By Lorry Myers
I dreamed of going to camp as a kid. Some of my friends went and came home with campfire songs and names of people I didn’t know. Camp was pricey so when I found out that my church would pay half of a church camp fee, I ran all the way home from youth group with the flyer in my hand.
I was going to camp.
I was a typical middle schooler, although not typical at all. I wore my sisters’ hand me downs, cat eye glasses with wild curly hair, and was constantly reminded, particularly by kids my own age, that I needed braces on my buck teeth.
As if I didn’t know.
Camp was all I thought it would be and I was pretty successful at blending in and drawing very little attention to myself. I let others take the lead when it came to cabin projects or group games simply because my bad-mannered hair and wayward teeth caused me more attention than I wanted. I wasn’t shy, I wasn’t bashful, I wasn’t awkward.
I wasn’t anything at all.
The last night of camp was the big Talent Show, something every camper, every cabin was required to participate in. The leaders, or cute girls in my cabin, decided that we would do impressions. Every girl was assigned something or someone to impersonate. Of course, I was the last one to receive my assignment, similar to the last one waiting for teams to be chosen.
I was assigned to impersonate animals.
Of course, the group found that quite funny and then decided that each camper would be responsible for perfecting their own impersonations for the showcase. It took me more than a few deep breaths before I decided to participate instead of feigning sick. I didn’t know anything about animals, all I knew were the sounds they make and how they appeared on TV. I would rather have done anything, anything then stand in front of the entire camp and pretend to be an animal.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.
