Personal Narrative: SuperCamp

Across the nation, there are havens for the normal and unique, sad and optimistic, intelligent and foolish, and socially awkward and socially graceful. These sites known as SuperCamp. Just as the name implies, they serve as summer camps for high school students. Parents ship their reluctant teenagers off, hoping that SuperCamp will pound even a tidbit of knowledge into their heads. The campers return to their households empowered and invigorated.

SuperCamp is an academic and team-building summer camp. It focuses on teaching one how to learn and forging impossible bonds with both the team they are assigned to and Team SuperCamp in but a mere ten days. There are no labels, no cliques, no outsiders—only SuperCampers.

The faculty at the beloved SuperCamp devised an assortment of activities to help the teams grow together. Each night, a Team Share was held, where the groups discussed different sensitive topics: autobiographies, parents, “masks”, and other personal threads. Tears were often shed during these sessions. And then there were obstacles to overcome by relying on one’s teammates: blind walks, silent mazes, and puzzles.

On that note, there was also a trust fall on Day Four, where one had to trust their team enough to throw themselves from a ladder and expect to be caught. That was my toughest challenge at SuperCamp. My lungs ravaged by asthma attacks, my heart in turmoil over a maybe-boyfriend, maybe-friend, and my self-esteem shot down from kids at school, I was terrified at the thought of climbing up that ladder.


Every idle thought, every anxious speculation, every memory burned into my mind vanished. Faced with the challenge of handing my life, or at least my wellbeing, to my teammates and throwing myself off of a ladder, relying on them to save me, I was practically frightened into a stupor. What the heck was I doing? It was insane! They were like the kids at school—they would just let me fall! They didn’t care about me.

A small part of me, that tiny, courageous, in-the-moment sliver that crouched in the shadows of my conscience, contradicted my distrust. They love you, it assured me. You only have to trust them. They’ll catch you. Just do it.

Blake, one of the head facilitators, clapped my shoulder in a way that should have been encouraging but failed to do anything other than cause my muscles to tense. I stepped onto the root beside the ladder, gazing at the faces of my team—Luc, Jake, Matt, Nick, Carlos, Taylore, Satina, Monica, and Ali—as my breath quickened. My heart threatened to burst, slamming against my chest like a furious bull, and my lungs tightened to the point of lightheadedness. Blake whispered for my ears only, “Come on, I believe in you.”

Cutting ahead of Meredith, Meg inquired, “Are you ready, Kitty? You have a choice to make.” Her short blond hair was wind-tossed, her naturally red lips curved into an easy, silly smile, and the bluest eyes tried to catch mine, relaying some measure of affection. I adored Meg. She always stuck by my side, whether I was simply morose because of Justin or afflicted by an asthma attack.

Meredith, beside her, sported a serious expression and her lips were pursed almost comically. Her fiery hair was bound in a careless bun, the style she always assumed when Team H, the “Hot Tamales”, were facing another challenge. She nodded slowly, while golden-haired Monica beamed her rare, full-blown grin at me.

I had the greatest three Team Leaders.

“Um… I’m Kitty, and I, uh, choose to accept this challenge.” The words slipped from my tongue before I even had time to comprehend the significance of what I was about to utter. And like a wildfire bursting to flame, the Hot Tamales yelled and cheered, as they had for each previous teammate.

Shy, timid Ali flashed a brief, encouraging smile: “You can do this, Kitty.” The Terrible Three—Luc, Nick, and Matthew—hooted, hollering my name above the din. Carlos’s olive face was alit with his usual goofy grin. Meg clapped fiercely and whooped.

My stomach roiling with clenched nerves, I followed the guidelines the SuperCamp faculty had laid down earlier. “Spotters ready?” I coughed.

“Spotters ready!”

“Kitty… climbing.”

“Climb on, Kitty!”

I turned and faced the ladder, finally deciding that I lacked all sanity. My small, already cold hands curled around the ladder’s icy bars. I carefully lifted my weight onto the bottom rung, expecting it to sway and surprised when it didn’t. The shouts of my team roaring behind, my fear and uncertainty were chased away by a rush of adrenaline.

Heat burst in my core. I swarmed up the ladder, no longer registering anything but my feet rising into air and then meeting metal, my hands releasing and tightening in perfect rhythm, until I reached the third to last rung, and reality crashed into me. I dared a quick glance down, the ground spinning below, and screwed my eyes shut an instant after. “Spotters ready?” I choked out, my voice strained.

“Spotters ready!” Team H fell silent. The night pressed tight around me, only the cries of other teams piercing the surreal quiet. Meg murmured another word, but it was lost in the black hole that engulfed my mind.

This was it. My hands loosened around the poles until I clung to the ladder with only shaking fingers and locked knees. “Kitty… falling.”

“FALL ON, KITTY!” Their scream was so immense, so loud that I expected the very ground to shake. And as the last voice was ebbing away, I finally released my grip, fell back, and cast my trust into their waiting hands.

I experienced a split second rush. Falling, falling, falling, I gasped, my guts and heart and lungs pressed against my chest, jumping and wrenching about. Then that wonderful, exhilarating sensation was lost as Team H suspended me a few feet above the ground with twelve pairs of hands. They lowered me to the height of their waists, raised in a web of friendly hands, a few of which awkwardly supported my butt, and rocked me gently back and forth. The feeling was incredible, though a bit too akin to a swaying boat and reminding me of seasickness.

“Good job, Kitty.” “You’re awesome, you know?” “I love your smile.” “Your laugh.” “You’re amazing.” “We love you.” “You’re a great writer.” “Yeah, you’ll make it big one day.” The compliments continued; I peered up into the twelve faces, familiar and absolutely beloved after only four days at SuperCamp, wanting to cry. One by one, I met each of their eyes, and I finally realized that I was wrong. They did care. They did love me.


This is it. That was the first key I learned at SuperCamp. It means to live in the moment, to embrace life in all of its beautiful chaos. It means to accept what’s forced upon me and strive to be a better person. It means to thrive in life’s peace and disaster, and never give up. It means whatever I want it to mean.

The ten days I attended SuperCamp, I learned an amazing amount—about who I was, about making friends, about the “eight keys of excellence”, about goal-making, about trust and team-building, and about so much more. I made some of the closest friends that I am able to claim to this day, most in Team H but also some that weren’t. However, up until Day Four, I couldn’t say I had made any friends or progressed towards excellence.

When the Hot Tamales caught me during the ladder fall, I gained a little insight that propelled me through the rest of the ten days at SuperCamp. I realized that I was far too paranoid and too hard on myself; I realized that my teammates loved me, and that I loved them back—not in a perverted or boyfriend-girlfriend sense but like a huge, crazy family.

The trust fall, the Hot Tamales, Supercamp—that was it. But this—my insane but loyal friends, going to football games with the crew, hanging out on weekends; even my hectic household and busy school schedule—this is it.