Look Before You Sit... A Cautionary Tale

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon at a camp gathering. A group of past, future, and current campers and counselors gathered to watch the summer 2008 video and talk about why and how camp has meant so much to us. We even sang a few songs. And when I left, I felt infinitely lighter and happier than I had when I arrived. The magic of camp.

A while back one of my good camp friends requested that I tell the tale of how I sat on a dead baby bird. Since you all know the punchline already, I'm going to paint a fuller picture for you...

It was a typical day at camp during my my Senior CT summer. "Senior CT' means it was my second summer as a counselor in training - the first was spent learning first aid, CPR and lifeguarding while the second was spent teaching archery and swimming and standing in for counselors when they had days off. Oh. And living in a tent with seven of my best friends. Not a camping tent - a platform tent (see left - to this day, we still have people ask us how we fit 8 of us and our trunks full of stuff into one tent).

So that you can picture the bird scene as accurately as possible, it is important that you know that at my camp we had a camp uniform which consisted of a light blue or white t-shirt and navy blue shorts (unless it was Sunday - on Sundays at camp, campers and counselors wear their "Sunday whites" - white shirts and white shorts). (unrelated: I believe that our Sr CT summer was when we all began wearing Loony Toons underwear under our whites because we thought it was cool that people could see the cartoon characters through the white shorts) (I suppose it might also be important to note that it is an all-girls camp).

I spent the morning jumping in and out of the lake teaching swim lessons, changed into dry clothes, and then headed to the dining hall for lunch. At camp, breakfast and dinner are eaten inside the dining hall, but lunch is eaten outside. Campers and counselors go through a buffet line to get food, then head outside to find a place to sit.

I headed outside with some friends. We were lucky to be toward the front of the line, so we got out early enough to grab a spot in the shade. We sat down under the birch trees to eat.

Very soon after sitting, I became aware that there was something under my left upper-thigh. I shifted my weight and put my hand down to brush it away and felt something mushy. "Mushy" not being the feeling I was expecting, I looked down to discover that I had accidentally (let's repeat that again for those of you who might have missed it: ACCIDENTALLY) sat on a dead baby bird.

I screamed, jumped up, and brushed off my shorts. My friends hadn't seen what I had seen*, and asked why I was screaming and jumping and laughing. I pointed to the bird on the ground and kept brushing at my shorts and soon I had all my friends screaming and laughing too.

You all might ask how I know the bird was dead before I sat on it... I don't. But I don't like to imagine myself as a killer of baby animals - so to make myself feel better, I have told myself for the past 13 years that the bird fell from the tree and was dead as soon as it hit the ground.

Lesson learned: always look before you sit.



*Any of you who were there, feel free to enter your own version in the comments.

A Summer Story

When I was eleven, I went to summer camp for the second summer. There was a girl there named Amy who was a few years older and had a kind of junior counselor role at camp. She had a beautiful smile and the kind of personality that lit up a room. She was incredibly talented musically and would often sing or play piano with a small group of younger girls all gathered around, singing with her.

On one such day we all gathered around her at the piano to sing. We happily belted out song after song until it was time to leave. As we all headed to lunch, Amy pulled  me aside. I was nervous about being singled out and was concerned I had done something wrong.  

"I just wanted to tell you that you have a beautiful voice," she said to me, "so keep singing." I remember just staring up at her, my idol, the young woman I wanted so much to be like someday, and being completely at a loss for words. I had always liked to sing - it had always been a part of my life - but this person was telling me that I was good at it and was encouraging me to make sure to nurture that talent. 

A feeling washed over me - a feeling I had never felt before. I was so honored and proud to hear those words of encouragement from her, and yet also somewhat overwhelmed. At a time when I was starting to feel the awkward insecurities of my pre-teen years, those words meant so much to me, and I found myself getting choked up from the emotion of it all.

I walked back towards my friends with tears streaming down my cheeks. They saw my tears and asked with concern why I was crying, and I shrugged because I didn't know. They asked if I was sad, and I found myself laughing through my tears and telling them that I was pretty sure I was crying because I was happy. 

I never saw Amy again after that summer. And I never became a professional singer. But I did carry with me the memory of how significant it was to be reminded of talents and strengths that I didn't even know existed.

This morning I received an email appreciating me for my honesty and caring and willingness to speak and act openly when many others do not. These are traits that are so a part of me that, like singing, I forget sometimes that they are strengths. The email spoke of the beauty that comes from making oneself vulnerable and the rewards that can come from being open to possibility, and as I read it I found myself full of that same mysterious feeling I felt 19 summers ago, with tears in my eyes and joy in my heart. Full of gratitude for all that is good in this world, and for the people who help me remember to appreciate it all, I share this with you now: