Camp Takajo woke up to unseasonably cool temperatures, grey skies, and misty rain. This is not the weather we were hoping for to host our annual invitational tennis tournament and sailing regatta. While our tennis staff spent the morning squeegeeing our tennis courts, mother nature simply would not cooperate, and we look forward to rescheduling at a later date.
However, the gray skies and cooler temperatures did not prevent us from hosting our annual sailing regatta. Throughout the morning and into the early afternoon, I saw our entire fleet of sailboats racing across Long Lake. After all of the races concluded, Takajo’s team had prevailed.
Midway through my day, three twelve-year-old boys entered my office to discuss some friction occurring in their bunk. As innocent as it may seem, one boy complained that his deck of cards was deliberately thrown across the bunk floor. He claimed that this act gave him the justification for stripping the sheets off the culprit’s bed. After a brief conversation about impulsive reactions, I suggested that these moments of friction are fleeting and that I was confident this would not impact their continuing friendship. Little did I know that just a few hours later, I would witness an unforgettable moment on one of our indoor basketball courts.
Today, Camp Takajo hosted a twelve-and-under basketball tournament. After two hard-fought victories, our twelve-year-old team found themselves in the championship game. The final game was a nail-biter, to say the least. Takajo came from behind to score in the final seconds, sending the game into its initial overtime. With a mere nine seconds left in the first overtime, Takajo lead by three points and had possession of the ball. An errant pass resulted in a turnover, and our opponent capitalized by hitting an unimaginable buzzer-beating three to send the game into double overtime.
As I watched the game from the sidelines, I could not help but notice that the twelve-year-old “bed stripper” was playing his heart out for our team. As my eyes turned to our spectators, I noticed that, to my delight, the twelve-year-old “card flipper” was exuberantly cheering on his bunk mate. The brief moment of angst that caused some friction between the two had quickly been erased, and they were brought back together by the exuberance of camp spirit. When the final buzzer sounded, Camp Takajo emerged victorious, and all of the onlookers charged the court in a scene no less thrilling than a final four victory.
At the end of the day, Camp Takajo is one community. We celebrate our victories together, and we support each other in defeat.