My Safe Places

I asked mom a few months ago how she managed to let me go away to summer camp with my peanut allergy:

“It was close to home, close to the hospital, and was only 30 kids a week. Some of the camps had hundreds of kids a week. We thought the small staff would know you and it would be safer that way. They would be more aware,” she answered. “When I came to pick you up and I saw the state of the swimming area,” her eyes widen, “I thought, who needs to worry about food when you are all going to die right here! All those jagged rocks, and snakes, and this young guy sitting there who wouldn’t have been able to help.”

I nod as I remember. And I smile. Gosh, that camp was fun! Some of my best summers, best friendships – life changing! (And mom does have an outrageous fear of snakes…)

But she was right – they made the right decision in that camp. It was perfect for me. We were less than 15 minutes from the hospital and I didn’t start attending until I was thirteen (and my younger sister went with me the first year – much to her dislike) so I was well aware of my allergy and how to handle it. It was the end of grade eight and I was away from home! I was still a shy kid so having only 29 or so other kids to meet was pretty easy, and it wasn’t too long until I was comfortable enough to get myself into trouble. That first week of summer camp was the beginning of a wonderful thirteen-year stretch; from camper, to counselor, to program coordinator; I didn’t stop going until after I was married. It was my favourite safe place.