Have you ever buttered 300 slices of bread, paired them with 150 slices of American cheese, smelled the cheesy-buttery aroma for 15 minutes from the oven, and served the sandwiches to mildly grateful kids for an hour, only to realize there was none left for you?
In 2010, I first learned of Hindu Heritage Summer Camp (HHSC). Almost immediately, I was opposed to attending. Having just moved back from India, I wasn’t particularly excited for more Indian food, and religious ceremonies with unclear origins or benefits. But when I heard they had grilled cheese sandwiches, I was willing to give it a try.
My first summer at camp was magical. HHSC was two weeks long, and each day was jam-packed with philosophy and Sanskrit classes, but also campfires, hikes, and cabin rivalries. Camp was for ages 8-16, and at 11 I was at the perfect apex of cute yet mildly intelligible, so I got along with everyone. Christened with the name Rooney (you can read the origin story here), I was discovering a version of myself I quite liked.
My subsequent years were decreasingly magical. The newness of camp went away, filled instead by the hallmark awkwardness of early teenagers, coupled with a more urgent desire to fit in with peers of my age — many of whom preferred conversations where I didn’t want, or feel welcome to, contribute. To make things worse, the sugar I was inhaling from morning cereals was starting to show up in my physique. Each year, Rooney became less confident and more reserved – a version he didn’t want to be.
I kept coming back with the hopes of capturing that magic. In 2016 I became a counselor, and I loved getting to mentor campers, but I still couldn’t shake this persona. I even visited a few years later, but it felt the same. As summers slowly became less about one’s roots and more about their resume, I was only too happy to leave Rooney behind.
For years, I practiced camp prayer weekly and continued exploring Hinduism, but thought less and less about camp itself, driven instead to chase down newer and better versions of myself. But a few months ago, I reconnected with a friend from camp and heard they were looking for volunteers. The timing worked as a gap between two roles, and with some hesitation, I decided to go back.
Walking into the camp auditorium, I felt that feeling of visiting an old school – like you once belonged, but maybe don’t anymore. As I put down my things, I heard someone call me Rooney for the first time in years.
The title of Assistant Manager may sound fancy, but for four days, my job was cooking and (mostly) cleaning. Breakfast prep started at 7:25, we served at 8:45, and after cleanup we would immediately jump into lunch. While the kids were learning Sanskrit, I was learning the fastest way to cut lettuce. As a camper, I didn’t appreciate the industrial effort that went into making meals.
On the first day, we made the trademark grilled cheese sandwiches, and I felt the same giddiness as I did smelling them 12 years ago (turns out, the magic ingredient is more butter). The kids apparently shared my excitement, and when there were none left, I went with some volunteers to try a Rochester special “garbage plate” grilled sandwich instead.
Despite all the dishes to clean, the hardest part was introducing myself. For the first few days, when people called me Rooney, I felt a tinge of disappointment. This over-confident peak-of-life young adult wasn’t still an awkward kid, was he?
As Kaloramic readers know, I keep searching for new experiences – scared of staleness or mediocrity. After high school, I left behind fencing, a sport I was ever only moderately good at, and Chinese – a language that seven years of classes still couldn’t help me decipher. There was something haunting in going back to an older version of myself, especially one I tried to leave behind.
For convenience, I stuck with Rooney, like an old shoe stretching to compensate. But with each meal, I realized that maybe the problem wasn’t with Rooney, but his perception of himself. To campers, Rooney wasn’t a shy and chubby kid, but the person who gave them their favorite foods. To counselors, Rooney was a (slightly) more experienced adult that could share college advice and his ideas for HHSC. Rooney felt a belonging at camp in a way he hadn’t in a long time. Apparently, even older versions of yourself can evolve, if you let them.
For at least some time, I’ll keep chasing new versions of myself. In a few weeks, I’ll be leaving DC to begin my next adventure (more on this next). But maybe I’ll revisit older versions once in a while, seeing what shoes might still fit. Last week, I fenced for the first time in seven years. Maybe I’ll pack my Chinese flashcards in my suitcase too.
P.S. The last time I saw Manchester United in the U.S., it was my first summer of camp. 12 years later, I’m seeing them play in New Jersey this weekend.