Camp
I have a confession to proclaim:
I love camp.
I’m not talking about the Gambino record,
even though it is awesome.
I’m talking about a summer camp I worked at.
Three summers, so far the best of my life.
Ranked: 1A, 1B, 1C. In some order.
And I’m going back again this summer - Episode V.
May it be an Empire Striking Back
and not an Attack of the Clones.
First time I walked in,
it was like the first day of school.
Last day I left, my name was painted on the wall - retired.
The beginning of camp, it is the best.
Minus the training part of course.
Where everyone meets, and gets divided into their groups.
And have the following exchange with everyone:
"So I know what your camp name is but what’s your real one?"
The beginning of camp,
where people placed bets on who’d hook up.
All it took was eye contact,
to make someone go, “Oh shit! They said, ‘Hi,’ to each other.
That definitely means his tongue is going into her mouth.”
The beginning of camp where you learn all the songs,
how hard could they be?
I mean 99% of them start with, “This is a repeat after me.”
Songs about hippos smiling, crummy red wagons, what are you having for lunch today, jelly of course, Princess Pat, her rock-a-bambo too, Captain Jack, he has a mighty fine crew, Tarzan who brought the entire jungle along with him, and of course we can’t forget about TOAST!
I’d mention boa constrictor on that list,
but let’s be honest, everyone hates that shit.
Camp itself is crazy,
chaos compacted into an eight hour span.
Some days it’d seem endless.
You never knew what could happen,
and when you thought you did,
A UFO landed and took all of the group’s kids.
So you stood there, shell-shocked scratching your head,
with an expression on your face,
that could only be summed up as, “What the fuck just happened?”
One thing you can always count on though is your group.
Your homies, your amigos, your bros, you’re one fine troop.
You can count on them to be in your foxhole as the world cries under that ten-year-old rampage. He makes Godzilla look a chia pet eating crepes. And on that day, they stop you from pulling your own hair out while you want to say, “Aw fuck this shit.”
A good team will make or break your summer.
You spend two months with them,
and no they won’t be perfect.
But you’ll deal with them; know all their strengths and weaknesses.
And you’ll make it work, what choice do you have?
After all don’t forget,
they need to put up with your imperfect ass all summer.
The thing about your team though, that’s what you start as,
but after those two months it grows into something more,
if it could be summed up in one phrase: we’re family.
And your kids,
we all have our “kidnap” lists.
They drive you crazy,
they push you to the edge,
and once it seems like they’re going to drive you over it
with reckless abandoned, they drag you back in.
Like a baby - Maggie Simpson.
You can’t help it.
None of us can survive a blitz of a child.
The never ending energy,
the optimism,
the new way of looking at the world,
they will surprise you.
You don’t fight that, instead you embrace it.
They take us out of our shells, make us evolve, like Charmander, Charmeleon, Charizard.
We become totally different people, but more comfortable in our new skin.
They make us feel more Mega than the head of the Decepticons.
More in our Prime than Optimus.
It doesn’t matter, not even when the world is just Ludacris.
The great days stand out.
The bad ones as well,
you know the ones I’m talking about,
the ones that end with a palm to your face,
and make you say, “How is this even possible? And all in one day!”
The rest of the days, those fall somewhere in between.
Sure they have their stand out moments,
but for the most part like everything else in summer it’s just sand caught in the tide’s motion.
A compaction of memories and loose ideas.
Everything gets blended and mixed like the food in your stomach.
It ultimately gets digested and flushed down the toilet.
Summers aren’t perfect,
they aren’t supposed to be though.
Like everything else in life there’s the good times and there’s worse.
Drama may sweep into your life and make you feel like you’re watching yourself on TMZ.
A code brown will hit the fan - guaranteed.
You might even pick up some baggage along the way.
Some of that stuff does matter, but most of it won’t stick.
So what sticks then?
The bonds you create,
the memories you’ll never forget,
the fun you had,
and all those moments that could only possibly happen at camp.
So what sticks then? Let me tell you.
That one kid who looks up at you and says,
"When I grow up, I want to be just like you."
Not like Mike,
not Batman,
not Spider-Man,
or even Supes.
You.
And let me tell you something,
that’s no child’s play either, just the truth.
My name was Ice, can I say something?
All I want to say is,
I love camp. Thank you.
