White Stag - 2.0

I don't want to leave White Stag. Because leaving, even for just a little bit, means forgetting, and I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget the exhilaration that I felt as I screamed at the top of my lungs, or the feeling of accomplishment that blossomed in my chest after completing a 15 mile hike with 30 pounds on my back, or the sound of crickets chirping in the background of a late night song/skit fest on the banks of a peaceful creek. I don't want to forget the pride in my chest when my graduation neckerchief was placed around my neck, or the tears that stained my cheeks as we sang Linger for the last time, or the hoarseness in my throat after leading a station of the Triphase Games. I don't want to forget Dennis' potato stories, or painting Will's nails with green and turquoise 3D fabric paint, or the "TAKES OUR COOKIES TO MAKE CAMP GO" part that I loved before every meal. I don't want to forget the authority of being SPL for a day, or the delight that tingled through me at being presented the purple PL beret. I don't want to forget the yells, or the songs, or the little mini tunes that could be triggered by certain words. I don't want to forget the Madrone patrol's cantaPOPE, or the session we gave Will, Dennis, and Maya on how to give other people hornets, or the weather rocks, or the ring of power that bestowed 3 spirit berets on my fellow candidates, or the potato song that I wrote. But, of course, I want to forget some things as well. I want to forget the explosions of dust that came with every step I took, and the flies that buzzed too close to my ears and landed on my lips, and the sweat soaked shirt that clung to my body, and the showers caked with mud and dirt. But I would endure all of that and worse just to get the chance to stay at White Stag for another week. From the day I stepped onto the blue tarp last year during Phase 2, I knew that this camp would be different from the rest. I looked up to Phase 3 with immense admiration, and it's so surreal to be one of them this year. I never want to stop following the stag, forwards, upwards, and onwards, and I hope so bad to be a part of the youth staff next year. So, White Stag, I feel good.