Clayton Road

Authors Note: This Article was published on the MDA website mdausa.org


We've been driving for hours. It's hot, I'm thirsty, and my brother is getting on my last nerves. Every ten minutes it's, "Are we there yet?" or "When are we gonna get there?" or "I'm never doing this again!" The only thing that keeps me from yelling at him is the fact that in less then an hour, I would be at camp and will say bye to him for a week. As everyone is about to lose their patience, we see a road sign that says "Clayton Road." According to the atlas, this is where we turn off the long, monotonous highway, onto a narrow, one lane, gravel road. My parents, tired from the four hour trip are overjoyed, and me, well I'm just excited that there is such a road as Clayton Road! As we turn off the highway, the smooth, almost gliding feeling of the freeway, turns into a jerky ride that makes you feel as if your insides are shaking. No other cars are to be seen in front or behind us, so we can go fast. This is a mistake, because not knowing that the road was so dusty, we create a cloud composed of dirt and sand. Franticly, we roll up all of the windows before the suffocating mist gets into our van. My dad slows down, seeing the commotion his speeding has caused. The gigantic cloud is left as a barrier for others to cross.

Now that we are going slower, we are able to notice some of the scenery. As on any Nebraska road that is outside of a city, all we can see are fields; corn fields mostly. Large patches of green cover the dried up brown soil. They stand up like armies, all in neat individual rows and columns. In the patches of fields where there is no corn, but only grass, we see some cows lazily eating. I can imagine how hot they must be as the late summer sun beats down on them. After going down this road for a while, we notice that it is starting to get very steep. As we get higher and higher, this gravel road turns onto a brown, dried up hill. Suddenly, I remember something I had read about the camp. It is the highest point in the state of Nebraska. There are no trees on this barren hill, and it lays exposed and unprotected to the ever burning summer sun. As we reach the top, all around us we see identical hills.

When the road stops rising, it automatically starts to sink into a valley and the becomes flat again. Trees start to appear, then houses and then what I have been waiting for, for a long time, a big wooden sign that reads "CAMP COMECA." We travel for a few minutes through forested land until an opening appears. The scene reminds me of a Wild West movie with a wide, gravel covered space, surrounded by plain looking buildings. Vans with handicapped stickers on their bumpers are everywhere. Moms and Dads carry suitcases and other necessities, while kids and young adults zoom around in their wheelchairs or talk to friends from previous years. My dad, anxious to get out of our steaming van, drives up to a young woman in a green shirt that says "STAFF." "Excuse me, do you know where registration is?" he asks as rivers of sweat run down his face.

The young girl points to a large building with three patios. "MDA registration is over there." She says. We drive up to the building and get out of the van, all of us happy to be breathing fresh air again. As we walk closer to the registration building, I begin to see familiar faces and some not so familiar. We reach the door to the building and step into a refreshing, air conditioned room. It is large with gigantic ceiling fans hanging overhead.

A short Hispanic girl rushes to meet us. "You must be Khrystyna!" she says with a smile "I'm Tia, I'll be your counselor this week."

"It's nice to meet you." I say. After registration, Tia takes my mom and me to my cabin. The cabin is a small, white-washed, brick building with a sign that says, "Hilton" on it. The name strikes me funny, because as I go in, I'm surprised by the smallness of it. Two bunk beds stand on either side of the door, with two tiny separate rooms on both sides and a second wing for the younger girls. My dad is already there with all of my bags. My old sheets from when I was my brother's age are already on the bed that was assigned to me. I'm shocked to find out that there is a separate building for the bathroom, telling me it will call for some cold morning walks. After we get unpacked, we walk my family back to our van. The Wild West scene has turned into a lush garden, with a wide arrangement of flowers and trees, concrete paths and well kept lawns. As we reach the parking lot, we notice something that we haven't seen yet, a beautiful lake that seems to go on forever, and glitters in late afternoon sunlight. As I give my parents one more hug, I know that I will have a wonderful week at this beautiful camp.

I smile as I watch my parents drive off. Yes, I will miss them, but from that moment on, I am free. Free to have fun, free to stay up past midnight, free to act crazy, and most of all, free to be myself without worrying about being different. I have waited for this week all year. "Dinner is in five minutes. Are you ready to go?" Tia asks, the nervousness of being a first year counselor still evident in her voice. I know she'll be okay though. They always are.

"Of course!" I say happily. The best week of the year has begun.