The fiddle melody winds through the room as a woman in a denim skirt calls the dance.  We move in a circle, forward and back, then do-si-do, and he moves on to the next partner. Him: A young black man, cornrows in his hair, baggy jeans belted low, too cool for words.  Me: A 45-year-old white woman, a stay-at-home mother of eleven, not very cool at all.  We are unlikely companions who probably wouldn’t notice each other on the street–but here at camp, we are friends.  We are bound by the common thread of HIV.

The presence of HIV in our lives has brought many unexpected gifts including our new Labor Day tradition.  We now spend the long weekend at REACH Camp, a camp that brings together families affected by HIV. For one weekend each year, there is love and acceptance for HIV+ children, HIV+ parents, parents who are not infected, and their families.  Young people who have grown up in foster care, young people whose parents are infected with HIV, internationally adopted children, and all of their siblings come together.  It isn’t clear which child or parent in a family has HIV, and that in and of itself, is part of the story.  HIV affects them, but it does not define them.

The kids take the stage to share their talents at the annual Talent Show. This year the acts were diverse and ranged from a knock-knock joke and hip hop dancing, to a classical piano duet. Some of the young people come from very hard circumstances and are not very well accepted by their peers, but at camp, they are loved. Standing ovations and affirmation are the norm for one weekend a year.

REACH Camp is made possible by REACH Ministries, an organization staffed by folks who are passionate about loving people who were considered unloveable for so long.  They know the truth; HIV cannot be transmitted through the many hugs given, the meals we share, or hands held around the campfire.  REACH brings together a huge staff of volunteers that spends the weekend loving and serving the children and their families.

We share campfires, swimming, a country fair, horseback riding, a luau, and tonight the annual hoe down.  The fiddler plays on, while I scoop up my two year old and dance around the circle. Soon Little Man reaches for one of his new teenage friends who lifts him from my arms and onto his broad shoulders.  I watch as they dance on.  For one weekend a year we are a family that loves and accepts one another with joy.  There are tears when camp comes to a close.  We leave promising to return and thanking REACH for all that they have given us – a time to play, rest, and relax in a place where HIV is not a secret and has no shame.

Lisa also writes about her life as the mother of eleven children at A Bushel and  a Peck.