Camp is and always will be my obsession. My room is dedicated to Pinecliffe. The walls are painted blue, for one of the two colors that represent my camp (along with brown). Blue elephant and brown teddy bear stuffed animals line the walls. Pictures of my camp friends and I are scattered sporadically around the room. In the corner, there is a box bleeding with blue everything. Beads, facepaint, hair dye, and ribbon overflow this box, representing color war and the amazing time I had.
Color war was my favorite part of the summer. Being a color war captain was a position I had always wanted ever since my first summer. When my final summer rolled around, it was my time to take the biggest risk ever, and run to be a captain. In spite of my eagerness,
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My two best camp friends were chosen as the captains. Lindsey was the captain of brown, and Jane was the captain of blue. Disappointment washed over me, however, there was still a chance of being co-captain. The co-captains would be announced at the next big camp event, which was 24 agonizing hours away. The amount of nerves that I was feeling was indescribable. Making my anxiety worse, Lindsey, the newly chosen brown captain, teased me by implying that I did not get co-captain. She told me this right before dinner, so I did not eat, talk, and I stared into space during the whole meal. After dinner, I ran to Brook Hollow, a calming meeting spot with the views of Crystal Lake. When I got there, I sat down and cried into my hands, however, the beauty of my surroundings were overwhelming, and I was trying to take it all in. The crisp seven O’clock air around me and the mix of the smell of pine trees and lake filled my body with serenity. I felt tears run down my face and drop onto the grass, which I was playing with underneath my feet, with the sound of the water rhythmically splashing against the shore in front of me. The sun setting over Harrison seemed to set the sky on fire. The crystals were dancing on the lake, and I turned my head slightly to see the most amazing place in the whole camp, the place where I can be myself, become even closer to my camp friends, and laugh until I cry; the lodge. I started crying
The Army enjoyed showing every picture of a black soldier in action or the heroic stories of certain African-Americans because there were very few instances. The classic heroic story used entailed the plight of Doris Miller, the African-American messman aboard the West Virginia who, on the invasion of Pearl Harbor, moved ?his mortally wounded captain to a place of great safety? and shot down six Japanese planes with a machine gun (Neverdon-Morton 6). Additionally, the government film, ?The Negro Soldier? depicted the army as though there were many active African-American soldiers, due to the fact that ?the War Department?s policy seems to be to give the greatest possible publicity to those very few Negro units? (Wilson 98). No matter how involved these soldiers appeared to Americans in this movie, Ruth Wilson, author of Jim Crow Joins Up, stated that it ?[?] by no means compensates for the fact that only a very small number of Negroes is being given opportunity for front...
Throughout his speech, Green makes emotion appeals to help bring the African American people to fight in the war. The usage of strong diction and metaphor help persuade the audience to join the army. This motivation can be seen when he describes the hardships being a black man in a white society; however, the Black community should still join the battle with a “burning zeal and enthusiasm for the field of battle which inspires other men in full enjoyment of every civil and ...
It was our fifth day in the Philmont Scout Reservation in New Mexico, the halfway point of the trek. I as the Crew Leader was responsible for the other 11 members of the crew, including 4 adults. I was in charge, and amazingly the adults rarely tried to take over, although they would strongly advise me what to do in some situations. Phil, with the exception of me, the oldest scout and the Chaplain for the trip, was my second. Together we dealt with problems of making sure everyone carried the right amount of stuff in their pack to who had to cook and cleanup each day. The trip had gone well so far, no injuries, and the worst problem had been a faulty backpack. As I walked I thought about the upcoming campsite. Supposedly this one had running water from a solar powered pump—so had the last night’s site but the tank was too low to use for anything but cooking because the of how cloudy it had been of late. But today was bright and shinny, and hot, so I didn’t think there would be a problem.
Surprisingly, our parents had beaten us to the top and we all stopped in awe, mesmerized by the great waterfall in front of us. My mouth felt like the Sahara desert. I vividly remember reaching for the chilling water bottle that hid underneath the tons of clothes stuffed in my father’s black backpack to quench my thirst. I took off my beaten down shoes and stinky socks covered in dirt from the trail and blood from the blisters on my feet and dove into the refreshing lake. After swimming through the lake for a few seconds, I abruptly jumped out of the freezing water. My toes turned into a blue that reminded me of the blueberry muffins from breakfast that morning. My body shivered as I exited the lake and threw on a warm towel over my shoulders. Gradually my body heat increased, escaping the risk of hypothermia. At that point, I just wanted to go home. My family and I gathered all our belongings and I dragged my energyless body into the large, gray shuttle. The shuttle smelled of sweat from previous passengers. It drove us down a rough, bumpy trail, causing my tall father to constantly slam his head on the roof of the car. After we finally got back to our hotel, we all let off a sigh of
“NEVER SHALL I FORGET that night, the first night in camp, that turned my life into one long night seven times sealed.
