Over a year ago I posted about my summer camp experiences at Lenox Hill Camp in Litchfield Connecticut. The post went by with no fanfare whatsoever. My usual blog readers scratched their head and figured I was having an off day at the keyboard. The truth was that I really intended to post for other friends and survivors of Lenox Hill. It was such a wonderful and unique place. Check here for the original.

A few days ago in the middle of my move into my new house I get a letter by not just someone who went to the camp but from the director (our god on Mount Olympus) Walter himself!

The last time I saw Walter was my very last day I ever attended Lenox Hill. Our entire group (boys 4) went over to his air conditioned hut and sung him a voracious wake up version of "The Lord Said to Noah". I remember having my staff in hand as I banged on where I imagined his bed might have been on the other side of the wall.

Walter was the most even tempered and good natured man. The camp was always exciting and progressive with him in charge. He's asked me to post more stories so here goes. Anything for a man who helped me become who I am today.

Every night at dinner (and middays at lunch) we would sing songs of grace which were for the most part pretty fun. One of my favorite was Praise Be, sung to the tune of Windy by The Association.

Praise be to God the Father Almighty
Praise be to God who gave us the earth
Praise be to God the spirit eternal
Praise be to God forever

There were about 5-10 songs that we could choose to sing. Every day a different table would get to choose the song to be sung. Our tables were all assigned to us at the beginning of the year. It was a great time to get to know different people and counselors at the camp.

My last summer there led to some amazing experiences. Falling in love for the first time being one of them. I don't' think the girl even knew. One of the counselors Fran (a gentle obese man who studied and sung opera) took me aside one night in my grief of feelings and gave me m first talk about relationships. Every single thing Fran told me turned out to be true for the rest of my life.

One night while fighting in our bunks (those of us in Boys 4 that is) a kid named James Brown (A white kid no less. It was 1981 and the kid had been born in 1969. His parents had to know.) started calling one of us a "faggot". We all agreed that this was not cool. "Besides", I said. "My father is gay and I don't appreciated it." Much to my surprise one of my bunk mates jumped up and said "Mine too!"

Little did I know that my experience with the world's openness of this subject had just peaked.

More to come....