14. 16 Years Ago
Chapter fourteen
Some people learn what love is by experiencing what love is not.
Counselors-in-Training, commonly referred to as CITs, were a very special group in camp because they didn’t quite fit in anywhere.
Their schedule was different than campers, who went to four classes a day, but was also different than counselors, who taught three periods a day and then had a period off.
CITs went to a special class all morning where they learned the ins and outs of becoming a counselor, and they then spent the afternoons helping out in the classes of their choosing.
The CIT group was co-ed, so the boys got to see the girls every day for three hours, offering them a small taste of what real counselor-hood would be like when they got to see each other every night, after the kids went to bed.
Also, the CIT group was small. Kids had to apply for the program and be accepted, because it offered reduced camp tuition.
I wasn’t looking for a future career in youth development, but the reduced tuition alone made it a palatable choice from a number of standpoints.
Plus, I couldn’t imagine a life without camp, so if the next step was to become a counselor, then so be it.
Luckily, I had a (nearly) spotless behavior record at camp, and I was polite and respectful, so when it was time, I became a CIT.
Not surprisingly, so did Matt. He would have been content staying a camper, since he much preferred driving the mowing tractor around the farm over sitting in the Lodge all morning learning about safety standards.
But if I signed up, I knew he would too.
The farm would still be there in the afternoon, I reminded him.
CITs had a few grunt work jobs, ranging from unloading kitchen deliveries to overseeing the campers on dish duty.
This was how we found ourselves sorting mail on a Wednesday morning that July.
The cabin mailboxes and master camper list were in the main office, behind Joanie, the camp secretary.
Joanie was a blonde woman with the sweat glands of a sumo wrestler.
With a dusty old box fan raging roughly six inches from her face, she continuously eyeballed us, two bodies too many for such a small area.
“Say,” Joanie offered. “If you guys will cover for me, I’ll run into town and get Slurpees for the three of us from 7-Eleven.”
“How long will you be gone?” I asked, looking up from the stack of letters in my hand.
“Not long. Thirty minutes, tops.”
“Sure,” Matt said. “As long as you’re back by lunch, that’s fine by me. It’s tacos today.”
Joanie gratefully grabbed her fanny pack and hustled out of the office, the wood floor buckling and creaking with each step she took. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”
The door slammed behind her. I adjusted the fan so it blasted the recirculated hot air in our direction.
“There’s no way those Slurpees make it back here still frozen,” Matt said.
“Nope. Not a chance.” I placed a letter in Cabin Four’s box.
“I’m glad she’s gone, though,” he continued. “I found something, but I was going to wait to give it to you.”
I looked up at him. “What’d you find?”
He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. It had been folded in half. “You got mail,” he said.
“From my mom?” I asked. “That’s a federal offense, you know, tampering with someone else’s mail.” I laughed.
He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “Not your mom. Your dad.” He handed me the letter.
“My dad?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, and I didn’t want you to get upset with Joanie here.”
“Oh,” I replied. He was right. I didn’t know how to feel, exactly. “Thanks,” I replied, inspecting the handwriting on the envelope.
“Do you want me to give you a minute alone to read it? I can go wait outside at the picnic table if you want.”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s okay.”
“Are you going to open it?”
“I guess,” I said absent-mindedly. “This is the first time he’s ever written me a letter at camp.”
“Really? Ever? No way.”
I nodded.
“Wow,” Matt mused. “I mean, I guess that’s not so weird though, right? Most dads aren’t really writers.” He was grasping at straws, trying to make me feel better.
I let his words linger in the air as I carefully placed my thumb underneath the seal and scraped across the top of the business-sized letter. I took out the yellow, lined paper within and unfolded it.
Matt waited quietly as I took in the written words.
“Can I read it to you?” I finally asked.
“If you want to, sure.”
I cleared my throat. “Dear Taylor,” I began. “How are you? I bet you’re probably a little surprised to be hearing from me. Mom’s better with the camp notes.
“Actually, this letter to you is an assignment from my therapist. I’m supposed to reach out to someone I’ve hurt and apologize. It’s supposed to help with closure and forgiveness. So, I thought I’d use the opportunity to write a letter to you.
“I want you to know that I’m sorry for not being the best dad.
I know there have been times that I’ve let you and Mom down.
It’s never on purpose, but I know you haven’t always had an easy go of things, and a lot of that is my fault.
I want to blame it on my upbringing, on my own father, but in therapy we talk about taking responsibility for our actions, which is kind of the point of this exercise.
“Also, I want you to know that I’m trying to get better.
I’ve been seeing my doctor twice a week for over a month, which might not sound like a big deal, but believe me, it is.
Aunt Lucy organized it for me. I’m trying to talk out the problems between me and your mom.
Most importantly, I feel like I’m making progress. It’s been a good summer so far!
“How is the summer going for you? Are you still dancing even though you’re a counselor in training? I hope you have time for that. I know how much you like it.
“I’m not sure if they give you postage or how it works, so I’m enclosing an envelope for you with a stamp on it. If you’d like to write back, I’d be happy to hear from you! Love, Dad.”
Tears flooded my eyes, the outward manifestation of an upsurge of repressed emotions.
“Well,” Matt began. “That sounded nice.”
I nodded.
“Therapy sounds like it’s helping him,” Matt said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“I guess he has plenty of time for it since he’s not working,” I replied, noting the anger in my tone.
“Do you think you’ll write back to him?”
“I guess so. I mean, I should, right?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Matt wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tightly. The pressure of his embrace made me feel safe. Quiet sobs formed in my chest.
After a minute, he pulled back to look at me. “You okay?”
I took a stuffy breath, wiping at my reddened cheeks. “I’m fifteen years old, and that’s the first time my dad’s ever written me anything.”
