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Birthdays

I sometimes wonder what makes a birthday great? What is an important birthday when you are over 21? Is it 25? 40? 50? $75? 100? Seriously, other people make a big deal about it, but does the receiver of such reception feel anything?

I said over 21, because that's the legal drinking age and maybe it's more of a reflection of the company I keep than the importance of the age that makes this so important. Ten was a big birthday for me. I was double digits. Thirteen was big, but only because I would be a teenager and entering high school. I later found out that wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Eighteen was exciting, because I could vote. Oh wait, no it wasn't. I don't remember my 21st birthday and not because I was drunk, it was just not that memorable. Twenty-two through thirty-nine have been a blur. I can't remember most of them and the majority have been spent with friends over dinner or drinks. Some were with family, some were not. I guess if I had to pick the best birthday ever. The one that reverberates in the back of my brain would be my 30th.

My 30th birthday was not spent at home with family. Not with my longest known friends. It wasn't even spent in NY, where I've lived my entire life. It was spent in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire, in what would be my final summer at Pierce Camp Birchmont. Was it my best summer? Who knows, the happiness that this place brought me was too hard to narrow down to best and worst. I mean seriously, if there is a heaven above, it looks, smells, and feels like Birchmont.

It was my fourth summer at PCB and I was running the Explorers. A group of rambunctious ten-year-olds who were out of their minds. It's funny to think, many of them are now 19 and working at the camp. It was a beautiful Thursday morning. As I woke up the kids who tried to muster a few extra minutes, I received a few birthday wishes. My fellow counselors also wished me well and we headed out to the dining hall. A few birthday wishes were given by other counselors from different groups and we entered the dining hall. The thought of the day ahead was no different than any other day, soccer in the morning, followed by WAG (weights, arts & crafts, and gymnastics), down to the lake for swim, up for lunch, tennis, more swimming, baseball before dinner and then a night off. The latter is what I was looking forward to.

As was tradition, my group stood on their chairs and sang me happy birthday. This was a common occurrence for children and counselors throughout the summer. Nothing special, although very appreciated. As we ate our breakfast the girl explorers came by and they surrounded the table. They sang and good wishes were given by my female counterpart from girl's camp. Another somewhat normal exchange. Then something started to happen that wasn't the norm. My group from last year came by, then the girls. The younger kids took their turn and then the older kids. By the end of the meal, all 300+ kids had sung me happy birthday. I was overwhelmed almost to the point of tears. As I walked out, the directors called me over and gave me their wishes. Not even 9:00 and already a a glorious day.

The day continued as would any other day. As the sun began to lower, those of us who had the day off began to run back for showers and to dress for the evening out. The smile that had been on my face all day was still there. A quick phone call from my parents would complete the wishes. I made the trek up to the yellow school bus that would drop us in town. As I started to get on the bus, I was signaled over to the directors cottage which was right across from my chariot into the debaucherous evening. The director subtly acknowledged the morning gesture and said "that says a lot about what we all think of you." He added "many counselors are loved here for different reasons, but you are for all the right reasons." Greg was always supportive and complimentary, but those are words that always stuck in my head. I was not only proud of them, but I was touched, because it capped off the perfect day. I honestly don't remember the rest of the night. I'm sure we enjoyed ourselves at one of many great locations, but the day, the gesture, and the comments will always stick with me.

Nine birthdays later, I've yet to come close to anything as meaningful as that day. I've since been back to Birchmont only once. I see my friends less and less and some are gone forever I think. I keep up with as many as I can through Facebook and e-mail, but with people living all over the world, it's sometimes tough to find the time and energy for all of them. As the summer ended the thoughts of that birthday stayed clear in my mind.

When the next summer approached and I was offered a much more lucrative job. I reluctantly cut ties with PCB. I will not lie, I cried over the decision. I knew some of my best friends would be sharing a summer that would definitely top mine. Every year when school lets out and buses packed with children set off to wooded locales. I think back to that summer. I think at that instant that this will be another summer where my birthday is just a day in July. I sometimes hear the off tune little kids in the back of my head and smile. I wish I could thank them, Greg and Laura for the best birthday I ever had. The best summers I ever had. Maybe I will be back one day, maybe I won't. A sign in front states "there are no strangers here, only friends waiting to be met." No truer statement exists. I have some I haven't spoken to in years, but in an instant there is no doubt we'd carry on as if we were sharing a bunk.

My 30th. The best birthday I ever had.

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