Dad and I met at Wagon Road Camp in Chappaqua, New York, on the nation's Bicentennial. You've likely heard the story before, but if my computer weren't broken so that I have to type with one hand while bracing the broken screen with the other, I'd record it here for posterity. For now, suffice it to say, forty years ago tonight on a wide wooden porch on a summer night, there were fireworks -- and, my dear, there still are.
4 comments:
Gross, are you guys going to kiss now?
I can tell the story. Let's see. There was a cabin with kids in it that needed a lot of help. The counselor quit. Everyone at Wagon Road Camp was like "OMG, what are we going to do!" But then everyone was relieved and they kept telling Mom "We don't have to worry anymore, Tom Murphy is coming." And Mom heard all about how Tom Murphy was going to come save....orange cabin? Brown Cabin? Well the day that Tom Murphy arrived Mom had her night off so she went into town. She wore her red skirt with the horses on it. And she came back to camp and was all smiling and happy and who should she see standing on the porch of one of the cabins? THE Tom Murphy. And then they met.
It was Orange Cabin. You know the story well, Laura. And that's why, where there were once a couple of people fumbling their solitary ways through a long ago summer of hard work and changes and fireworks, unsure what was coming next, there's now a family of almost 11 people, still growing.
Exept you left out the part about how Dad was also hearing about this new Cassie Frey who was saving the Arts and Crafts program from a truckers' strike. So we were both set up.
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