The future comes at you fast....

Who is that little girl in the ribbons? That is me at about three years old.

I am turning 40 this year. A friend asked me at my last birthday, "Are you 40 yet?" I told her, "Get behind me, Satan!"

Anyway, all kinds of things these days are reminding me that the past and the future change hands very quickly.

Not too many years after this photo was taken, I was six years old and I went to my first summer camp overnight for three days. I remember that experience like it was yesterday. Why? Because I still suffer from post traumatic stress from it.

What happened? One of the first days, I fell off of the top bunk of a bunk bed head first. I remember watching the bunk move away from me as I fell. Next I remember being comforted by someone. This was in the 70's folks, when there was no such thing as liability and litigation and settlements. I should have been taken to the ER immediately if only because I lost consciousness. Nope. I got to lay in bed, where I promptly threw up in my sleeping bag that would be where I slept for the next three nights. Medical folks out there, if someone throws up after a head injury, that is a serious thing. Still didn't go to the ER. I got some Pepto Bismol. From the symptoms I had, I can guarantee you I had a pretty nasty concussion and should have been in the hospital.

I also remember wanting my parents so badly because I hurt so much and feeling incredibly alone and vulnerable after that fall. I just wanted my parents.

But what sleep did I get in those three days? None at night. Why? Because there was a cemetary right down the dirt road from this camp (which was not a Christian camp by the way) and there was the ghost story. There was only one. It was about a ghost names Chaz McGee. He was green and headless. He scared campers a lot by whooshing through the camp at night. Some times older campers who thought they were smart would sneak out to the cemetary at night and see him hovering about his tombstone. What is even worse--one of our nature hikes went past the cemetary and we looked at the actual tombstone. It was all beat up and you could barely read the words on it.

Stop here. I was six! I was terrified to even leave the room to brush my teeth! Then when lights out came, I just laid in my stinky sleeping bag and froze wondering if every little thing I saw was Chaz McGee. Between the head injury and the very obvious ghost running around, it was the worst three days of my life! I just wanted to go home so badly.

Honestly, I don't remember one activity we did on that camping trip, except for the walk through the cemetary. I don't remember crafts, songs, dining halls, walks, friends, etc. Nothing.

I remember when my parents came to get me feeling a huge sense of relief. I never wanted to go back. I think back now to when we drove away, and remembering these suddenly mature feelings of relief and freedom from that place.

Why am I hashing this out now? Because JM is going to be seven next month--he has been invited to go to a three day came this summer through our church. It will be his first camp experience. It is really weird thinking about his first camping experience and wondering what it will be like--suddenly, I keep thinking back to my first camping experience. He will go despite the fact that I am somewhat weirded out by this. But suddenly my past just became the future.

Things that are different now than they were in *gulp* 1974.
1) I will sign a medical waiver form. Those were not required back then, and we can now see why they are now.
2) This is a Christian camp. If I hear one ioda of a ghost story going around, the plug on this whole adventure gets pulled.
3) I grew up. And my head injury seems to have healed--no giggling from the hecklers out there.

Just for the sake of closure for the reader. My parents didn't know until years later how bad my fall was. Since I was only six, I didn't realize until years later how bad that fall was. They were called and told I fell, nothing else. They didn't think they needed to come, but realized they were told a very watered down version of the truth. They were not too happy to hear my side of that story years later. It would appear I seem to have recovered well, but the jury is still out on that.

Also, remember my parents are not Christians. Especially my dad has a very utilitarian view on ghost stories. They are effective in keeping kids in their beds at night and not wandering around camp. I understand that, but I don't agree with it at all. I didn't sleep for three days at camp. I was only six. I certainly don't think that terrifying fear is a good way of controlling kids.

Lord, thank you that we are not destined to relive the past. Most things are better left in the past. Thank you for giving us memories of them, if only so that we aren't destined to repeat the past.

I'll let you know what happens this summer for JM's first camp experience.