just about any parent or church council member who might see, but as snapshots of such things didn’t exactly make it into the online wrap-up or the church bulletin board at the end of summer, Father Billy took a live-and-let-live approach.
“I don’t think policing wardrobe is our job, frankly,” he had now-famously (and oft-quotedly) remarked one summer when confronted by an offended counselor – a somewhat holier-than-thou fellow – who claimed to be particularly aggrieved on behalf of the congregation. “I say we just let it go and let them decide what they’re comfortable with. Trust the group.”
The counselor left in a huff and hadn’t come back the following year. No one seemed to mind.
Not that the counselor didn’t have a point. There were plenty of guys and girls who let their minds wander to matters of sex, including a number who treated the church camp as their own private summer getaway. There were whispers every spring-into-summer about which girls were planning to lose their virginities at that year’s camp, but a lot of that turned out to be apocryphal. There were make-out sessions, sure, some heavy petting, definitely a few attempts at oral sex (some less than successful, as in the case of Cindy and Whit), but incidents of actual intercourse were few and far between, even among the counselors.
For the counselors, they mostly kept up an unspoken agreement that even though they knew they could get away with it, they abstained from sex – for the most part, at least. There were some isolated incidents, usually amongst the ones that hadn’t come to the camp as couples and ended up in clumsy, late-night embraces out of loneliness or boredom, but after a barrage of single- and double-entendres from the other counselors the next morning, one night stands usually stayed just that.
But then, there were plenty of campers on the opposite end of the spectrum where the likelihood of sexual coupling was almost non-existent. This group generally kept their clothes on that first Sunday and could be found wandering around the camp aimlessly, reading, chatting or just hanging out, some because they didn’t know anybody else or didn’t fit in with any clique, but others because they fit into a subgroup of campers there solely for Bible study and were at a loss on days without classes.
The undisputed leader of this non-group was a 15 year-old pinch-faced boy named Douglas Perry who was also president of the Young Men’s Fellowship Group at Church of the Lamb. He didn’t try to hide his ambition to graduate into becoming a counselor the following year, even though that privilege was generally reserved for high school graduates. He was devout, had considered becoming a priest himself, but was now leaning more towards going into to the military at some point which better suited his martinet of a personality, likely after first going ROTC at SMU, his college of choice (partly, it was assumed, because it would allow him to continue living at home with his mother and father).
Of course, even Douglas and his group had their detractors.
“I can’t stand that guy,” Mark said every time he and Phil saw him, a running joke.
“Which guy, that guy?” Phil would always retort.
“Yeah, that guy-that guy,” Mark would reply. “I can’t stand that guy.”
And so on.
Of course, there were leftovers from the jocks and the Bible-thumpers; first-time campers who had never been away from home before, teens who figured this was the best way around a summer job or just wanted to get away from their parents, or general weirdoes, nerds and outcasts. After one summer at the camp, when they realized there really wasn’t much of a place for them there, most didn’t return. Mark and Phil were among the exceptions to that rule.
“You see her anywhere?” Phil asked, scanning the campsite for Faith as they walked a slow circuit around the cabins.
“Nope,” replied Mark, whose gaze was focused squarely on
“I don’t think policing wardrobe is our job, frankly,” he had now-famously (and oft-quotedly) remarked one summer when confronted by an offended counselor – a somewhat holier-than-thou fellow – who claimed to be particularly aggrieved on behalf of the congregation. “I say we just let it go and let them decide what they’re comfortable with. Trust the group.”
The counselor left in a huff and hadn’t come back the following year. No one seemed to mind.
Not that the counselor didn’t have a point. There were plenty of guys and girls who let their minds wander to matters of sex, including a number who treated the church camp as their own private summer getaway. There were whispers every spring-into-summer about which girls were planning to lose their virginities at that year’s camp, but a lot of that turned out to be apocryphal. There were make-out sessions, sure, some heavy petting, definitely a few attempts at oral sex (some less than successful, as in the case of Cindy and Whit), but incidents of actual intercourse were few and far between, even among the counselors.
For the counselors, they mostly kept up an unspoken agreement that even though they knew they could get away with it, they abstained from sex – for the most part, at least. There were some isolated incidents, usually amongst the ones that hadn’t come to the camp as couples and ended up in clumsy, late-night embraces out of loneliness or boredom, but after a barrage of single- and double-entendres from the other counselors the next morning, one night stands usually stayed just that.
But then, there were plenty of campers on the opposite end of the spectrum where the likelihood of sexual coupling was almost non-existent. This group generally kept their clothes on that first Sunday and could be found wandering around the camp aimlessly, reading, chatting or just hanging out, some because they didn’t know anybody else or didn’t fit in with any clique, but others because they fit into a subgroup of campers there solely for Bible study and were at a loss on days without classes.
The undisputed leader of this non-group was a 15 year-old pinch-faced boy named Douglas Perry who was also president of the Young Men’s Fellowship Group at Church of the Lamb. He didn’t try to hide his ambition to graduate into becoming a counselor the following year, even though that privilege was generally reserved for high school graduates. He was devout, had considered becoming a priest himself, but was now leaning more towards going into to the military at some point which better suited his martinet of a personality, likely after first going ROTC at SMU, his college of choice (partly, it was assumed, because it would allow him to continue living at home with his mother and father).
Of course, even Douglas and his group had their detractors.
“I can’t stand that guy,” Mark said every time he and Phil saw him, a running joke.
“Which guy, that guy?” Phil would always retort.
“Yeah, that guy-that guy,” Mark would reply. “I can’t stand that guy.”
And so on.
Of course, there were leftovers from the jocks and the Bible-thumpers; first-time campers who had never been away from home before, teens who figured this was the best way around a summer job or just wanted to get away from their parents, or general weirdoes, nerds and outcasts. After one summer at the camp, when they realized there really wasn’t much of a place for them there, most didn’t return. Mark and Phil were among the exceptions to that rule.
“You see her anywhere?” Phil asked, scanning the campsite for Faith as they walked a slow circuit around the cabins.
“Nope,” replied Mark, whose gaze was focused squarely on
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