A week at camp

Last week I spent 5 days as a counselor at a youth camp that some elementary school aged kids from my church attended. I actually had a fantastic time, we have some amazing kids at my church and it was fun getting to know them and all their quirks and intricacies.

For several hours of the day, they had track times, and for those of you who never went to camp, track times are just some “classes” that you have during the day to do whatever activity it is that is covered, i.e. babysitting, volleyball, swimming, etc.

So during the kids’ track times, I was recruited to help out with the football track. I know what you’re thinking, no big deal. Flag football with kids. Cake. Here’s the thing though - out of the 300 kids at the camp that week, 100 of them were visiting children. Visiting children from Korea. Visiting children from Korea who don’t speak english. Visiting children from Korea who don’t speak english who came to America without translators. And, let us guess who were half of the kids in the football track. You guessed it. I was to be the starting quarterback for a team of 16 Korean children. The hardest part was trying to convey the rule that once I pass it to you, you can’t just throw it ahead to a teammate of yours, or as it happened to be rather frequently, a player on the opposing team. Outside of it being rather difficult and garbled, it was rather fun. They tried their hardest to understand what I was saying and signing and I tried my hardest to l earn what little Korean I could in an hour and fifteen minutes, which consisted of “hike” and “come here.”

For the week I was there, I had Korean kids yelling out “Hey Q-B” to me as I walked the grounds. And they all asked me to sign their camp shirts on the last day. I’m glad I’m a nice person, usually, otherwise I would have been tempted to write something aawkward on each of their shoulders.

Written on August 10, 2006 at roughly 1:51 pm. And by roughly I mean at that exact time.

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