The Whole Story
Navigating through life we stumble upon many storylines: sometimes we are a part of them, sometimes we are merely observers. Much of the time, even when we are personally involved, we only see the “tip of the iceberg,” and have no knowledge of the epic hidden beneath the surface.
I recently flew to Alabama on some family matters. Upon my return to the Salisbury airport, I witnessed a reunion that first made me uncomfortable, and then, on further reflection, wonder if I had a clue as to what was happening in this story.
As one of the first passengers to step off the plane at the airport, I didn’t need the Captain’s weather update to know that it was 100 degrees outside. Hoisting my old pack over my shoulder, I moved with purpose toward the cool terminal, only to be stopped in my tracks by the large signs pressed into the plate glass windows just to the right of the doors through which I, and the other passengers, were about to enter.
The four large poster board signs were hand written in big type and were obviously meant to welcome home someone named Ricky, arriving on my plane. Three of the signs were normal enough, but the fourth, held high and visible for all to see, screamed “paging Dr. Faggot,” with an emphasis on the word “faggot.”
Too stunned to even remember to stop and take a photo, I passed through the terminal doors staring intently at the large group waiting to welcome Ricky home. Who was this mysterious Ricky, I wondered? Why were his very loving family and friends using hate language in such a blatant manner? Maybe he was a gay man and this was all meant to be some kind of a joke? Somehow I didn’t think so—a belief that was soon reinforced by the actual arrival of Ricky himself, still dressed in the fatigues of a returning soldier.
After collecting my bag, I headed home, still wondering if I had just witnessed a real act of hate, or simply complete ignorance that there was even a problem. It’s even possible, I reasoned, that Ricky’s last name is Faggot.
I had been tempted, I confess, to insert myself in the midst of Ricky’s group of well wishers and demand an explanation. I’m glad I didn’t, however, because upon returning home, I discovered that “paging Dr. Faggot” was a line from the movie The Hangover (a movie I’d seen; a line I’d forgotten).
Still, the joke struck a sour note with me, and I wondered how a statement using the “N” word would be received in a similar situation. Unless someone involved in this “welcome home Ricky” story, sees this magazine, and tells me the tale, I will never know the details of this incident, I will never know the whole story.
Early in the life of this magazine, I learned from experience to hear all sides of a story before passing judgment. At that time, my quick condemnation of what I believed to be an act of homophobia resulted in an equally quick apology to those whose side of the story I had neglected to hear.
The community we serve here at CAMP Rehoboth is a diverse one, and it is composed of many different groups and widely differing personalities. I’ve often observed that each individual comes to us out of their own individual need. Some come for information, some come for testing and counseling, some come to buy tickets, some to become members, sponsors, or volunteers. Some people come to us because they have no where else to turn; others come to us out of a spirit of abundance, willing to give and give and give in order to serve the community around them.
With each person who comes to CAMP Rehoboth, we are witness to a little bit of the story that makes up their lives. Some share plentifully; others remain hidden from view, unwilling to open up and expose the details of their lives.
Even with the most open, there is only a momentary exchange of stories: brief glimpses into the pains, the joys, and the sorrows that each person is experiencing. Is it any wonder that CAMP Rehoboth is so many different things to so many different people?
We’ve been telling the story of CAMP Rehoboth for over two decades, and yet communication remains both our greatest success and our greatest failure. Why? Because none of us are capable of knowing the whole story. We see it all through the eyes of our own experience.
I’ve recounted before in these pages the story of women who complain that CAMP Rehoboth is all about men, and men who complain that CAMP Rehoboth is all about women. The truth: perspective is different for everyone and the story of CAMP Rehoboth, like everything else, is relational to our individual experiences, moods, and feelings.
Because the economy remains flat and budget woes continue to plague organizations and governments alike, all of us here at CAMP Rehoboth spend a lot of time asking for money and support. The times are tough, and in the coming year we will be faced with some big changes including probable cuts to our state funding for CAMPsafe and in all likelihood the end of Love, our July 4th event, among other things.
Each of us comes to CAMP Rehoboth with a tiny bit of the storyline that tells who we are as an organization and as a community. When we work together we begin to see the whole story unfolding around us, and we are able to celebrate the unique experience that each person brings to our organization.
Please look for ways to get involved with or support the work and vision of CAMP Rehoboth. We’re always in need of volunteers, donors, members, and leaders to help us create the whole story of CAMP Rehoboth.
Murray Archibald, Founder and President of the Board of Directors of CAMP Rehoboth, is an artist in Rehoboth Beach.