USD Magazine, Fall 2004

"This is the last year for Billy," Vu explains when he returns. "He'll be 18 soon. That guy with him is Dennis. He comes to camp every year just to help out Billy." Over lunch, which is hearty and served family style, Vu says that there's been a shortage of male counselors at ehe camp ehe lase few years. "We need more men," he says, as he devours a grilled chicken sandwich in three huge bites. "For some reason, we seem to gee lots of women, bue these kids need male role models." He puts together a veggie burger and wolfs it down, appar– ently ravenous. "It's such a rewarding place to volunteer. When I started eight years ago, a lot of these kids were 8, and they're still coming back at age 16." Meanwhile, Praba is being subjected to a fair amount of good-natured teasing, since he's not on staff this session. "Come on, Harish! Shake your booty!" someone yells. And Praba, does, in face, shake his booty. The kids are sitting together by cabin, and the noise is downright deafening.

Periodically, cables break into song. Every few minutes, a group parades around the mess hall. The staff isn't afraid to look silly; in fact, they seem to enjoy it. Everyone's done eating, but no one's done with lunch yet. There's lip-synching, announcements, the circulation of the lost-and-found box, more singing, and then, finally, the kids file out. There are girls with their arms around one another, blind kids with canes alongside friends who keep a light touch on their forearms, a teen deftly maneuvering her crutches through che crowd, seemingly used to the challenges of getting around with just one leg, kids wheeling their buddies out in wheelchairs and kids jumping, running and quivering from all the excitement. In a word, fun . Courage, Cubed After lunch is "quiet time," and the path– ways leading from one cabin to the next are all but deserted. A tour of the staff housing facilities reveals a standard of living that is, quite frankly, a lictle rough. The single beds

saggy, the linoleum is chipped and there's a hinr of mold in the air; this ain't no first-class hotel.

"You have ro be a wonderful person ro spend nine days in here," Horvitz says. The activity room is packed floor to ceiling with shelves overflowing with everything a crafty camper could possibly want: videos and water balloons, paints and glitter, board games and beads, lan– yards and shells. A jam-packed srorage facility is downright silly - the ceiling is literally held together with staples. "We own these 65 acres free and clear," Horvitz says. "We hope to build in phases." Her face lights up as she talks about what the camp could be - will be - one day, if she's able to raise the $17 million it's going to cost to provide the facility with a new infrastructure. Lacer, it's still scorching, even though it's mid-afternoon. We're sitting on logs in

19

FALL 2004