You know, now that I think about it, I really gave you a ton of shit, but you were really good at giving it right back. You were my boss one of the first summers I worked at camp, and even though you were only a few years older than any of the guys on your team, you had a way of making sure we all knew who was in charge without being bossy. You didn't let us get away with being stupid idiots, either. You recognized that we weren't just out in the woods having a big fuckoff party, we were actually there to do a job that might just make a tiny little difference in some kids' lives. Though I have to say, the way your eyes bugged out of your face when you got mad sometimes made it hard to take you completely seriously.
Of course, off-duty hours were a different story. I believe you were party to my first couple of experiences with excessive amounts of alcohol. The very first time was in a field somewhere in the acreage of the Boy Scout property where we worked. I woke up the next morning under the sky, covered in chigger bites. I had to make up a story to tell the scouts and scoutmasters later on that day. And to think, all those years as a camper, I assumed the staff was peopled with angels.
In the summers after that, I went on to work in other areas. We were still friends, but you had this habit of dating a new guy every summer and then ripping his heart to shreds by the end. And they were always friends of mine, which meant I always felt sort of torn. I never dated you so I don't know what was so great about it, but summer after summer, you reduced many a dude to wracking sobs. But now that I think about it, I can't say I blame you too much. I mean, if I'd worked at, say, Girl Scout Camp, and had my pick....ya know, I'm just gonna stop that thought right there.