Today I drove to Greeley, PA for my old summer camp’s “Visiting Day,” the annual day for parents to see their kids and former campers to see each other and talk about what inconsequential things they’re doing with their lives. My attendance was orchestrated by my friend Jon, who was one of the first friends I made there back in 1992. He goes back every summer to visit a few times, and since no one else in our group of friends was going, I agreed to join him. The book on Jon is that he’s random. Random in the sense that, one summer when we were fifteen years old, we were went to a Cleveland Indians game, and as we watched the home team take batting practice from the picnic tables in center field–with rows of empty, sun-dappled seats spread out in front of us, a cloudless blue expanse hanging over head, with cheeseburgers in-hand–Jon chose that exact moment to turn to me between bites and ask, “Do you think you’ll want to have kids someday?” That’s Jon.
Everything was sheets of rain. Luckily, within ten minutes of our arrival the sun came out and the rest of the day was nice. We bumped into one or two other people our age, some old counselors of ours, and younger kids that looked up to us (I mean stature-wise, not admiration-wise). Most of the kids I remember as being single-digits in age are now in college. There wasn’t really anything remarkable that happened. As per usual, Jon and I received looks of scorn from certain members of the “new old guard,” staff members that heard rumors of our transgressions and expected disorderly behavior. It’s hard to beat a bad reputation, but I tried my hardest to come off like an upstanding citizen when asked what I’m doing with my life. I suppose more people than not were happy to see me–not that I care what people think (cough cough)–plans were made with some acquaintances for drinking in the city in the comings weeks.
I just got home, I don’t feel like going out because I have to be in the city early tomorrow.
