On KJZZ's SOAPBOX, The Show turns over the the mic to listeners. In our latest series, listeners tell their own true stories on the theme of Summer Camp.
Games like cornhole, relay races and swimming contests are a classic part of the summer camp experience. Today, The Show concludes its latest series of SOAPBOX essays with the story of a different kind of game. Tempe writer and performer Kim Porter explains.
Creative envy is my driving force. No matter what artistic activity I’m currently doing, if I see someone, somewhere, doing some other artistic activity, I’ll immediately feel sorry for myself. “Why can’t I do that?”
Nobody triggers that envy more than Jasper Starfire.
I met Jasper in 1994 when I ran the costume shop at Camp Winnarainbow, a circus camp in the woods of Northern California. Jasper taught drama. And art. Every day, I’d stand in the costume barn peering over the rack of clown suits as Jasper improvised for the kids. He was tall with floppy blonde hair, a booming laugh and a Tom Hanksian charm. I want to be Jasper. Or at least be like him.
I was reacquainted with Jasper in 2013 when I returned to camp after a 17-year hiatus. He was old now, like me, married with kids of his own, but somehow even more enviable. Jasper walked through camp like a visiting prince, an entourage of 10-year-olds tugging at his sleeves. I get it. When Jasper shines his attention on you, it feels like you’ve been invited to the ball.
Once while walking up the dirt road to the kitchen, I came upon him wearing a name tag that read “Listening Tour.” I said, “Why are you on a listening tour?”
He pulled out a note pad and wrote, “Laryngitis.”
I said, “How do you do that? How do you always find the game?”
He wrote, “If you can’t fix it, feature it.”
Why can’t I figure out how to feature envy?
Over the years, I cultivated a friendship with Jasper. We were both early risers and we’d meet at the kitchen to supervise the campers as they played board games before breakfast.
One morning, as Jasper and I sat sipping coffee, I noticed two girls playing the game Who’s Who and I got excited.
Who’s Who is a game for two players in which each player tries to guess the other player’s mystery person by asking only yes or no questions. Each player has a plastic tray with about 20 tiny, hinged frames. Inside of each frame is a cartoon face. There’s an accompanying deck of cards with all the same faces. The players draw a character card from the deck and keep it secret. When it’s your turn you can ask questions like — Is your person a man? Is he wearing a hat? Does he have a mustache? And if your opponent says “no,” then you flip down the frames with all the men who do have hats and mustaches. Thus, turn by turn, you eliminate the wrong faces until you just have one face left.
I said to Jasper, “I like to play that game, but instead of asking things you can see, I like to ask things you can only feel. Like ‘Has your person been to France? Or are they scared of dogs?”
Jasper looked intrigued, “Can you guess the right person doing that?”
“No. It never works.”
“I’d like to try that.”
I felt elated. Jasper liked my idea.
On the last morning of camp, as Jasper and I were cleaning up the games while the kids headed to breakfast, I said, “Want to play Who’s Who?”
He said, “Sure!”
I was thrilled but scared. What if I’d oversold it? We each drew our secret person from the deck. I drew Frank.
“Is your person late with their child support payments?” I asked.
“Um, no.”
I flipped down the guys who seemed like they might be late with their child support.
Jasper asked, “Do they live in their mom’s basement?”
“Um ... not anymore.”
Jasper flipped a few frames.
I asked, “Do they call their mom ‘mother’?”
We played like this for about 15 minutes with a mounting sense of urgency, seeing as we were actively shirking our supervisory duties.
“Are they allergic to eggs?”
“Do they hoard cats?”
“Are they writing a novel?”
I got down to one remaining face. "Here goes," I think. “Is your person Victor?”
Jasper’s eyes flashed with astonishment as he showed me his card. Victor.
Neither of us could believe that I’d guessed correctly. It felt like a miracle.
Jasper said, “Was your person Frank?”
I showed Jasper my card. Frank. Tears of joy stung my eyes.
To look into Jasper’s delighted face, knowing that something ridiculous and sublime, a perfect once-in-a-lifetime moment had transpired between us was perhaps the greatest victory of my life. I am like Jasper, after all. But more importantly, Jasper is like me.
