Personal Narrative: Camp Hanes

There is always a summer someone is changed by. It may break them, or it may lift them- but the core fact is that it changes them. They leave it feeling as if they are a completely different person, hardly able to recognize the person they were before. Maybe some haven't experienced it yet- but it is destined to happen. For me personally, it was during my time at YMCA Camp Hanes this past summer. Camp Hanes has always been a huge part of my life. I remember my first year, I was just about to turn 7 years old, and wasn't exactly sure what this alien place had in store for me so I was very curious. I was shocked to realize that this place was so exhilarating. Since that moment, I knew that camp now held a piece of my heart, and I would return
CIT's get rated on 3 categories: "Presence at Camp", "Relationships", and "Professionalism". Each category has 3-5 sub categories in which the individual is ranked 1-5; 1 meaning "not at standards" and 5 meaning "Constantly exceeds standards". The end, and in my opinion, most nerve racking part, is the part where it says "Circle one: 'Recommended to hire', 'Recommended to hire with hesitation', and 'Do not recommend for hire'". These three phrases have haunted me for the past three years previously as I have seen my elder friends get there dreams of one day being a camp counselor be completely broken by just one circle around "Hesitant to hire" or "Do not recommend for
Each person, when they were called, a squeaky, paint chipped, wooden door would "creeeek" open and would each person, individually, would receive their results. As I heard the door "squeeeeeak", time after time, person after person, I was reflective on that noise throughout my adolescent years. That "sqeak" was unlike any other old door noise, it had its own distinct sound. Its one of those sounds when if I close my eyes, I can still identify it, just as one can recognize the sound of when their TV turns on, or the flush of their toilet. As I looked at it, from a distance, it had a golden doorknob that had been twisted and turned for decades and a discolored white paint that had been given character over the years by many forms. Seeing the sticky, distinct, dust collecting patch of grey and yellow, it reminded me of the time that I accidentally stuck a fly trap to it. I was young camper, just about 12, when this happened. Our cabin had won the cleanest cabin competition, which subsequently got my cabin the "golden plunger" trophy and first in line at the candy store during rec time. As my cabin, much like a pack of hyenas, stomped down the stairs, I lead the way. When I arrived at the store, I asked for the usual Wild Berry Skittles, and a Slim Jim. When I had gotten my candy, I tried to hurry out of the store so I could get to the tether ball pole, and I could