It was 1969. The year I turned sixteen. It was one of the longest summers of my life. From the time I was twelve, I had been required to work part time jobs during the school year, and once I hit fourteen, full time in the summer. I'd done a lot of babysitting and lawn mowing, paper delivering and dish washing, and I was determined to do something more interesting that summer. So, when I saw an ad recruiting counselors for Camp Lincoln, I decided to apply.
Camp Lincoln was a YMCA sleep away camp. It was very rustic. And I wasn't really the outdoorsy type. But when they offered me a job as a junior counselor I quickly jumped at the chance to be on my own for a whole summer. I imagined it would be heavenly to be out from under my parents for most of eight weeks. And on top of that, I got free room and board, all the bug juice I could drink, and at the end of the summer, the promise of one hundred dollars.
Little did I know the term junior counselor really meant indentured servant. If there was scut work to be done, it fell to me and my peers. And my overseer that summer was a wise guy college freshman who we'll call Bud. Bud hated my guts. Truth be told, I was probably a handful. I'm sure I felt I knew everything there was to know about camp and our eight year old charges. After all, I'd been one more recently than Bud had! Still, in retrospect, it seems he went out of his way to make my life miserable. Latrine duty,staying back in the cabin when a kid got sick, and whatever other tortures he could devise seemed to always be the order of the day. By week two I was ready to go home, but I couldn't. I'd signed a contract.
There was one promise of respite though, for between weeks four and five, there were no campers in camp for a whole weekend, and we were allowed to leave the premises. We could even go home if we wanted, so long as we were back by a certain time on Sunday morning.
Back then it was still safe to hitchhike, so the minute the last camper left, I was out on the road, thumbing my way home. I really missed my girlfriend, looked forward to seeing my folks, and even felt a bit of love for my little brothers and sister. And to top it off, it was the weekend of my sixteenth birthday.
I got home that Friday night, and was surprised no one mentioned my birthday was coming up the next day. And so I went to bed a little disgruntled. The next morning my mother came into my bedroom and woke me up. "John," she said, "put one some clothes and come to the front room. A somebody's here to see you." So I dressed. I have a picture from that day. I'm standing there in my dark framed glasses, with long hair, wearing jeans and a blue and red striped t-shirt.
When I walked into the front room, I was suddenly surrounded by a whole gang of my friends! It was a surprise birthday breakfast! All my best buddies were there, and of course, my girlfriend. We had a great breakfast. Bacon and eggs as I remember, and cake, of course--teenaged boys will eat anything at anytime!There were presents and lots of joking around. Whatever sense of disgruntlement I had felt the night before, simply disappeared! All the woes of life at camp melted away. I felt renewed and energized. I felt embraced by love and acceptance. And though I was sorry to leave the next day, I knew I could finish out the summer. I knew I could handle whatever got thrown my way.
That was a long time ago. I turn fifty-nine later this week. I don't imagine I'll have cake for breakfast. But I know I'm loved--and I'll never forget the lesson I learned that summer. Like a pop song of that era once said, "Love will see you through."
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