I kept your canteen card and started your gimp.

I reminded you not to run and then brought you to the nurse when you forgot.

I comforted you when you missed your mom and pointed out the chipmunks on our nature walks.

I answered your questions about God and brought you to the dean when I couldn’t.

I helped you when you used too much glue in the Wigwam and coached you from the sidelines

during the important Nuke ‘Em games.

I helped you unpack on Sunday afternoon and helped cram everything back into your suitcase on

Saturday morning.

I roasted your S’more marshmallow and tucked you into your squeaky bed every night.

I praised your ideas for Skit Night and watched you carefully on our trip to Ol’ Baldy.

I was there whenever you needed to talk and played Star Wars flashlight tag with you even though

it was past lights out.

I went to Grace Hall to help you hop (even in the mornings) and let you talk me into wiping the

table after we had U.D.C.

I held a finger to my lips each time we passed the Silent Tree and made sure you always had a

songbook on hilltop.

I sat on the end of the dock and talked to you and put aside plans with my friends to continue your

conversation out on our cabin’s porch.

I lead the way during rock hopping or went behind to keep you safe.

I told you about my childhood camp crushes of years ago and listened as you told me about your

current camp crush.

I smiled when you told jokes and hugged you when you didn’t want to go home.

I wrote you letters and cherished the ones you sent me.

And then you went from Elementary 3 to Junior High 2, and you didn’t need me quite the way you

did before…

You bought treats with real money and could do a round braid in your sleep.

You knew all the camp rules and usually followed them.

You weren’t homesick and lead the way on the hiking trails.

I still answered your questions about God, but this time you answered a few of mine, too.

You made your own arts and crafts projects asking my opinion only of color schemes, and you

played volleyball with exceptional skill.

You unpacked your own bags on Sunday afternoon, but I still helped you cram everything back

into your suitcase on Saturday morning.

You fixed your own evening snacks, but still wanted good-night hugs.

You helped involve our interest group and watched yourself when we went to Ol’ Baldy.

I was there when you needed to talk, as you were there for me.

I went to Grace Hall to help you hop, but you had it under control so I just watched and

remembered how you once needed me to wipe the U.D.C. off the table for you.

You held a finger to your lips each time we passed the Silent Tree, and I was so proud when you

made sure all your friends had songbooks on hilltop.

We sat on the end of the dock and talked, and again I put aside plans with my friends to continue

our conversation out on our cabin’s porch.

I still went first during rock hopping, but you knew exactly where you were going.

I told you about my childhood camp crush-turned-reality, you told me about the boy you wanted to

ask you to the dance, and we were there for each other, brokenhearted, when both CRs fell

apart simultaneously.

We shared private jokes from years past and hugged each other when neither of us wanted to go

home.

We wrote letters and cherished the ones we received.

Someday you will need even less of a counselor and more of a friend.

Someday you will protect canteen cards and start gimp and drill rules and bring children to the

nurse and comfort homesick campers and show them the beauty of nature and answer questions

about God and help with craft projects and give Nuke ‘Em tips and unpack/cram kids’ suitcases

and roast marshmallows that aren’t your own and tuck your girls into their squeaky beds and

encourage Skit Night brainstorming and say, "Don’t go past the rocks on Ol’ Baldy!" and play

flashlight games as a teenager and wipe the U.D.C. off the table because a cutie in your day

group thinks it’s "icky!" and remind five people what the ‘silent’ in Silent Tree means and get

them songbooks at any cost and not be in the middle during rock hopping and tell a younger kid

about your childhood camp crushes and smile when they tell jokes and reserve time just to talk

to someone out on your cabin’s porch and give hugs and write letters and cherish the ones you

get.

And then they will go from Elementary to Junior High and they won’t need you quite the way they

did before…

And when that happens and you feel happy, sad, wistful, proud, and confused at the same time (or

for any other reason) come to me, and I will have a hug or I will put aside plans with my friends

to talk to you out on our old cabin’s porch.

And I will still write you letters and cherish the ones you send me.

"Friends forever" is what I promised, and "friends forever" is what you want,

But no matter what, you’ll always be my camper.