As I watched the campers share their parting moments, I suddenly saw what would be one of the most vivid memories of my life. The boy from under the tree, who had stared blankly out the kitchen window, was now a shirtless dancing wonder. He owned the dance floor as he and two girls proceeded to cut a rug. I watched as he shared meaningful, intimate time with people at whom he couldn’t even look just days earlier. I couldn’t believe it was the same person.
In October of my sophomore year, a late-night phone call pulled me away from my chemistry book. A soft-spoken, unf***liar voice asked politely, “Is Kevin there？”
“You’re talking to him, who’s this？”
“This is Tom Johnson’s mom. Do you remember Tommy from leadership camp？”