An open letter to your summer camp (in my case, Illinois 4-H Memorial Camp):
Dear _____________,
You have been a part of my life since way before I knew anything about the world. You knew me when I wore mood rings and watched the Mary-Kate and Ashley movies religiously. You were there for the phase of my life when I was a walking ad for Abercrombie, Aeropostale, and Hollister. You got featured in college application essays and interviews, freshman year ice breakers, and so many other conversations along the way. Through all of the physical, emotional, and mental change that I’ve gone through over the last 10 years, you have been a place that I can go to feel accepted, special, and at home, and for that I will always be thankful.
I absorbed a lot during my summers spent laying under your oaks and splashing in your green lake. I learned that clipboards are an essential tool in making friendship bracelets, and that, sadly, the quality and quantity of woven and fraying threads tied around my wrists doesn’t mean anything outside of the campgrounds. Never again will I buy bug spray with anything less than 25% deet (and don’t bother asking about the “natural” stuff, unless you enjoy scratching off all of the skin on your body). I can identify at least 8 tie dye patterns and have mastered the art of melting crayons with a hair dryer. I learned the fastest way up the rock wall and which shower had the best water pressure by my third summer, and by my sixth I figured out that camper showers are not as nice as the secret counsellor ones. I developed the habit of collecting quirky clothing items, shoes, and accessories because you never know when you’ll need to make a great themed outfit. I learned to save an extra box of Coco Roos from breakfast in case it was corndog/McRib/chicken and noodles day, and to make sure I was extra hungry on tater tots/chicken nuggets day.
Although those were all important lessons, they mostly apply to the wonderful months I spend with you. But even when we’re apart, be it for 9 months or for the rest of my life, you’ve taught me things that will always stay with me. You taught me to have confidence in myself, because if I can get 300 kids to love me, making one interviewer feel the same way shouldn’t be too difficult. You taught me that having fun, learning, and developing myself are not mutually exclusive, but rather feed off of each other. You taught me that I can’t take care of others if I don’t take of myself first. These have been invaluable lessons as I’ve tried to navigate the stress, self-deprecation, and a million obstacles that seem to come along with adulthood.
I don’t know when I’ll next get the chance to wander among your cabins or scrub tie dye off my hands in your sinks or lay in your field as I count the shooting stars. I do know that I’ve made friendships and memories that have changed my life for the better. When I’m old and my mind is starting to go, I might not remember every camper or art project or lyric to a nonsensical song, but I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that I will think of you with a smile. Thank you for all of the love and support that you’ve given me over the years.
Hmmm, I want to linger.
Hmmm, A little longer.
Hmmm, A little longer,
Here with you.