City Kids’ pre-camp jitters

by Bill Johnson, Denver Post columnist –

Before I walked in, I knew whom I wanted to interview. The person would be quieter than the rest, the eyes would dart, if not flat out have tears in them.

And there she was.

Her name was Kylie Ulibarri. She is 7 years old.

“Yes, I am nervous,” she said softly, her voice quavering, her beautiful, deep brown eyes the size of banquet plates. “I’m worried something might happen, like a bear will get me and stuff.”

I wanted to hug her. I remember well, you see, that long-ago summer day when I was just like her. She was minutes away from boarding a bus to head off to summer camp.

She was one of 110 inner-city kids who paid $50 or were subsidized to go for a full week to the Salvation Army’s Denver Red Shield Community Center’s High Peak Camp in Estes Park.

For most of the kids, it is not only the first time they are away from their parents, but their first trip out of the city.

My first time away from home and to the mountains was on the Salvation Army’s nickel too. I was 8. And I’m not ashamed to say I cried that first night.

It is why I had to speak with Christopher Jones, 11, as he stood with his 8-year-old brother, Xavier, who made no pretense about being scared. I went to that first camp with my little brother, too.

“I’m not going to know anyone except for my brother,” Christopher finally allowed of his fears. I assured him he would meet lots of kids and wouldn’t want to come home when camp ends Monday.

Two large sightseeing buses soon showed up, quite different from the rickety yellow school buses we traveled in. Parents arrived with children, luggage and sleeping bags, but they were stopped at the door.

“We want the children to get in the camp mood right away,” said Roger Miller, a Salvation Army spokesman. “The kids would just cling if we let their parents in.”

Most parents hug their kids, turn and drive off. Monica and Kevin Nettles, though, stand to the side beneath a small tree, their 2-year-old son, Mattais, seated in a stroller.

They have just dropped off their 9-year-old, McKayla. This is her third year at the camp, but both say they still cannot stand the separation.

“I just want to make sure she gets off okay,” Monica Nettles says, blinking back tears.

Lizeth Baker, 32, lingers with her friend, Jamila Mallory, just outside the door. This is the first time she will be away from her son, Isiah, 8.

“Actually, I want to go up there, maybe settle him and the other kids in,” she says seriously. “I’m going to miss him.”

Her fears are tempered by her own memories of going to the very same camp from the same center for the first time when she was 6. It will be a good experience for him, she says several times.

It is minutes before the buses load. I go back inside to check on Kylie Ulibarri. She has just finished her “thank you” card to donors who provided funds for some of the children to go. Next is lunch in the center’s dining room.

The girl is seated and holding hands with Amoriah Vera, 7, a second-grade classmate. It is Amoriah’s first camp too, but she is unafraid, she says, because she once traveled alone on an airplane to visit her grandparents in California.

“We’re going to go swimming and stuff like that,” she assures Kylie. “It makes me less scared. I’m excited and nervous at the same time,” she tells her. “We’ll be OK.”

The girls say goodbye and scamper off to lunch together.

In time, I know, they will recall this day fondly, too.

And there she was.

Her name was Kylie Ulibarri. She is 7 years old.

“Yes, I am nervous,” she said softly, her voice quavering, her beautiful, deep brown eyes the size of banquet plates. “I’m worried something might happen, like a bear will get me and stuff.”

I wanted to hug her. I remember well, you see, that long-ago summer day when I was just like her. She was minutes away from boarding a bus to head off to summer camp.

She was one of 110 inner-city kids who paid $50 or were subsidized to go for a full week to the Salvation Army’s Denver Red Shield Community Center’s High Peak Camp in Estes Park.

For most of the kids, it is not only the first time they are away from their parents, but their first trip out of the city.

My first time away from home and to the mountains was on the Salvation Army’s nickel too. I was 8. And I’m not ashamed to say I cried that first night.

It is why I had to speak with Christopher Jones, 11, as he stood with his 8-year-old brother, Xavier, who made no pretense about being scared. I went to that first camp with my little brother, too.

“I’m not going to know anyone except for my brother,” Christopher finally allowed of his fears. I assured him he would meet lots of kids and wouldn’t want to come home when camp ends Monday.

Two large sightseeing buses soon showed up, quite different from the rickety yellow school buses we traveled in. Parents arrived with children, luggage and sleeping bags, but they were stopped at the door.

“We want the children to get in the camp mood right away,” said Roger Miller, a Salvation Army spokesman. “The kids would just cling if we let their parents in.”

Most parents hug their kids, turn and drive off. Monica and Kevin Nettles, though, stand to the side beneath a small tree, their 2-year-old son, Mattais, seated in a stroller.

They have just dropped off their 9-year-old, McKayla. This is her third year at the camp, but both say they still cannot stand the separation.

“I just want to make sure she gets off okay,” Monica Nettles says, blinking back tears.

Lizeth Baker, 32, lingers with her friend, Jamila Mallory, just outside the door. This is the first time she will be away from her son, Isiah, 8.

“Actually, I want to go up there, maybe settle him and the other kids in,” she says seriously. “I’m going to miss him.”

Her fears are tempered by her own memories of going to the very same camp from the same center for the first time when she was 6. It will be a good experience for him, she says several times.

It is minutes before the buses load. I go back inside to check on Kylie Ulibarri. She has just finished her “thank you” card to donors who provided funds for some of the children to go. Next is lunch in the center’s dining room.

The girl is seated and holding hands with Amoriah Vera, 7, a second-grade classmate. It is Amoriah’s first camp too, but she is unafraid, she says, because she once traveled alone on an airplane to visit her grandparents in California.

“We’re going to go swimming and stuff like that,” she assures Kylie. “It makes me less scared. I’m excited and nervous at the same time,” she tells her. “We’ll be OK.”

The girls say goodbye and scamper off to lunch together.

In time, I know, they will recall this day fondly, too.