A summer that still haunts me*

I have included this article to remind us of the fact that in this fallen world in which we live, with our flawed personalities, all things do not come to a joyful resolution and a neatly wrapped conclusion. We carry with us unresolved conflict, unsolved problems, and unanswered questions. Not all stories have a happy ending… at least not in this life. One of the things we must face if we are to be happy, is that we will not always be happy. Think about it; I’m not trying to be cute. We will be happier in this life if we let go of the expectation that we should always be happy! “The Road Less Travelled” put it something like, “life is difficult, but it will be less difficult if you know it will be difficult.”

When this story was first published it was the “unfavorite” of all my writings because it had no resolution. Reminds me of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds.” Fade to black and the birds are still there. And so they are. We must deal with it.

So, what I am saying is that this may leave you with something to think about. I hope that it does. I think that most of us are haunted by some memories that can not be “fixed” with words. One more thing I am trying to do is to take my angst to God. But, like Paul’s thorn in the flesh, it will not be removed. He said that His grace is enough. But I still want it removed. And it hangs right there.

Enough apologizing for this story! Here it is:

I was so excited to be going to “camp” one summer when I was about twelve. All of the boys from the neighborhood church, and all of their friends and cousins, anybody who wanted to come and could get twenty dollars together could come and enjoy a week of swimming and baseball and hot dogs and horses and mostly just fun and foolishness. Yeah, we knew that we would be preached to a little bit, but we could endure that. We brought shaving cream so we could squirt each other, and old pillows for our pillow fights, and it was going to be such a great time with no parents and no girls. Just twelve year old boys, and a few men that they called “counselors.”

Bobby was a little bit different from the rest of us. His clothes were old and tattered, his teeth were very crooked, and he talked funny. Whereas everyone else had a suitcase, he kept his stuff in a brown grocery bag. The “cool” kids picked on him and made fun of him. Those of us who were not so cool were so glad that Bobby was there. “Better him than us” was our attitude. We felt relief that we weren’t the ones being singled out for ridicule.

What a miserable life Bobby had that week. I remember how bravely he tried to take what the other kids dished out. It was hard to see him go through that, because I knew a little of how it felt. I remembered the sting of being the last one chosen for a game of baseball or football. Believe me, you are thankful when somebody comes along who is worse. Bobby was the one who insulated me and a few others from being the most uncool.

Even now I am reluctant to admit that I, who understood what it meant to feel rejected, did not have the courage to stand up for Bobby. When “tricks” were played on him, we laughed extra loud. Whatever the cool kids did to him we did too. I was a part of the “in” group. I belonged!

On one of the last nights of the camp, something happened that none of us will ever forget. Somebody had thought up a plot against Bobby. One person was appointed to be friendly to him and engage him in conversation outside, while the rest of us absolutely destroyed all of his stuff. Everything he had, all the crafts he had made, his clothes, his sheets and blankets, everything but his Bible, we all tore to shreds. (Oh what hypocrites we were that we wouldn’t damage his Bible but thought so little of damaging his spirit.)

When Bobby came in, we all hid and watched. I will always remember watching Bobby as he discovered what had happened. This poor pathetic boy was so broken that he wailed loudly and just fell on the cabin floor, shaking and sobbing and crying with a broken heart that we had broken!

Things got really quiet as Bobby lay in a fetal position, trembling and devastated. Suddenly, things weren’t funny any more. Suddenly, nobody was “cool”. Suddenly, we all wished that we had not even come to camp. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.

When the camp counselors came over, they were furious! Some of them wanted to just take us all home right then. They were trying to think of some way to make us pay for what we had done. We knew that we were in trouble, and we welcomed and deserved punishment. Then the head counselor came up with an idea that still today rings in my memory. Slowly and thoughtfully, he said, “Boys, you may think that you got by with something here, but I assure you that you didn’t get by with anything. I’m going to give you the worst punishment that I can possibly give. I’m not going to do anything to you, because nothing can pay back the harm that you have caused. I am sentencing each of you to a lifetime of remembering what you have done. I hope and pray that you will never ever forget this. Now go to bed.”

Nobody had to tell us that this indeed was the worst possible punishment. As we went to bed, there were no pillow fights, no shaving cream battles, no laughter, and very few words. Sometime in the middle of the night one of the counselors took Bobby home and I never saw him again.

Long long ago a writer penned the words about one who would be “despised and rejected by men- a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief”. What was done to Him was done by people like me. God knows the remorse that I feel. I truly believe, as much as it is possible for me to believe it, that I have been forgiven.

But ….Bobby…. where are you?