Today’s guest writer is my friend Amy. I met Amy at a Superbowl party when we lived in Missouri. It was the Janet Jackson year, and Amy and I hit it off immediately.

Amy is loyal, kind and funny. She’s one of the best people I know.

When Nichole asked me to write about favorite childhood summer memories, I was excited. Then I panicked. What could I possibly have to say to her loyal readers about my favorite childhood summer memories? And, at the same time, what don’t I have to say? There’s so much to tell. Where do I start?

One of the things I loved most about growing up is how much time my sister and I were able to spend with our tight-knit circle of friends. We both had a core group that we spent a ton of time with without any complaint from our parents. I remember a time when my friend Carrie and I took turns spending the night at each other’s houses for 19 days straight one summer. One night I’d be at her house, the next two nights she’d be at my house, etc. It was a great way to spend a summer. And we had a pool growing up, which also meant lots of friends (between my sister and me), all laughing, listening to the radio and hanging out at the pool. Of course, sometimes I was inside reading while everyone else was lying out by the pool. If you know me, you know I’m extremely pale. I don’t tan, only burn.

Hands down, the best part of each summer was going to church camp. All year, I counted down the weeks until I was reunited with “old” friends for that one week each summer. I would save my money all year just to spend it at the canteen on my drink of choice back then –- Mountain Dew. And, of course, Snickers and Laffy Taffy.

The week wasn’t just about the Bible lessons. It was also about those friendships. Boating and swimming in the lake, nightly devotionals by the campfire, games, arts and crafts, the weekly talent show and those summer crushes. I remember all too well those nights of lying in bed in the cabin, talking amongst friends, only to have our entire cabin area serenaded by a group of boys singing, “You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling” or “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” Of course, the week would always end way too quickly, and there I’d be, crying and hugging friends and promising to write letters and keep in touch until next year.

This same scenario was replayed for many years, until one summer, I had a job. And like all good things that must come to an end, so did camp. I didn’t go, but I remember my friend Carrie and me driving up one year just to say “hi” and see a few friends. It was weird. Different. We were just outsiders visiting. And then the next year we didn’t even visit.

It’s been almost twenty years now since I’ve attended camp, but I’ve never forgotten it. Each summer when I hear about the kids at my own church going away to camp for the week, I get that same warm, fuzzy and nostalgic feeling of those years gone by. I wonder what happened to my camp friends. Where are they today? Are they married? Do they have kids? I know in today’s world, it would probably be fairly easy to find them or friend them on Facebook and check in, but I haven’t done that. Instead I just wonder. Maybe part of me doesn’t want to know how everything turned out for everyone. It’s nice to remember things exactly how they were. Carefree, fun, perfect.