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this one little girl, she danced up a storm every dance, and she had only one leg. She could some kind of move on those crutches. “When Mike saw her, he said, ‘I may be in a wheelchair, but I’ve got both my legs. Take me out there, Jim. Let’s boogie.’ We’d wheel him around and he’d clap his hands, tap his feet. He really enjoyed himself. He ignored his disabilities. He was something else. Everyone cared for him. Mike didn’t act disabled. He’d wheel up to me and yell, ‘Move it or lose it,’ as loud as he could.” Meeting kids like Mike changed Tommy and Jim.
“I learned to be myself, not to try to impress people,” Tommy said. “I learned to be patient, to be more caring of others. It was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”
“The kids at Camp Fantastic are amazed at how they’re treated by the permanent staff, the adult volunteers, the teen leaders,” Jim said. “They go out in public and they’re always stared at. But not at Camp Fantastic, and that was something they really appreciated, especially the older kids. Now, when I see someone out in public, I find myself not staring. It’s made me a better person. I think it’s horrible to stare. Missing an arm or a leg doesn’t change the person.”
And Jim has a new definition of courage: “My roommates. To joke about cancer. To go on living, trying to lead as normal a life as they can.”
Before the campers arrived, the junior leaders were told of one little boy, just eight years old, who had
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