DAS meets Camp Haiastan: My world, paved over with new philosophy.

On Thursday, the DAS crew didn’t just “pave the planet”.

Do you recognize this place?

A work in progress.

They spent the whole, perfect day, paving my planet––my favorite place in the world. Camp Haiastan.

Anthony and I hopped out of the truck and we were greeted by a man he calls “Mr. Miagi”. It was strange and delightful, but I didn’t pause for long. I rushed forward toward the action.

Anthony literally bowed to him.

As I watched the crew lay out fresh asphalt for brand new basketball courts, I was overwhelmed. In a truly narcissistic way, I felt as if they were my new courts, and what’s more, they were being installed by my family. I was smiling, I was excited. I was invested in the project.

I felt that way because I was home. At least on the inside. The truth is, I never in my life felt more like my true self than when I spent my summers at Camp Haiastan. Never. That was the time I was at my happiest, my most comfortable––the best version of me that I sometimes fear I’ll never know again.

There I was, watching this important place change right in front of me, once again. I remember a time when that used to bother me. Long time campers, longer than me, protested the changing of rules and activity names, and the installation of new structures and traditions––really for no reason at all. When it comes to the sacred grounds of Camp Haiastan, very few people support change. They like things as they are, so much so, that they’re too scared to understand how sometimes, something new can make things better.

But I’ve learned since then. I remember the sentiment that some wonderful men left the 2009 Camp staff with, after showing how the Camp had evolved over the years: they told us to keep traditions but “Make it better than it was.”

And thats what DAS was there to do. How lucky I felt, being able to spend a morning watching a place I love gain something new, functional and beautiful.

How proud I was, to know my father was in charge.

Dad on the paver.

“The tree,” he pointed out during a pause in the action, “they had to cut down the tree. The one that Anthony fell asleep under when he was a camper.”

It was Teen Session 2007, I returned from the A-field with all my campers in tow, only to find my little brother asleep under a tree with no other cabinmates or counselors in sight. Later, when I questioned the boys as to why they left him all alone, they said

I was glad he remembered, because I did too. Though I wasn’t sure why in that moment he sounded somewhat sentimental. “But did you look behind the Director’s Quarters?,” I asked, “There’s a canoe––”

“––With Anthony’s name on it,” he said, finishing my thought, “from the time he got hurt during the canoe trip.”

The damaged canoe from summer 2006 or 2007

I was glad he remembered that too. And a little surprised.

See, my dad was not exactly the one to encourage us kids to go to Armenian Camp. He was more like a cynical bystander, unable to truly understand the appeal––but always a good sport. He made jokes, yes, and it was at times a little too clear that he didn’t like us leaving for 9 weeks at a time, but he came to see us every visiting Sunday. He came in good spirits and brought loaves of bread, and Italian cookies. I liked that because I got to show off another part of my family to my camp friends. Armenian’s aren’t always the most accepting of other cultures, but no one complained, at least not when it came to the free food.

At times, his role expanded from generally accepting parent to contributer––installing gravel pathways and excavating the muck and weeds out of Uncas, leading to a newly functional waterfront that would become more valuable than any of us knew. He did these things, I think, because it is his job. But I wonder, how much (if any), he did on behalf of his kids.

Uncas Pond, my favorite.

The job went very well in the beginning. I snapped photo after photo as they laid down a good looking base coat. Nick, the only Amorello kid to never experience Camp Haiastan, drove the roller––the quietest, most independent of positions.

Rolling the new asphalt

Not only did he lack any kind of connection to the job, but I doubt he was remotely aware of mine. He acknowledged me once, only to accuse me of stealing his toothpaste.

"Don't do it again. I barely know where I am when I wake up in the morning, I can't be searching the house for my toothpaste."

He was right. I did. I promised not to do it again though.

I spent time during breaks wandering the cabin circle, relaxing under the trees and on the swings, taking as much in as I could. I was plainly emotional through the whole episode, and it made me feel a little guilty. I know my dad always wanted me to be happy, but I usually got the feeling he wished being happy meant being home with my family––not in a cabin in Franklin, MA or a dorm in Boston or a foreign country. He listened to me anyway.

“I feel like this is my house,” I told him, “I feel like I’m the customer today.”

He wasn’t surprised. He had to make a decision on where to get some material, a nearby plant with lower quality burm, or a place 10x farther away with better stuff. He chose the far away place. “Really?” I asked.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m on your team.”

I was glad he felt that way. This was a far better offering than Italian cookies. My father, if you can’t tell, is a great person to have on your team. Again, I am lucky.

Beautiful

The job went on. In what seems to be a current trend, a machine broke down around lunch time and things slowed down.

I was able to speak with Dave Harapetian, a long time DAS team member, and one of Camp Haiastan’s original campers. He doesn’t remember much about that summer in the late 50’s but he has a feeling he didn’t like it much. “I don’t remember playing with basketballs,” he told me, “I remember playing with snakes.”

Dave Harapetian: Former Camper, Current DAS employee, Life Long Legend.

Ahhh.. hmm.. yes. Well, whatever that means.

I, on the otherhand, certianly remember basketball. I remember backbreaker half court shots, coaching older boy olympic maddness, and my first ever introduction night, sitting on the half court line. I remember everything about the seven summers I spent at Camp Haiastan, I remember what I did, who I was with, how I learned about the world and myself. Today, jobless and a little lost, I wonder how––I wonder if, I’ll ever get back to a place where everything feels good and right.

My father took time to sit on the swings with me. We talked about my options––a new window of opportunity: Summer teaching English in Italy.

I couldn’t decide whether or not I should go. I know this would be an amazing experience, but still, I’m anxious. Travelling through a new country all alone, so far away from who I was and where I’ve been. At the moment, when I was in a place so loved and familiar, going somewhere new felt wrong and terrifying. He listened to my worries about money and jobs, family and friends. He didn’t say so, but I know my father must worry about the same things I do. Part of him would like me safe at home, available for movie viewing and the trip we’ve been meaning to take to the Mark Twain house. He understood my worries and maybe even felt them but still, he encouraged me to go do something new. I remained on the fence, but of course, I trusted him. Afterall, he is on my team.

Since Thursday, I’ve thought a lot about what I should do this summer. I could stay home, save money, be comfortable and safe––maybe even pleasantly bored for the first time in a long time. But is it reasonable to pass up an opportunity like a summer in Italy? If I do go, will I ever get back to the way I felt, to who I was when I was on Summer Street in Franklin? I think of the new basketball courts and I try to understand change. I think about the beauty of having the ability to start fresh, pave over the ugly parts, make things better.

Right now, as I type, I am making a decision. I want to live this summer, and my life, with a Camp Haiastan philosophy in mind. No matter where I go, I will remember who I am, what I love, and what is important but only with new experience, can I make myself better than I was.

Today I purchase a one way ticket to Naples, Italy.