I was very thrilled to go to camp the year I turned 11 — the first time I would venture so far from home. Leading up to the date, I convinced my mother I was ready to go for two whole weeks.
Finally, the day came. We reached the camp after a six-hour drive. After registering and meeting my counselor, I waved my mom away with confidence, eager to take the swim test and start having fun. Camp was more than I had imagined: crafts and games; singing and swimming; making bracelets(手镯) for new friends; listening to our counselor read to us before falling asleep to the sound of rain on a metal roof.
When the weekend arrived, there was a luncheon (午宴) for visiting parents and families. I met some of my camp mates' relatives, then suck away with a sandwich. I went down to the dock to watch the water bugs skate across the surface of the lake. My counselor came and companionably beside me. She quietly asked me if I was okay. I told her it was too far for my family to visit.
I remember not looking at her or saying anything for what seemed like a long time. It felt like talking might change the magic of the place. But I also wanted her to know me just a little better, so I told her that my dad had died only a few weeks before whispering "cancer", just like I had heard the adults say it.
She put her arm around my shoulder, and we sat for a while longer. It felt like she understood.
Summer camp gave me the opportunity to be an ordinary kid for a brief time that year — just a girl learning, laughing and having fun like everyone else.
