The summer I turned 18 I applied to be Summer Staff at our church camp. It was pretty much my dream job at the time. Since the summer between 4th and 5th grade when my mother drove me the 450 miles from my hometown to our conference church camp, dropped me at the curb and left me without knowing anyone, I had been back every single summer. Often I would be at camp as many as 4 or 5 weeks of the summer between music camp, district camp, work crew, Sonshine camp, and others. It was essentially my second home.
Summer staff were coveted paid positions hired by the conference to serve in leadership positions, as well as working to take care of the day to day activities required to successfully put on camps for the hundreds of kids per week the camp hosted. I figured I was a shoo-in, having spent so much time there, and having earned a reputation of hard work and strong work ethic the weeks that I was on work crew (a week of volunteer work each summer). My competition for the one of the summer staff positions was close to home--my cousin Rachel.
Rachel and I had had a rocky relationship at best. When I was in 6th grade her father had been out of work for a couple of years, and she and her mother moved in with us while he stayed in their home town and continued to job search. Rachel's mother, my aunt, had an entirely different style of parenting and was significantly more permissive than my parents. Right or wrong, regardless, it was a disparity that often raised it's ugly head. She was allowed to do things that I wasn't, and I was forced to do things she wasn't, and I was often in trouble for things that she did too, but wasn't disciplined for.
It all came to a head for me when she was diagnosed with bone cancer. Now I know that cancer is a very scary thing. I know that a diagnosis of any cancer must feel horrible (although having a cancerous mole excised from my shoulder didn't really bother me, but I digress). I saw what she went through. I was there for the chemo, and the surgeries, and the year on crutches, and the having to wear a wig. I heard it, tasted it, damn near felt it all myself.
And I also watched her take her experience and use to her every advantage. I saw her con her way into grades without the work. I watched her use her diagnosis to have her mother wait on her hand and foot. I saw her milk it for elaborate trips and lavish gifts her parents couldn't afford. And I saw the sense of entitlement growing faster than any tumor could.
I also saw her use her story as hook to get her into a position on Summer Staff.
And I did not get hired.
I was pretty upset, but I placated myself by moving in with a Christian musician who traveled the state (including to most weeks of the summer at the camp) doing worship music and concerts. I had a great summer despite missing out on Summer Staff.
One such concert trip I met a girl at a church that sparked my interest. We hung out as much as we could that weekend, and we wrote letters back and forth. And wouldn't you know it, her church was on work crew the last week of the summer at the camp. My roommate and I did the music for the camp that week, and when the camp was over he headed home. I stayed behind to spend a few more days with my crush, and I was to ride home with Rachel as it was the end of the summer. It was two birds with one stone--I bought a few days with a girl, and Rachel didn't have to drive 450 miles on her own.
I saw Rachel several times through the week, and she never mentioned when she'd be leaving. Come Friday afternoon, I was out with the work crew splitting firewood (working hard mind you, not out screwing around) when I got word that Rachel was looking for me. I headed back to the dormitory where staff stayed to find out what she needed.
She was in her car, with the engine running.
"I am about to leave you," she spat at me. "Get your stuff, and you better run."
So I zip up the stairs, throw all my clothes into my backpack, roll up my sleeping bag, and head back down stairs. When I get to her car, I try open the back door to put my things in the back seat, but the door was locked.
And then she drove off.
I kept expecting her to come back after a few minutes, but she never did. Instead she left me stranded 450 miles from home with no money, no transportation, not even a cell phone. The first stop possible, she calls my parents and feeds them a bullshit story of what happened. And my parents, in fine tradition, bought every word of it and found me guilty before even talking to me.
My parents eventually bought me a Greyhound bus ticket and I made it home several days later.
But the injustice of that moment damaged my relationship with my parents for years. Even to this day I think it affects the way we interact with each other.
And Rachel?
No, I've not forgiven her. I rarely speak to her. Despite numerous olive branches she's tried to extend, I can't find it in my heart to do so. She doesn't understand why I'm so upset, because she is simply incapable of putting herself in someone else's shoes (in general, not just in this situation). I find her to be one of the most self centered people I have ever met. To this day she still believes she was fully in the right.
This came to mind yesterday as I was cruising around Facebook. She's one of my "friends" on there, and I forget she is. When I post exciting things, or funny things the kids have done or said, or pictures of our new dog, she often comments. It feels a little intrusive because they are personal things that I don't necessarily think I would normally share with her. I'm contemplating unfriending or blocking her, but I don't want to create an issue between my parents and her mom.
Do you have any grudges you haven't been able to let go?
Thank you for all the supportive comments on yesterdays post. I truly appreciate them. I know I'm super hard on myself. Always have been. Fatal flaw? Maybe.
