GULP.
DOUBLE GULP.
My first thought was: There is no way I'm going to be able to afford that. Junior camp had been a stretch, but my parents, having paid the tuition of each of my nephews for one summer of Junior term at Alpine, had agreed to pay for Gates to go, too. But the charity ended there, and I knew it. I was (am) a single mom, grateful to have very few expenses and very little debt, but bartending my way through, making ends meet. And it is not exactly an inexpensive summer camp. In the nine months that followed, I avoided any conversation that remotely echoed of camp. I was so afraid Gates was going to ask about it, and I wasn't going to know how to tell him that I wasn't sure I could afford it.
But despite my fears, I guess Gates's hopes and prayers were enough. March rolled around, and I had squirreled away some money, coupled with an income tax refund that was headed my way, and agreement from grandparents for a *small* amount of help, and I realized I may be able to swing camp. It would mean that there would be no other summer activities -- none of the day camps or lessons or quick trips that he was accustomed to -- but we both agreed that it was how Gates should spend his summer. Even after the initial registration and commitment, I made several proffers to exchange camp for vacations, swim club memberships, etc. All were met with immediate declination. Gates was going to second-term at Alpine, and he couldn't be more excited.
**At this point, let me say, he didn't know a soul that would be there. The only local boys that we knew who attended Alpine were going for the first term. He would be going to camp for 26 days without knowing another person there. He couldn't care less, and though I knew he would be fine, my apprehension increased as the camp date drew near.**
All I had heard was how Alpine was the greatest place on earth. I had no first- (or even second-) hand knowledge of this, but it was what "they" said. All I could think was how this camp tuition could buy me a car with working air-conditioning, or pay for a beach house for my whole family for a month, or catch me up on some overdue bills, or create a rainy-day fund. But also, in the back of my mind, I kept replaying the issues I had seen with my son over the past year. The difficulties he had with group activities, the frustration he faced when he didn't succeed, the sadness he felt when his quirkiness left him on the outside looking in. And I knew -- I was CERTAIN -- that camp was exactly what he (and all of us) needed.
On July 2, Stephen, Gates and I set out for Fort Payne, AL, where we would spend the night before dropping Gates off the next morning. Getting a good night kiss on Friday was almost as impossible as Gates getting a restful night of sleep. We set out for the Mountain (Lookout Mountain, at the junction of northeast Alabama, northwest Georgia, and southeast Tennessee) early Friday morning, and found a waiting line on a little county road upon our arrival at ten before 8. After much anticipation, the cars started pouring through the camp gates, and we were quickly directed to Eagle's Nest cabin.
Unlike Junior Camp, Gates allowed me to unpack his trunk and help make his bunk. But within a few minutes he was out of sight. The rain had started to come down, and I wasn't sure I was going to find him before it was time to head out. He reappeared briefly to tell us goodbye, and then he was gone.
Let me tell you this right now: If you are considering a long-term summer camp for your son, and you aren't sure it is good for him, or worth the money, let me tell you, Alpine is worth every penny. All five hundred thousand of them. I haven't even picked my kid up from camp yet, I haven't even yet heard his first-hand account, but I know. I know. It is worth every penny.
You see, every day, Glenn and/or Carter, the camp directors, blog about camp. And they take and post hundreds of pictures. The first week, I got an email that my Gates had strep throat, but that he was in the infirmary, on an antibiotic, and had won the hearts of the nurses. And in the first week, he wasn't in a lot of pictures. And I worried. But every day, I read the blog. And every single day -- without fail -- as I read the account of the campers' daily activities, my eyes filled with tears, in awe and appreciation of the goodness, the sheer GOODness, that my son was being filled with. The Godly young men who were giving every second of their summer to build MY son up and show MY son his infinite worth.
The pictures eventually showed up. And judging from what I've seen, he'll come home with a lot of clean shirts and socks; almost every picture I've seen has shown him shirtless in his Chaco's. Being a boy. Doing what boys do. With no expectation.
Every apprehension I ever had, every "I'm not sure I can afford this" and "I'm not sure I should be doing this" that ever crossed my mind is gone. I am certain that I will work doubly hard and do whatever I have to do for the next six years to ensure that Gates returns to Alpine annually for this extra-special dose of God's goodness.
