I'm fifteen years old. While I don't technically live at Camp anymore, it's safe to say that it is my home. I grew up there; I'm still growing up there. When I was a lot younger, I played with counselors and went creek stomping with my siblings. When I got older I did jobs and actually got to know the staff. Even though I grew up, the one thing that never changed was what I did. I'm an observer, on Camp and just in general. During staff training I sit on tables and listen to my parents talk or play games and dance with the counselors. When the summer gets going I work in the canteen serving popcorn or run errands for my parents. I sit in the summer office and draw while tuning in and out of the random conversations.
Two years ago I started baking for the counselors. I'd make a list of treats and have them write their names by it. I'd bake everything late at night so I called it BAM! Baking; Baking At Midnight. I love baking for the staff. Walking into the lounge the following day was awesome. I didn't know what it was, they were average treats; but their faces would sort of light up. Perhaps it was the fact that is wasn't the same food they'd been eating all summer. They run up to me and search through the box to find theirs. They'd tell me it was great and then proceed to tell me weird stories about their campers or how they slipped and fell down a hill that day. That was a common story. These moments made my day.
I’m going to get a bit poetic here but, Camp bonds people in a weird sweaty, slipping in the rain, dunking in the pool, make sure you put on bug spray outside the cabin, way. It's a big magical place. And I basically live there.
Boo Sullivan, Camp Kid