“Better late than never?”
I summoned a half-smile. Leave it to Matt to try and find a silver lining.
But he, like me, kept a mostly positive outlook, an outlook rooted in hope.
I chastised myself for feeling it now. Given his track record, it was unlikely that my dad was suddenly going to change.
Still, I couldn’t help it. A letter! Maybe he was trying.
Because CITs keep a busy schedule, it took a few days for me to find the time—and the head space—to write back to my dad.
I finally did it during rest hour on a rainy day later that week.
My unit had gotten in trouble for a raid they’d done the night before on the boys’ Lodge.
Our counselors came up with the brilliant idea to rearrange all the tables and chairs so that the middle of the Lodge was cleared out, and then they took a baby pool and filled it with water.
Then they filled the pool with five ducks.
Actual ducks! The next morning, all of boys’ side was surprised to find their Lodge occupied by a makeshift duck pond, and the old CD with the bugles had been replaced with a pre-school nursery rhyme CD that played “Five Little Ducks” instead of reveille.
Even though the counselors were responsible, the unit got in trouble because the campers knew and didn’t say anything.
Our punishment was a silent rest hour. I didn’t think it was fair, but I also didn’t see the point in the raid, and since it was raining anyway, I didn’t mind having a little peace and quiet.
It gave me the opportunity to work on my response to my dad.
Lying in bed, I leaned on my CIT binder and took out some of the flowery stationery my mom gave me at the start of summer.
Dear Dad, I penned in my neatest handwriting. Thank you for your letter. It was a nice surprise.
I reread the words and checked the tone. I didn’t want to sound anything other than grateful, and I was nervous that hints of sarcasm or pain might slip into the spaces between the words.
I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. It sounds like your therapist is helping a lot.
Things at camp are going well. Yes, I still get to dance every day, third period. I help out the dance teacher, Olivia, with a group of younger girls. Olivia’s great. She even lets me choreograph. So that’s been fun.
Matt and I are enjoying being CITs. We’re learning about all the things you need to know in order to work at camp. Hopefully, next year we’ll get hired as Junior Counselors. He can work with kids on the farm, and I can teach dance or arts and crafts.
I stopped, wondering if the letter sounded selfish. Should I ask more about him?
So, how is the job search going?
Pausing again, I wondered if my dad was even looking for a job. I scratched out the sentence and tried again.
So, how is the weather by you? We’ve had a little rain but mostly sun.
I shook my head. Camp was only a two-hour drive from home. The weather wouldn’t have been all that different in Queens than in eastern Long Island. I sighed, rereading the entire letter. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. There just wasn’t much else to say.
Thank you for the envelope and stamp.
That was it. I couldn’t come up with anything else, so I ended the letter the way I ended all of my notes to my mom.
I love you. Write back soon!
Love, Taylor
I considered sending him something—like a gift—but I couldn’t figure out what I could put in the envelope that wouldn’t seem babyish. I considered making him a friendship bracelet, but I knew he’d never wear anything like that. Instead, I licked the seal and pressed it shut.
After mailing the letter, I waited. I knew it would take days for my dad to receive the mail, and if he wrote back right away, it would still take a few more days until I received his response.
On mail duty, I tried not to get my hopes up, but each day brought with it the new possibility that my dad might have written me again, so I filtered through letters with quick eyes, looking for the scrawl of my father’s penmanship.
On the one-week mark, I found a letter addressed to me in the white, plastic mail bin.
This time, the writing was the gentle, rounded cursive of my mother.
I opened it without concern for Joanie sitting nearby, fanning herself with a camp brochure.
Hi sweetie, Mom wrote. How are you? Things here are pretty good.
I have a bit of exciting news—I got a job!
I am officially Pathmark’s newest grocery bagger.
It’s not a glamourous job, but every little bit helps, right?
I was finally able to convince your dad that I could help out with the finances without it getting in the way of keeping the house and raising you.
I mean, look at you! You’re already 15—a young lady!
You certainly don’t need your mommy at home anymore.
You know your dad, though – he’s so old-fashioned, he has to have his dinner on the table at 6 o'clock sharp and his shirts ironed and all that jazz. I promised him I could do both. And I will, you’ll see!
Speaking of Dad, he’s doing okay. Aunt Lucy told him that if he didn’t start going to therapy she would pull the plug on our monthly checks, so he’s been seeing someone.
At least it gets him out of the house. He had an interview for a job at the bank but they chose someone else.
He told me he was overqualified for it anyway.
Anyway, I think me having a job will be great for our family.
I’m leading by example! Also, it’s good for me to have a little space and something that I can call my own.
I’m enclosing $20 for you to use at the canteen with Matt. Maybe treat yourselves to some ice cream or frozen Snickers bars on one of these super hot days. Tell him I said hi and give him a big hug from me.
Oh! In other news, I’m trying to give up smoking.
Your science fair project really had an impact on me!
It’s no wonder you were the runner-up. It was very informative.
Now that I know how very bad those Newport Lights are for my body, I’ve cut down to half a pack a day.
I’m hoping that by the time you get home from camp I’ll be done with that bad habit!
I love you more than anything and hope you keep having fun in the sun!
Forever yours,
Mom
I heard from my mom four more times that summer.
Her letters shared stories of all the neighborhood gossip, spread eagerly by the ladies she ran into at Pathmark.
She sounded happy, and I was glad. Even though bagging groceries was about as entry-level as entry-level could get, I was proud of my mom for sticking it out and keeping her head up about it.
Every day, Matt and I chose mail duty as our assignment, spending hour after hour sifting and sorting through incoming envelopes. I waited and wondered, but by the last week of camp, it became obvious that I’d been searching for a response from my dad that would never arrive.