My son came home from summer camp all moony from his first romance. I think he is shocked and impressed at his own nerve of having asked her to the camp dance and actually dancing with her. I am so relieved that she said yes so that his first experience was positive and his courage was rewarded. Of course, why wouldn’t she say yes to such a charming young man? He is absolutely adorable. I am honored that he has shared so much of his sweet joy with me. He is only eleven. Maybe I should be worried, but there will be enough time for that in the years to come.

It got me thinking about my big summer camp romance. I suppose the statute of limitations has run out on this story. I don’t think my mom can ground me for this one now.

When I was 14 and at summer camp I loved a boy named Stan. Tall dark and handsome, he was at least six feet tall even at age 15. We could never find a private moment for a kiss on the camp grounds, although we did try. So he suggested that we sneak out of the cabins at night. It seemed like a reasonable solution at the time, so I agreed.

As the appointed hour approached, it seemed less and less like a reasonable idea. I had already told him where exactly my bunk was in which girls’ cabin. Lying there in the dark, waiting for the heavy breathing of my counselor, I chickened out. I decided I just wouldn’t go. I was sure it was a terrible idea. I would get in trouble with so many different people. I could get kicked out of camp. We’d never get away with it.

Inevitably the knock came at my window. (That reminds me of another story I’ll have to tell you soon.) I couldn’t fake sleep because the person on my bottom bunk was my counselor, Trudy. If I didn’t go outside and talk to him, either his knocking or the pounding of my heart was going to wake the whole cabin. I remember how slowly I had to lift the hook from the lock on the door in the hallway joining cabins C & D. I remember worrying about someone waking up and noticing the hook undone and resecuring it. Then we’d be caught for sure.

I intended to send him away, but he kissed me before I could speak. Then he took my hand and started running through the shadows down to the pond. I don’t remember if I said anything. If I did, it sure wasn’t enough to stop the ball that I had tipped from rolling. We were still quite innocent. We only lay in the grass and kissed and looked at the stars. I don’t remember how long we were there. I don’t remember sneaking back into the cabins. We never got caught – exactly.

Stan got poison ivy. I guess that wasn’t grass we were lying in. I have never reacted to poison ivy. I don’t know if it was the torment of the itching or just morning-after remorse, but Stan went all preachy on my the next day and said we ought to pray for forgiveness. He made me feel like it was my fault, like I was the seductress. That kind of sucked to delight out of our secret. We never snuck out again. I was kind of glad he got the poison ivy.

We kept in touch for a while after that summer, but ultimately, as most camp romances do, our relationship did not survive the school year. Now that I’ve confessed, I probably can never go back there again. That’s OK. The Recreation Director that we were terrified of is now the Director. He’s still scary.