Camp Sage and Sand

Chapter 1

I was tuning between various radio stations, looking for my classical favorite, when I realized that I had somehow strayed off FM and was being assaulted by a heavy dose of AM commercials. The announcer was just saying, “Yes, you can turn in your old car in any condition and take a tax deduction on the vehicle. Your used automobile donation will aid the ongoing work of Camps with Kids summertime programs throughout America.”

I thought how I certainly could use a hefty tax deduction on my rusty 1994 Volvo. Besides, I would hardly miss it since I rarely drove around where I lived and worked in Manhattan. I wrote down the 800 number and was about ready to get back to the FM dial when the announcer made one last appeal.

“Not only do we need your old car, but we need you! Camps with Kids has many openings for volunteer workers willing to share their own personal time and talents with eager boys and girls of all ages. This is your opportunity to change even one life for a lifetime! We are looking for craft instructors, riding instruc¬tors, gym teachers, personal counselors, and people who just want to be a big brother or sister. The need is so very, very great. Please call us today.”

The commercial struck a chord deep within me. Here I was, a single thirty-four-year-old whose life was more than a third of the way over. I was making an OK living as a public relations freelancer, but it seemed a waste not to share some of the tricks of my craft as a writing instructor like the announcer said. If I could change just one little person’s life, I would love to do it.

My resolve mushroomed faster than I could contain it. I ran to get a clean pad of paper in front of me and then called the 800 number before I changed my mind. While the phone rang, my heart started to race. I tried to think what I would say. Before I was even mentally ready, a friendly person was saying, “ENDCO. How can I help you?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m looking at the possibility of helping at Camps with Kids this summer. Your radio commercial sort of got to me, and I thought maybe I could be of assistance to some of your young people.” I started to say how the announcer had made me think of how my life was a third over, but a new connection was already ringing in my ear.

A very sweet female voice—perfect for soothing any doubt I’d had in making the call—identified herself as Miss Abrams. When I gave my name, Melvin Van Alan, and a quick resume of myself, she sounded very pleased. Her main thrust was to encourage me to come in for an interview as soon as possible. “The summer is al¬ready upon us, and we are eager to fill several important positions,” she said. So, we made an appointment for the very next day.

The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. I owed it to myself to take some time off. I hadn’t bothered to slow the treadmill I’d been on for I don’t know how long—three, maybe four years. The last time I could remember was when a cousin was getting married in Stony Brook, out on Long Island. It was quite a trip, so it made sense to stay over. And when I got there, it was so beautiful that I just hung out for three days. I even got to go sailing.

The idea of camping in the woods seemed equally exhilarating. The smell of pine after a brief rain, smoke wafting over from the cookhouse. Maybe even songs by the fire after dark. I definitely felt the need for a break in my relentless schedule, and this assignment could undoubtedly renew me in body and mind.