This was the first week at camp, one like you could never have known. You couldn’t have, you were far too young to know what I don’t know now. You were a kid on Long Island’s South Shore. You might have gone to Montauk or Cape Cod, but this week for you was probably the beaches of Pt Lookout with Aunt Carolyn (dead over a decade now) eating Entenmann’s Cookies and experiencing life with the anxiety at the margins. Beach, sun, evening visits from the ice cream truck, Italian Ices, pizza—these were all at center of the universe. You might remember some textures like the sand in your toes or the flourescent burn from the first few days out.
No, the pictures I can share with you 33 years later are in the woods—not an ocean for hours—with three whose life runs through you now and probably ran through you then, somewhere, in some unreleased packet. They are you now.
I think we are all getting excited about the beginning of Summer and the prospect of exploring some possibilities at camp (Miles in Minecraft?). I am trying to make sure these three have some sense of who you are, what your world is like, and how those you knew that they never could in the same way are narrated. I want to use the time at camp with them to help them understand the stories we shared, the people we knew, and the places we saw.
I guess I am writing to you because I feel like a see you all the time now, it’s fun seeing you again, even if remotely through my blog. I have no pictures of you at that time, I really don’t know exactly what you look like, but I know the people you know. I have found a lot of their traces in old photo albums. They need to be part of this story we make for you over the coming weeks.