Tomorrow, I’ll turn down a long and dusty driveway to spend a week-ish at good ol’ Camp Pendalouan. It’s been a great bit of anticipation, looking forward to something like this. There’s many male CITs, you see, so there is some hope I will be able to wrangle them or something like that. I had at first assumed it would be a week of lounging in a hammock. This is not the case.
While I am there, four of my students from school will be in attendance. This fact boggles the mind, frankly, and it will be super weird to be “Matthew” to every camper whilst they call me “Mr. Abel.” Never mind I spent MONTHS encouraging the kids to call me Mr. Matthew to no avail. Life, man. Life. What will these kids think of ol’ Mr. Abel the camp counselor.
You see, many people don’t know this about – they weren’t there when I was Teen Director (which was basically a standard counselor position with more sweating). It was a time in which I was loud, crazy, obnoxious. Now, I am quiet, crazy, and obnoxious – which is an easier pill to swallow.
Camp is very much a home to me. It is the place I go to feel at ease, at peace, and comfortable. Things are said at camp I say rarely elsewhere. Belief in myself is at it’s maximum within that acreage. Except for when swimming. I’m not a strong swimmer.
So, to camp I go. There will be no “Ronald McDonald,” I hope. Not even the Spanish Version (you where a sombrero). What there will be will one heckuva good time, and a week of memories for a whole mess of children. Fun awaits.