Today I noticed something that’s been hiding in my room for five years. Even when I moved two years ago, it remained a perennial and unnoticed feature on my wall. This morning I brushed my teeth and went to get my bag. And I saw it. A canoe paddle, finished with swirling calligraphy. ‘Alpine Honor Camper 2004,’ it reads.
Alpine was a month-long summer camp I attended every year for four years of my life. At the end of each term, campers in each grade level, along with counselors, would vote on an ‘honor camper.’ It was never really explained what this meant, although in my years at Alpine I saw it go to the quietest kid, the nicest kid, the richest kid, and me. Sure, it was flattering at the time, but it somehow managed to hide in plain sight right over my bed for five whole years.
Tonight I took down the canoe paddle and placed it in my closet, where it now resides with my ‘Most Improved 8 and Under’ swimming trophy [I beasted at backstroke. True story.] and my certificate of participation for a cub scout soap box derby. Maybe one day I’ll go through my old stuff and smile when I see the canoe paddle, the trophy, and the certificate. But for now they’re where they belong. Not on display. My identity is certainly not defined by what’s in my bedroom, but it also has nothing to do with a barely legitimate award from five years ago.
So now I forge ahead, hoping a more current canoe paddle will be given to me, for a more lasting reason. There’s also a map of Narnia hanging in my room. Maybe I’ll get to that next week.
