Ever heard of six degrees of separation or the theory that everyone can connect themselves back to Kevin Bacon…How about that idea, but replace Kevin Bacon with Fernbrook…
Sitting behind a desk may not seem like the best way to experience a day at Fernbrook, but for me, I’ve got to admit it doesn’t keep me from seeing how small of a world it really is out there and how it is directly connected to our little world here. And how Fernbrook might just be the connection to everything! I have an interesting relationship with the parents of our campers because most of the time, we never meet face to face, but Fernbrook creates the connection between us and we solidify a type of friendship.
A call from a mom the other day, “I’m sorry, I can’t remember which weeks my daughter is signed up for, I’m on Martha’s Vineyard right now.” I verbally jump on the phone! ”I lived there for 2 years.” I impart some of my inside island info on where to go for the evening, figure out her daughter’s schedule and we hang up. Talking to this mom brought me right back to the Vineyard, via Fernbrook. Fernbrook, Fernbrook, Fernbrook.
A lot of times, I only know the kids by registration forms. Or do I?
Walking through the barnyard yesterday, I see a little boy walking in the direction that I’m coming from. I take a second to look at his face and I know I’ve seen him before. He’s too little to be a vertern camper. Where do I know him from? I ask him where he lives, perhaps not the question an unfamiliar adult is supposed to ask a child, but I have to figure out why he seems so familiar. He responds to my question, “Roebling” and I know that voice too. The wheels in my head are really spinning now and I move forward with more questions. I think to myself, he’s old enough to know where he was last week and what he did over the weekend and then it all clicks. “Were you in Belmar eating dinner with your family last week?” I ask. His eyes grow wide and I knew I hit the jackpot. I remember being taken by the accertiveness of this little boy and his confidence to order straight from the waitress, not through his brothers or parents. “Grilled cheese, right?” His reply, after thinking for a second, with a smile, “I think I remember you too!” What are the chances that I am out to dinner, am struck by the maturity of a random little boy only to find him wandering through the barnyard the next week… Fernbrook, Fernbrook, Fernbrook
It all begins with Fernbrook….