Summer Camp

Vesper Spot
Camp Christian, Ohio

I see a few FB posts these days about kids going to summer camps of various sorts. The photos of some reveal a variety of emotions, emotions shared one way or the other with parents.

I went to summer camp a few times when I was a kid—church camp—Camp Christian down near Delaware, Ohio. It’s still in business, I see (link to website for the camp). I started in junior high when I was in Chi Rho (a Disciples of Christ youth group), and I attended a couple of other years when I was in CYF (Christian Youth Fellowship).

I generally had a good time because lots of my friends went, too, though the camp administrators, apparently, scattered us around among the cabins so that we’d experience “fellowship” with kids we didn’t know.

I found this alarming—and funny. Alarming because there were Big Kids who did what a lot of Big Kids do in junior high: be threatening. And funny because there were some Wackos there—odd-bird little kids who said and did the strangest things.

Example: In my day there was a place called the Vesper Spot where we would go before heading for bed. It was a lovely place off in the woods, and we were supposed to be absolutely silent there. One evening, in line heading out there, one of the wackos, a kid named Jerry from another town, was right behind me, and as he entered the clearing, I heard him whisper from behind me: “And somewhere, from out of the gloom, ....”

I cracked up. It wasn’t that funny—but it was so unexpected that I couldn’t  help myself. Everyone looked at me as if I’d just committed a mortal sin.

The counselor in charge spoke some sharp words—I didn’t dare tell him that he was supposed to be silent. I think I had to do some odious chore the next day in atonement.

But I generally enjoyed the camp, even though I learned two difficult truths: 1. I sucked at crafts (my lanyard, woven, looked more like a hangman’s noose); 2.the pretty girls were not very interested in me.

But I was something of a whiz in the Bible classes: My grandfather and uncle and father were all ordained Disciples of Christ ministers. Take that, Jerry!

Leap ahead a few years. One of my best friends in high school was a kid name Paul Misch (sadly deceased now). I was telling him the story about the Vesper Spot and Jerry.

He perked up. 

“Jerry [the same one from Camp Christian]!?”

“Yeah, why?”

And then Paul told a story about when he’d once been in the hospital; sharing his room was Jerry, who had a long piece of knotted string with which he would snap Paul now and then. And Paul couldn’t do anything about it: His leg was in a cast.

Despite Paul’s direst threats (and he was a tough kid; Jerry, not), Jerry kept snapping until he went home the next day.

Paul never got his revenge, as far as I know.

Unless, you know, he’s done so ... Down There.