Choice

          For my Choice Project, I decided to do another personal narrative about my experiences at camp, and how it changed me. I chose to write another personal narrative because I had really enjoyed writing my first one. I feel like this connects to my portfolio because this embodies me as a writer and my writing style. It also demonstrates where my strengths are, like detail and organization. I also tried to pay attention to my weaknesses while writing my personal narrative, so I could try to start improving. I feel like this went pretty well for the amount of time I had to write it. There weren't any meetings with Dr. D or class discussions of what would be best, so I was on my own for writing it. However, that also gave me a chance to expand on my writing and really make it my own.

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Katie Knight

Dr. Degravelles

English I – 1

6 May 2018

Camp Hardtner

            It was the summer of 2013, and I had just been freed from the doors of school, ready for the adventures that my summer would hold. One of these adventures would be to a summer camp called Camp Hardtner. Everyone in my family had what they called “the spark” where they would go to this heaven like summer camp, and they would make a deep connection and feel like they were truly home. I, however, had never been to this camp without my parents. Sure, it was a place where I had made memories with my family, but I had never made my own.

            In the weeks leading up to my departure, I kept reminding myself of how amazing camp was, and how I would have the time of my life. I remembered the goofy counselors and my favorite games like camper hunt, Judgement Day, camp-wide capture the flag, and Betty Crocker.

            My excitement radiated through the car. My eyes wandered to the monotonous trees and striped road that raced by outside my window. I felt at peace while I listened to my dad hum along to some Grateful Dead song and watched the street signs disappear into the distance.

            An hour or two passed, and there it was: the Camp Hardtner sign. That green sign with white letters opened the gateway to my splendid memories I made there. The games, the food, the green grass, and wooden cabins. I could almost taste the last meal I had eaten in the cafeteria.

            We drove up, and it was just as I had remembered it: perfect. However, something inside me started to feel a slight unease as I saw all of the kids with their trunks, which were littered with different bumper stickers. We parked the car, and I jumped out onto the dusty, rocky road. I watched as the kids who had come in the summers past squeal with delight as they greeted their best friends, who they only get to see during this one week. I, however, hadn’t been here since I was in first grade. It was just me, and I began to worry that the tightly coiled groups that had been formed in the past summers would have no room for me. I pushed open the door to the registration hall, and I was greeted by the smiling faces of my counselors. I remembered some of them from past years, but some of their faces are foreign to me. As we moved down the line of tables, I felt like a product on a conveyor belt as the counselors checked off my name and filed me away.

            Once I was at the last of what seemed like the endless row of tables, the delight and excitement that had once filled me to the brim was gone, leaving me with a hot emptiness that filled my stomach. I knew this was supposed to be the part where my parents hug me, and I tell them bye then run to play and make new friends. But I felt stuck to my parent’s side. The harsh reality slapped me in the face because, in that moment, one thing had occurred to me: my parents were going to leave. As we stepped outside, the once green grass looked dry and dead. The buildings looked old and ugly, and the utopia that I had seen when we arrived had faded away to the dusty camp where I found myself.

            My parents came to hug me, but I knew I couldn’t let go because if I did, they would drive back to Baton Rouge and leave me here in the middle of nowhere. They told me it was time to go time and time again, and a lump started to form in my throat. I wasn’t ready for this. I wanted them to take me home so I could sleep in my bed in my house like every night before. They finally got me to let go, and they both got and the car and drove away. There was nothing but a billowing cloud of dust left of them.

            I moved slowly as I walked over to make my name tag, a few tears trickled down my face. I felt embarrassed that I was crying and didn’t have some amazing and deep connection with camp. Already, not even thirty minutes in, I was already begging to go home.

            Most of the week moved deathly slow. I didn’t laugh and smile like the other kids, I just did what I was told, and I hated every second of it. The grimace was still plastered on my face even through capture the flag and Betty Crocker. The counselors would approach me, and tell me that if I tried the games, I would have fun. In the back of my mind, I knew that I should have tried to participate, but I just couldn’t.

            Two nights before we left, we had the camp-wide dance. My counselors played music off of their speakers that sat on their cluttered window sills. The girls were waving beauty products around, and the smell of Bath and Body Works body spray filled the cabin. I changed into my cutest outfit I had brought, which consisted of my favorite blue tank top, a pair of white shorts, and some gold sandals. Some girls came and sat on my bed and told me how cute they thought I looked, and we carried out giggle-filled conversation after. I decided to let one of the girls in my cabin put a smudge of gold eyeshadow on me after she asked.

            We all walked to the party together, and I decided to engage myself in the girl’s laughter as I had done before. I realized how fun and nice the girls were when I talked to them, and they were realizing the same thing about me. We entered the campers lounge, and colored lights and loud music shocked us as we stepped in the door. The girls from my cabin all pulled me to the dance floor and got me to dance along with them to one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs. I felt something shift inside me, a spark even, and I realized how easy it was to have fun. I let the music, and the lights, and the happiness fill me up again as I danced along with my friends.

            I was shocked and sad when the lights were turned off, and we were told it was time to go back to our cabins. I felt like I was walking back as a different person, one who giggled and joked with my new-found friends. I finally found the joy that I had associated with camp once again.

            When we all reached the cabin, we were bouncing off of the walls and were acting like the party had never ended. One girl suggested we all put our pajamas on and have a fashion show. We shrieked in agreement and threw on our patterned pajamas. We went down the aisle of twin beds, one by one, with music and light flashed from the flashlights and Canon disposable cameras our moms had packed in our trunks. When it was my turn, I laughed and walked confidently down our makeshift runway, and with each whirr of the camera flash, the spark inside me grew even bigger. This must have been the feeling my family was describing when their eyes lit up when they talked about camp. I had allowed the overwhelming feeling of freedom and happiness to be unleashed from inside me.

I was almost angry that I hadn’t given way sooner to the joy that came with the games and each swim in the lake. I had just let most of my week go to waste while I dwelled on the fact of how horrible this place was rather than opening up and trying new things. Though I thought the spark would just magically appear, little did I know that I have to do my part and not get in the way of myself in my journey to find it.

Now, five summers have passed, and I find myself anticipating the day when my parents drive off and leave me with my camp friends. I long for the special Shepard’s Pie I only get once a year. I get excited when I think about the camp-wide dance when I get to dance with all of my friends. And when I think about camp, I feel a slight spark inside that lights me up from inside out.