That one camper...

Dawn, Chopper, Yvette and Ali

It’s hard to believe that it’s been over a decade since my first year as a boy’s camp counselor at Resident Oncology Camp.  That first year in 2001 was an interesting one for me.  I had no idea what to expect when the kids stepped off the bus, I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to deal with any “cancer drama”, I was COMPLETELY exhausted by Wednesday night, and then I was left standing in a fog when the buses left as fast as they had arrived that Saturday morning.

Although that first year at camp was a great experience and I had a lot of fun, I felt my “connection” to camp was rooted in the fact that I was there to help deliver camp’s primary goal:

“…camps were founded to allow children with cancer the chance to be kids—an experience often taken away or put on hold by their disease—and give them a fun summer camping adventure while under medical supervision.”

It felt good to be part of camp and I knew that I had done my best to make sure the boys had a fun and safe time.  But it wasn’t until the last campfire of my second year, that one camper changed me and my camp connection forever.

My second year, I once again had the youngest boy’s cabin of 8 and 9 year olds.  They were the typical wild rambunctious bunch who couldn’t wait for paintball, BBs, and climbing the wall.  But in the bunch, there was one little 8 year old, Jacob, that was very recently off of his treatments and didn’t always have the energy to keep up with the other boys.

I would say that Jacob had a “typical” first year camp experience, starting out a bit timid and a bit nervous, but by the end of the week he had come out of his shell and had a great time.  He had a little apprehension about going without his hat in the pool, he was crazy about paintball, and really tore it up at the dance.  He was just like his cabin-mates with the difference being he got tired very easily, and by late afternoon was ready for a nap, or least a piggy-back ride from his counselor.

The experience that might not have been typical for all kids happened at the campfire on Saturday night.  About halfway through the closing campfire, Jacob climbed up onto my lap because he was both cold and tired.  I basically had him wrapped up inside my flannel shirt and we watched the skits, sang the camp songs, and listened to the other cabins present their wishes.

All of the sudden Jacob sat up, looked around the campfire and asked me, “How many kids are here?” I told him there were about 90 campers.

He then asked, “Do all the campers have cancer?” and I told him yes all the campers were cancer survivors.

Then Jacob asked, “What about the counselors? Did they have cancer too?” and I told him that about half the counselors were cancer survivors.  He then wanted to know how many counselors there were and if I had ever had cancer.  I told him no, I never had cancer, and that there were about 50 counselors total.

After a moment of thought Jacob said, “So that means there are 135 people here that had cancer too.”  I said yes, and he then leaned back and we enjoyed the rest of the closing campfire without another question.

That night I witnessed firsthand an eight year old camper realize that he was not alone, that he was in a safe place, and that there is a whole camp full of people that care about each other in a way that exists nowhere else in this world.  Okay, maybe he didn’t realize ALL of these things that night, but I did, and I now understand my “connection” to camp, and camp’s connection to me.  All because of that one camper…

- Brian “Chopper” Bonert

Camp Makes a Difference