What We Learned

When I was a kid, I was not a troublemaker. I was shy, bookish, and stuck to all the rules. My parents got compliments for how well-behaved I was, and (though I don’t want to diminish their parenting skills), I wonder if I was just less-noticeable.

Then, one summer, I got noticed.

It was June, and I had just finished seventh grade. Me, and one of my schoolmates, Max (not his real name), went to a week-long retreat at a summer camp. It was a small Bible camp situated on a lake in northern Wisconsin. The camp was enshrouded by forest, and the roads were all dirt and gravel. There was a small beach, and the water was always a little too cold, despite the hot summer air. My favorite building was the animal shelter with snakes, guinea pigs, a hedgehog, and even a skunk. Our mornings were scheduled, but the afternoons were free time for us to mingle and play. After each time slot ended, a bell was rung that could be heard across the entire property, announcing that it was time for the next activity.

After a few days at the camp, Max and I were attuned to the rhythm of the days. Breakfast, morning chapel, class activities, reflection time, lunch, free time, evening chapel, dinner, night games, and finally, bed time. We didn’t stick together, but if we ended up in the same classes or activities, we always teamed up. That included skipping activities.

The morning classes were hit-or-miss. Sometimes the most fun you could have was making bead necklaces, and thirteen-year-old boys are only going to make so many necklaces. We only skipped two or three events, usually to keep playing cards with our cabinmates. It was a fun time, and none of the counselors cared that we weren’t at one of the required classes.

That Thursday, the second-to-last day of the camp, Max and I spent our afternoon wandering through the woods at the outskirts of the camp. We talked about school, our faith, the sudden need to have a social life outside of class, our latest crushes, etc. Teenage boys have a reputation for being all angst and hormones, but we have our moments of vulnerable, honest conversation.

The bell rang.

Max and I looked at each other, and at the path we were exploring. It stretched on into the forest and disappeared behind the pines and the underbrush. We didn’t know how far it went, or where; on top of that, we were enjoying just walking and talking.

So, we decided to skip chapel, and journeyed on.

We walked for another twenty or thirty minutes. The path eventually ended at an abandoned campsite. An ashy fire pit, some milk crates, and a small paint-mixing bucket of trash were the only signs that someone had been here recently.

Max and I turned around and walked back.

We didn’t think skipping would get us into any trouble, but we also didn’t feel like getting caught wandering the grounds alone. As we got back to the main cluster of buildings, we saw counselors shuffling from building to building. They clutched walkie-talkies in their hands, and seemed upset. Max and I snuck behind the mess hall, and down along the lakeside to avoid a group of them.

Eventually, we made it back to our cabin. The front of the cabin faced a circle of other cabins. If we walked in the front door, we would have been out in the out in the open, completely exposed. So, we snuck through the back window, and sat down to play more cards.

We expected to wait out the chapel timeslot in our cabin, then join our cabinmates for dinner. Instead, our counselor opened the cabin door after we had only been back for about five minutes. He looked both shocked and relieved to see us. He spun around, stuck his head outside, and shouted, “I FOUND THEM!” to the rest of the camp.

While Max and I had been able to skip occasional classes, there was something we forgot about chapel: chapel was where role call was taken. When we skipped chapel, we triggered an all-out manhunt to find the missing campers. All of the counselors were called in, and the heads of camp lead a search that scoured the campground for us.

As soon as we were found, we were brought to a small room with beige couches, and had a long wait to think about the panic we’d incited. Eventually, the camp director spoke to us. He gave us a scolding, and after holding out the suspense, told us that they wouldn’t be calling our parents.

Max and I sometimes reminisce about our summer adventure. We realize how low the stakes were compared to how high they felt. A scare and a scolding taught me one valuable lesson: going unnoticed isn’t the worst thing in the world.