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Weekly Contest #81
The summer after sixth grade, my parents sent me to Jesus camp. Camp Towego, but my friends and I called it Jesus camp. We weren’t particularly religious. “I’m a bad Catholic,” my mother would always say. We’d go to church every Christmas and Easter and whenever my grandparents were in town and my mother would ask us not to lie, but to leave out the fact that we don’t go every week when speaking to my grandparents. But the camp was cheap and close to home and so they sent me there when I was eleven so I could have a camp experience. Camp To...
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