This is The Parlour, a place for intimate conversation, a real-time archive, a shared diary passed between a rotating cast of queer characters every week in an attempt to capture a kaleidoscopic view of what it’s like to be a queer person right here, right now.
Summer has always been my favorite season (with the exception of fall, but only in the Midwest). I think this is something ingrained in all of us thanks to school. We stare at the clock, desperately waiting to see the second ticker relieve us from homework, teachers, the horrors of middle school. Some people had fun vacations, trips to a distant relative’s house, summer school. The luckiest of them all had summer camp.
I was fortunate enough to have experienced an amalgamation of all of these. My parents had us all in this Asian math and reading program, using our progress (or lack thereof) to determine if we got to go swimming, to a friend’s house, or really even anywhere other than the kitchen counter. We spent a few summers at various family reunions. I remember my “uncle” (it’s a long story) making this roasted corn on the grill that, to this day, remains unparalleled. I took an outdoor summer gym class and wore tan tights under my soffe shorts because I didn’t want anyone to see my thighs jiggle. I dreaded most of these summer activities, so when I finally became of working age, I was so relieved I could use work as an excuse to get out of them.
The only job a 16-year-old lifeguard really has is to kiss their coworkers and fuck around. Sadly, I took this job far more seriously than I should’ve. I don’t regret spending hours in CPR classes, in-services, or generally freezing to death in a swimsuit (Ohio in May can still bring snow). It was all worth it, because it eventually got me the job as a Pathfinder counselor at Camp Storer, the most coveted job in all of Southwest Michigan.
Camp Storer was one of those places all schools on the Ohio/Michigan state line took their kids to for an educational field trip. I was lucky enough to have been a summer camper there for a few years. So when I was chosen as one of three counselors to lead an all-girls group of teens through an off-the-grid, unstructured camping extravaganza, it felt like everything was coming full circle.
Every May, I go back to this space in my mind; I can confidently say that summer was the best summer of my life. I taught stand-up paddle board classes, poetry workshops by the lake, shared campfire stories, helped my friends sneak out to hook up in the woods. I helped younger girls navigate things like their own queerness (before I was even out lol). I flirted with all the international camp counselors, which is eventually how I ended up in grad school in England five years later.
It was a summer of firsts: swimming naked in public, becoming friends with the “cool” camp counselors, walking around topless in the woods, making out with this guy on top of the diving platform, only to tell him a week later I was becoming a nun (that was my queer cover-up story). I was introduced to SARK’s art and poetry. I saved a friend from drowning in the lake. I took my British friends to see Cabela’s, a cultural hotspot of the Midwest.
It was perfect in every way. It’s a respite in my mind I escape to frequently. I unabashedly admit that if I could jump back in time, I would live that summer over, and over, and over again, like the true Midwest Princess I am.