When we arrived at the campground, the first thing the staff did was assign a tent to each Pathfinder – a most cumbersome task. The tent that Mrs. Masha initially selected for me happened to house babblers who planned to chatter all night instead of sleep. So I was transferred to a different tent. It held only one other camper, for her partner had decided to relocate to a more nocturnal abode. The other girl returned the next night, though, so I was sent back to that first tent.
This camp is designed for children who have limb deficiencies or amputations be able to come together for a week of endless excitement and fun. I was lucky enough to have eight girls ranging from six to nine years old in my cabin. It was my responsibility to be a leader to these girls, show them encouragement, boost their self-esteem and never let them give up despite of circumstances. Throughout the duration of this camp I truly learned how to be leader and how to exert a calmness in stressful situations that is able to reinforce sincerity and serenity. I left the camp feeling more blessed than I could have ever imagined. These children were able to teach me things that I will forever hold close and that I am confident will make me a strong
I never wanted to leave. I truly thought my life was ending on that August day in 2010 as the Peter Pan bus pulled off the dirt bumpy road in New Hampshire on its trek back to the Bloomingdales parking lot in Connecticut. The night before, I stood on the shore of New Found Lake looking out at the horizon on my last night, arm and arm with my sisters, tears streaming down our faces as our beloved director quoted, "You never really leave a place you love; part of it you take with you, leaving a part of yourself behind." Throughout the years, I have taken so much of what I learned those seven summers with me. I can undoubtedly say that Camp Wicosuta is the happiest place on earth; my second and most memorable home. Camp was more than just fun even as I smile recalling every campfire, color-war competition, and bunk bonding activity I participated in. It was an opportunity to learn, be independent, apart of an integral community, and thrive in a new and safe environment. I recognize that camp played an essential role in who I am today.
As soon as the door closed, and Jace was finally at last gone, Clary immediately sprang to her feet and locked the door. Tears had all ready formed at the corner of her eyes, before she ran towards the pretty canopy bed, and fell down upon its soft, gentle surface and sobbed as if her heart would break. Inside, she was completely devastated. She began to wonder just what exactly had minute, she'd been at home, relaxing in the bright, warm golden sun, working on a brand new painting, and the next, she was off riding into the deep, dark woods with Wayfarer following her father's very trail, and they'd stumbled upon the mysterious dark castle, and the final moment she was trading her life for her father's in order to save him.
Life is an individual race, but teamwork is needed to overcome obstacles and accomplish success. Teamwork is the combined action of a group of people, especially when effective and efficient. It is essential to put aside differences to achieve a common goal because it helps to break labels and forms new relationships. There is much in literature, film, and reality that reveals that unity and reaching a collective goal is a definite possibility. Freedoms Writers diary explores the concept of partnership as well the movie black panther, and the film; remember the Titans. The book Freedom Writers diary is about a dedicated teacher in a racially divided school who has a class of at-risk teenagers deemed incapable of learning. Additionally Black Panther; was about the divide between African Americans and Africans.
My counselors built our schedule based on a list of girl-planned ideas--even accommodating outlandish ones like hosting a medieval jousting tournament. During our session, we developed courage as we shook our way across the monkey bridge. We developed confidence as we shot bows and arrows. We developed character as we sat in magic circles to share compliments and discuss interpersonal challenges. We were gently encouraged to try new things--including snacks like boob fudge--thanks to our counselors’ challenge-by-choice style. At night, the entire camp came together for all-camp theme nights and traditional campfires. On my last night at camp, I hugged my friends around a community campfire as we reflected on the experiences we had just
For my first piece of original writing I intend to create a piece primarily written for entertainment however, I also want to portray an interest into historical and political persuasions. I aim to write this piece for an audience of teenagers to young adult who are aged from around fifteen to twenty-five and are male, I also wish to identify with those interested in political thrillers within this age range. The genre of which shall be a short fiction story consisting chiefly of narrative and written in the third person. I picture this piece as being one of a collection of short stories concerned with the political-thriller fiction sub-genre. Despite being a fiction text I aim to tie in real world non-fiction.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her gargantuan skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every morning together
When I open my eyes and see the bottom of the top bunk I think to myself, "day one of week five." At 7:00, the alarm goes off and I heard the grumbling of eight junior high girls as they start to slowly climb out of their beds half awake. "Rise and shine and give God the glory glory." As my typical morning song continues, I get eight sets of glares from my campers. For some reason it just makes me smile. "I wish I had my blow dryer." "I really want my make up." The usual teenage comment I hear the first day. "Five minutes to finish getting ready before Alpha!" I yell, "I'll meet everyone out side of the cabin!" I found my way outside Mt. Horeb cabin sitting on the picnic table just smiling to myself for no particular reason.