Mommy-Daddy tomorrow? ~ February 3, 1983

Editor's note: I believe that this was David's first column as the editor of the Askov American. The idea of a weekly column was just beginning to percolate in his mind. So, the format  and the style were a little different. The story is a beloved one in our family. 

ON CAMP COURAGE: David's older sister Lynette went to camp, David and I met at camp (he was the cowboy, I was the cook).  My brother and sister-in-law worked there. Our daughter, Malika worked at camp. It is not a stretch to say what an important place Camp Courage was to our family.

David Heiller

 Every week, newspapers like the American are inundated with press releases from people, organizations or businesses who have some information they would like passed along.

Some of the press releases are for good causes, others are blatantly self-serving, little more than free advertising. The press release on the front page of this week’s American from the Courage Center is one of those good causes. I must admit a bias though—I worked at Camp Courage, a camp for handicapped people, for five summers as counselor, camp-crafter, riding instructor and everything in between.

David with a camper at Camp Courage.

I could talk for hours about the good people who work with the Courage organization, or about the campers, or the programs. But instead I’d like to share a humorous experience that occurred my first summer at camp.

It was the summer of 1972. The first session of handicapped campers, aged 25-45, had left two days earlier, and we were welcoming in the most exciting, fun group—the 8 to 12-year-olds. I was a first year counselor and like all first year counselors, was eager and excited and a little bit nervous. Every time a new camper would arrive, I would greet them enthusiastically and try to make them feel at home. Remember, it’s hard for any kid to leave home, especially for two weeks. Many of these kids had never left their parents for a night before, let alone two weeks. Home-sickness was to be expected, and we were prepared for it.

But we weren’t prepared for Jimmy. Jimmy arrived Sunday afternoon, eight years old, in a wheelchair with cerebral palsy. He couldn’t walk, and he had limited use of his arms though he could feed himself with help. He could talk in a limited way, not in complete sentences. We found that out quickly. Jimmy’s first words as soon as his parents had left were, “Mommy—Daddy tomorrow?”

“Mommy—Daddy tomorrow?” became a familiar question from Jimmy. Many times a day he would turn his head toward us, staring with big, brown eyes, and ask, “Mommy—Daddy tomorrow?”

“No, Jimmy,” we’d answer. “You’re mommy and daddy won’t be coming for a while. But aren’t you having fun at camp?” And we’d tell him about all the fun things he was doing at camp such as swimming, horseback riding or softball. Jimmy thoroughly enjoyed the activities, but still, he would ask, “Mommy—Daddy tomorrow?”

The two-week camping session progressed and as it did so, the counselors in Jimmy’s cabin, including myself, began to tire of Jimmy’s questioning. But one counselor had a great thought, one that lifted our spirits with Jimmy.

“Just think,” he said, “on Wednesday when Jimmy asks `Mommy—Daddy tomorrow,’ we can say, “YES JIMMY, MOMMY—DADDY ARE COMING TOMORROW.”

We were all excited about that answer and were all excited when Wednesday finally came. We all got dressed, the four counselors, and went out to Jimmy’s bed. He was lying there awake, almost as if he were waiting for us.

“Jimmy,” we started, “guess what?”

Jimmy calmly looked up at us with those big brown eyes and asked, “Mommy—Daddy today?”