When Joy Reflects
“An effort made for the happiness of others lifts above ourselves.”
Oak Bluffs Gingerbread Houses - Martha’s Vineyard
A big red school bus decorated with lifelike Alice in Wonderland figures in red, orange, and yellow hues approaches the campgrounds. Earnest and cheerful faces, wide smiles, and curious eyes peer through the windows. Inside this bus is a group of mostly adults, some squeaking with nervous laughter while others sing the theme songs from Hamilton and Mamma Mia at the top of their lungs. A trail of anticipation, joy, and exhilaration follows the bus like crumbs for all to pounce upon.
The bus and those upon it are heading to a heavenly place filled with an infectious warmth that takes over one’s heart and soul.
Camp Jabberwocky in Martha’s Vineyard.
Ever since I was a little girl frequenting the Island, I have been drawn to the Camp Jabberwocky community and longed to be a part of it because of its intangible, joyful vibe. It’s a club of inclusivity, and the Island bends itself for it. Camp Jabberwocky is the oldest sleepaway camp for adults with disabilities in the United States. Campers have autism, down syndrome, and cerebral palsy, among other disabilities and differences, and all are welcome. The camp is a non-profit; nearly everyone working there is a volunteer. The Island looks out for Camp Jabberwocky and takes care of her with open arms. Campers are visible all over the Island, all summer long, taking part in every adventure and activity the Island offers.
Tommy.
I met him as he stepped off the ferry before boarding the bus. It was a camp tradition for counselors to greet all campers in festive attire. Dressed in a pink tutu, with face paint and copious amounts of glitter in my hair, I felt like an exploding pinata. And I was exceptionally nervous. What if he doesn’t like me? What if I do something wrong? It was a “What if” eruption.
In his signature Superman shirt and long khaki cargo shorts, 42-year-old Tommy was a veteran camper. Returning for his tenth consecutive summer, he would show me the ropes. And there was no messing around. He got straight to the point.
“We are going to be best friends,” he told me. Followed by a big, long bear hug.
Tommy is an adult with Down Syndrome, requiring my 1:1 attention and companionship. We romped and rollicked.
Tommy and I were inseparable for a few weeks. Our days began early and ended as the sky turned dark.
I learned about his deep-seated adoration for the West Side Story playlist and how he had memorized each word by heart (something I’m still trying to accomplish). I still can’t remove West Side Story from the top of my Spotify playlist.
Beaches defined the summer. Beaching and beaches and more beaches. We went daily. The Vineyard police gave Camp Jabberwocky its parking spot among summer vacationers at sought-after Oak Bluffs. Interestingly, Tommy was not a beach guy. No swimming for him. Amidst the beach chaos, bikers, and bathers, he was calm and smiles. Tommy would beckon me to find a quiet spot on a beach chair and cuddle beside me. He asked if I would listen to West Side Story with him—every day.
Oak Bluffs Beach - Martha’s Vineyard
Donning his Patriots baseball cap, Tommy was shy until he was encouraged to open up and try something new. Once he did, he smiled and held onto the moment fully. We had to work through a crisis that summer. Tommy became profoundly disappointed when he could not find a “girlfriend.” Together, we discovered that most female campers were meaningfully younger than him. It took me a while to understand what he meant by a girlfriend. He wanted somebody to hold hands with. We worked through this. And while we never held hands, we had our share of subtle cuddles and day-long chats. He sought somebody to be quiet and sit with, and to accompany him as West Side Story blasted through his headphones. Tommy was a guy who thrived on companionship, and even though he never found that “girlfriend,” he was surrounded by caring and compassionate friends all summer.
An old soul and mellow, he took a nap daily, enjoyed arts and crafts, and told me I was funny and had a lot of energy. Occasionally, a spark of playfulness would emerge, like when he would break out into silly faces or jump up and down when he spotted me. One costume evening, Tommy, with incredible amounts of encouragement, transformed into an air traffic controller. We sang and danced the night away until he fatigued and asked politely if he could retire for the night with his headphones.
The Island was ripe with activities that were all available to the campers. One day, we went flying in biplanes. We stood in a long line, waiting for our turn. Tears flowed from Tommy’s eyes as the waiting took a toll on his spirits. Lots of hugs and reassurance that our turn would come were the recipe to ease his angst.
We patiently waited and were the last duo to embrace the marvel of Vineyard skies. Having survived the waterworks, the in-flight adventure was a summer highlight!
Tommy opened my eyes to the simple pleasures of summer, made all the more special by focusing on his joy - his experience. Sandy beaches, discovering something new like the brush of the water against his toes, working through romance and friendship woes, being silly to make him laugh, swaying by his side to West Side Story, and the comfort of bear hugs (his signature) over and over again. These small things were my tickets to Tommy’s delight, and his joy deflected everywhere.
I noticed a permanent smile plastered on Tommy’s face. He always seemed happy to be with me, and while I was supposed to be caring for him, I found myself rushing out the door to arrive earlier and earlier at the campgrounds- for Tommy. This whole camp counselor thing had become a two-way street. We were a pair, and the joys he experienced became my joys.
“You are like my little sister,” he told me before we parted ways.
And our summer together ended how it had begun with a big, long bear hug!