Whenever I find myself inside a kids’ summer camp [for work-related purposes], it always makes me think back to 10-15 years ago.
Right now, it’s the dead-middle of July. The swarming, disgusting heat is at its peak. As a 25-year-old, I abhor this weather. I detest the humidity. I loathe the sweat. I find myself dehydrated, dizzy and light-headed if I don’t drink 19 bottles of water by 1 p.m. In other words — I’m getting old.
But flashing back to say, 13 years ago in the year 2000. I was 12-years-old and the dead-middle of July only meant one thing.
I loved the heat. I didn’t even know what the word “heat index” meant. And personal hygiene? Who cared!
As a kid, nothing beat summer camp. Nothing. I recall the high levels of euphoria that would overcome me in the days and weeks leading up to camp. I remember waking up as early as possible so I can get a head-start on the first day of camp.
And finally getting to camp, and running around playing sports, meeting kids my age who shared similar interests, and befriending all of the counselors who I thought we so cool just because they were older than I was. There was really nothing like it. At camp only one thing matters — having fun. You didn’t think about anything else.
Flash forward 12 years later, and I wish there was anything in life that I could be half as excited for than how I was as a 12-year-old at summer camp. I know that sounds depressing, but it’s true. That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate life. Heck, I appreciate every second of it and I always keep my head up and don’t take anything for granted.
But, that being said, there was something magical about the blissful ignorance we held as children. I didn’t know any better and I wouldn’t have it any other way. And every kid should have that exact childhood.
So obviously those days are long over. However, I never miss an opportunity to frequent a summer camp for work and get to relive my glory days. Just seeing the exuberant faces on the kids as they run around and play makes me really happy. Because as a former camper myself — I know exactly how they feel.
In fact, I think it would be my dream job to one day own a summer camp. To be around that every day, and to actually be responsible for all that happiness; that would make me feel very special. But I digress.
Anyway, the reason I was at a summer camp today is because New York Giants punter Steve Weatherford was visiting the camp, and I was there covering it for my newspaper. It was a lot of fun, and Steve was an absolutely awesome dude. He just seems like he is a fun guy to hang around, and he has a very positive outlook and carries himself in a great way.
Since I was working, I tried my hardest to refrain from asking him for a picture. But I couldn’t help myself. After two hours of enduring the sweltering heat, taking notes, photos and talking to various people, I decided that I deserved a photo. I kindly approached Steve when he was not occupied, and he immediately obliged.
In fact, not only did he let me take a photo, he handed me his Super Bowl ring and told me to wear it.
All I have to say is that Super Bowl rings are freaking heavy. There is no way you can actually wear that thing on a regular basis.
Otherwise, I’m not really entirely sure what to make of the fact that I wore a Super Bowl ring. Obviously it’s a cool thing to have done, and now I can tell everyone that I once got to wear a Super Bowl ring in my lifetime — with photographic evidence.
But obviously it would be a lot cooler of a thing if I actually accomplished something to earn the ring. I know that sounds like ridiculously stupid thing to say, considering I never even played football in my life, let alone professional football. But I’m just saying, why is it so cool to flaunt somebody else’s award?
Honestly, if Facebook didn’t exist, I probably wouldn’t have even asked Steve if I could take a photo with him. I really only wanted to do it so that I could upload it and make everyone think that I actually live an interesting life. Also I wanted to make all of my Giants fans friends jealous.
Although, I suppose “Wearing a Super Bowl” ring is now something I can cross off my bucket list, I guess.
But it would still be way down on the list after “Owning my own summer camp.”
Which, in turn, would be well below “Meeting Taylor Swift.”
And that is much, much below, “Achieving sexual ecstasy with Taylor Swift through a moment of deep intuitive connection via intercourse under the moonlight while surrounded by scented candles.”
My bucket list is pretty long.