It's That Time of Year

I want to go to camp.

It's hot, it's sticky, I haven't seen a chipmunk in a while.

At exactly 4:00 I start to crave grape pop.

At Michael's last weekend, I actually held a leather kit in my hands. A kit for making ones own moccasins.

All this can only mean one thing. I want to go to camp. The camp of my youth. But with the experience of my increased years.

The camp of MY youth was somewhere near Jackson, MI. It was owned by the state, but was rented out to groups. In Jackson, MI there is also a state prison. All maintenance was done by prisoners, which brings me to THIS story.

While we campers were swimming, playing softball, doing fairly odd crafts and generally disturbing the peace, our cabin areas were off limits.

"Off limits" flashes to some people like a neon sign saying "This means everyone BUT you". I had a camp friend who was one of those people.

After swimming she discovered a considerable amount of sand in her bathing suit, which required an immediate change. A change that could be done ONLY by going into the cabin, now declared to be 'off-limits'.

I've never been one to question authority, but my friend? She LIVED for it. I've also never been one to question the ethics of my friends. Okay. That's not true. But I had sand in my suit too.

My guess is that we must have been 11 or 12 that summer.

While everyone else in the camp was doing exciting things, like painting plaster of paris pins, playing 'red rover' or pondering giving their lifes to foreign missions, I followed my daring friend back to the cabin. Really. What kind of a friend would I have been if I'd let her go alone?

Anyway...

As we approached the cabin, we noticed a state truck parked out in front. I definitely recall my friend saying, 'See! It won't be a problem, because someone is there!'

Um. Yes. There most certainly was someone there.

A prisoner.

He was on a ladder high up in the rafters, painting.

I remember that he was on a ladder, because he had the hugest feet I had ever seen. He was wearing white Converse high tops. It reminded me of the huge display-window white Converse high top in the shoe store window at home.

We changed out of our sandy suits. Of course, we changed behind a blanket (big-foot prisoner is still on the ladder).

Being the friendly witnesses of God's love that we were both taught to be (note that we caught that part, but not so much the obeying of rules set up for our own protection) we talked to the big-foot prisoner the entire time.

I still remember some of what he said to us as we left the cabin (he never left the ladder, by the way). He said something like this, 'If you only knew what I was in for. Someday you will remember this and realize just how dumb you were. And your blood will run cold.'

The first time I remembered this was the next summer as I stood in front of the shoe store waiting for the bus to take me to Vacation Bible School at my church. I saw that huge white Converse high top in the window, and my blood ran cold. Being one year older made a difference.

The next time I thought of it was the first time I sent my kids off to camp, thankful that it wasn't anywhere near the Jackson State Prison. My blood ran cold. There were many feet clad in white Converse high tops, as I recall.

Several years ago I attended a week-long intensive course at a camp-ground with friends from church. On our drive up we laughed about how it seemed like we were going to camp. I am positive that was the last time we laughed during the entire week.

There were no plaster of paris pins to paint. No red-rover. It was the most bone-chilling blood-running-cold week of my life. In session after session women recounted excruciating stories. These stories were so frightening that I have had to block some of them from my mind so I can sleep at night. Tales of innocence lost at places of assumed safety, and at the hands of those thought to provide protection.

My blood still runs cold from time to time.

But now whenever I see a white Converse high top, I'm grateful that the one from my story stayed on the ladder.