, Tommy was an example to me, a counselor three times older than him and four times heavier, of how to love. I'm supposed to love God the way Tommy loved me. I'm supposed to throw myself in His arms every morning. I'm supposed to want to be in His presence even when it seems like He is ignoring or punishing me. And when I'm faced with the realization that my sin separates me from Him, I should weep. Even though I can't explain how or why, seeing him live out what I'm supposed to live out actually does help me.

People ask me why I work at camp in the summer instead of a job that's closer to home, closer to friends, or pays more. I can never think of how to answer that question. Camp is like home to me. Some of my closest friends in the world work there. And I can think of no better compensation than the countless things I've learned from campers like Tommy. Camp isn't just a job: it's a picture of what the world should be. That's why, whenever I talk about camp vs. the world outside, I always put the word 'real' in quotations. At camp you see people for who they are. You see the potential in kids the world has given up on. You see the effect that love and joy and patience and enthusiasm have on people. Camp is the most 'real' place that I've found.