Bruises Will Heal, But Fun Memories Will Last a Lifetime!

My ES returned from Jr. High Camp this afternoon. What a joy to see him and hear all his happy tales. Our corps officer's wife pulled me aside to inform me that he had a girlfriend and they were holding hands before leaving camp. I grinned and told her I was actually glad, because he has quite the crush on a girl here at home, but she seems to be stringing him along. She "went out" with him for two weeks, but then broke up with him. Now, she continues to send him pictures of herself (sometimes with another guy). We've had a few conversations about this, but he doesn't open up about his feelings as much as a daughter might.

The little boys were thrilled to bring ES home. The entire trip was filled with almost constant talk. ES clarified that he had more than one girlfriend. Indeed, he claimed that bunches of girls were crazy about him this week. They were fighting over who would get to hold his hand. They wanted to touch his hair. They told him he was "hot." I am blown away by how forward young girls are these days.

Still, I am happy in his glow. I found myself musing about my years of attending summer camps. I would always go hoping to find a boyfriend for the few days of camp, but seldom came home satisfied. In fact, one summer (I think I was 16 - what a hard age!) the boyfriend issue resulted in a talking strike with my closest brother, Mark.

We were very close back then (sadly, not so much anymore) and consulted each other regularly in that realm. That summer, I had a crush on a guy named Al, who was, ironically, from Indiana. My best friends, Darla and Kathleen, were also from Indiana. We spent the whole ten days hanging out in a big group together, but Al decided to make Darla his girlfriend. I must admit, there is a ride at Six Flags Great America, which I cannot ride without thinking of Al. I had ridden it with him and it was an emotional high back then.

As we were driving home from that encampment, we were discussing the week and all the fun that we had. Mark had been in a cabin with Al and I confessed to my intense crush. My brother casually informed me that they had actually had a conversation about me one night and here is how it went:

Al: I need your advice. I like two girls and I can't decide which one I want to go out with.

Mark: Well, who are the girls?

Al: Darla and your sister, Wendy.

Mark: I, personally think you should go out with Darla. If you go out with my sister, it will only be a fling (his reasoning was that I lived in Chicago, whereas Darla lived in Indiana, thus Al would continue to have more steady contact with her).

So, Al took Mark's advice. If asked today, I would say his advice was sound. But during that drive home, I was seething. I really liked that guy. He was funny. We laughed a ton. He was blond (very helpful, since I always wanted my first child to be a blond haired, blue-eyed boy). I didn't speak to Mark again for at least a week, possibly two. I was crushed (of course, this wasn't any different from any other drive home from camp, because I can only remember two camp "flings" and both of them were wrought with confusion).

Still, history bears out evidence of his wisdom. Al and Darla became a definite item. In fact, a few years later, they got married. Here's the sad bit. They ended up divorcing and I think he's been married twice since then. Thankfully, Darla (who still lives in Indiana, but I never get to see her) remarried and now has a beautiful family of boys. She even named her first-born son the same name I gave mine without knowing it.

So, my blond, blue-eyed first born was a hit with the girls. I bet that made him feel good. I don't know that I want him to follow his dad's footsteps (my husband was always a BIG hit with girls - many girls), but I don't want him to follow mine and feel like nobody was ever interested. They gave each camper a t-shirt and my son's is covered with autographs from various girls. (Ex.: "Lola heart's U"; "I L Y! Lexie"; "I heart U! Taylor"; "heart Jakanda heart"; "Candice J - I heart U!"; "Jamie heart U"; and "Diana hearts U!")

The other thing he couldn't stop talking about was paintball. His team won the championship, beating four other teams. He proudly showed me his bruises. I asked if they hurt and he said, "Yeah, but they were worth it."




I have washed his clothes and stacked them to re-pack the suitcase tomorrow morning. He did typical boy things: he threw all of his dirty clothes in a bundle into the suitcase, including his wet towel (despite the fact that I sent a separate plastic bag with instructions to put all the wet things in it), he lost his flashlight, and he piled all the toiletries into the suitcase pocket without placing them in the ziploc bag I had packed them in (so, the pocket was a mess of AXE shower gel - YAH-RAH!).

He'll probably play more paintball at Music Camp this coming week. He'll probably acquire more bruises. But, he won't forget these days any more than I have forgotten my old camp days. My bruised heart healed. I have a loving husband now and even though he has dark hair, I still managed to have three blond, blue-eyed boys. Plus, I have lots of happy memories. What a thrill to watch my sons make their own happy memories.