I am not among my tribe- encore presentation

Just sharing what I thought was an apt post from last summer, as, sigh, it still applies. Maybe I'll get a photo up that shows what I mean soon. Again, sigh. Enjoy!

It happens every summer. First is the excitement that summer is finally here. It's a part of my DNA- the internal alarm clock that says, "it's here! It's here! Summer is finally here!" For many many years, the clanging of that alarm meant one thing for me: Summer camp. A pilgrimage to the holy mountain, where like many a traveler on his way to Jerusalem, I sang the songs of ascent and inwardly squealed (and sometimes outwardly) with excitement over finally climbing the mount and entering my temple of summer. For a few years, it meant the precious few weeks of being a camper- and then for a few more years, the work, joy, exhaustion, exhilaration and fun of being on staff. And then, several years later the amazement of watching a year's worth of planning and paperwork turn itself into a cool camp experience while I served as director.
More than anything though, the one feeling I loved at camp was the feeling that this is where I belonged. I had no yearning for home or my own bed (maybe more sleep, but my bunk was just fine). I had rough times and hard times and yucky times, but even in those times, I felt like I was doing what I was made to do. It was a perfect fit if there could be such a thing. I deeply felt and understood the difference between a job and a calling.

But, now, as summertime crests and breaks into routines of pool time and family cookouts, I feel like the Jews of Psalm 137, who having been exiled to a foreign land, are asked to sing songs from home to entertain their captors. My loose paraphrase goes (with apologies to Don McLean) "By the waters of Babylon Community Pool, we laid out and wept for thee summer camp." I look around and feel like an alien in a strange land, having been banished and sent out to live among a new tribe. I have been exiled to the land of the Suburbanite tribe, with their strange costumes of capris, leather sandals, and highlighted hair, with rituals of swim meets and play-dates. There I sit in my native dress of jean shorts and t-shirts and closed-toe shoes and I feel disconnected. My fallback position isn't shopping at the mall, it's starting a fire in my back yard and roasting marshmallows while my kids catch fireflies. I find myself inviting over friends and making them participate in 'evening programs,' and I start to teach my son how to play guitar even as he starts to pack for his own precious week away at camp.

Somewhere in my innermost self is an awareness of the fact that camp time is slipping away. Even as I look at the weather radar and immediately check camp locations for impending thunderstorms, I know the summer is racing by, and while I am making the most of it, I am still missing camp. My good friend and camp director Leslie recently said of camp, "once it gets in your blood, its always with you." So true. I can't slice a watermelon without thinking of the kid who gets the corner/end piece. I can't pass up a good deal on water balloons at the dollar store. I watch all the summer movies with a thought to how it could be spoofed in a 10 minute skit. I make up my son's loft bed making sure I get all the sheets tucked in underneath so they don't hang down for points off....

So, as I lay out by the waters of Babylon-burbia and sing camp songs in my head, I will remember thee- my Zion of Summer Camp
-and I might just make a lanyard for my key chain.