This is my message to you.

Frog tattoos. Frog silverware. Frog napkins. Frog towels. Frog couch. Frog chairs. Frog earrings. Frog slippers. Frog shirts, buttons, robes, pictures, steering wheel covers, corn holders, nail clippers. You name it, he had it. You don't need to be told how much he loves frogs. It's just something everyone knew. Where this came from, however, wasn't common knowledge. It was one of those things you were just a little too nervous to ask about.

He was young when his obsession started. He was one of those summer camp kids that would go to the lake at maybe thirteen years old with his friends. The good, classic kind of fun. It wasn't like he was sitting at home in a circle with a bunch of his friends playing Dungeons & Dragons or playing some weird Gameboy game with all of his friends. Fun's changed nowadays. Back in the early 1980's, when he would go to summer camp, it was different. He was never the cool kid that had the cool haircut and the cool way to wear his shirt. He was the anti-cool-kid. The typical overweight, runny nose, heavy breathing, candy stashing, coke-bottle framed, short shorts camp kid. The nerd to win all nerds.

Just looking at a picture now, you'd immediately be able to tell that it was taken during the 1980's. You know how the camp had uniforms for all of its kids? And most kids at that age were presumed to be active and running? Athletic at least. They ordered mostly small, medium and large shirts, usually skipping on the XL's. So he wore a large, which was still too small. It was one of those camp shirts that was that thin material that you'd find at a vintage clothing place on an old shirt. They don't really make shirts from that same material anymore. Most shirts are a bit thicker. But his was thin, and yellow, with red lettering on it and a picture of a kid in boy scout getup also outlined in red. But it was stretched, so even the boy scout on his shirt looked fat.

And as he stood there waiting to be picked for hide and go seek, or kickball, he breathed in heavily and let out a snotty sigh as even Jimmy with a broken arm got picked before he did. Then, sure enough, at the end there were an odd number of kids there, meaning that one team would have more than the other. As soon as the last broken armed kid was picked, the captains pointed out the numbers and said they couldn't take anymore because that would make the teams uneven. So our curly-haired, overweight, pit-stained yellow shirt friend turned his back on all the kids, tied his light up sneakers up tight and walked out toward the lake. In the evening light, with dusk beginning to shade all around him, his sight was absorbed and his ears took the reigns, leaving his glowing tennis-shoes alone in the dark. And as he stood in front of the lake he heard a splash to his left. Then one more. And then two quick splashes. Whatever was splashing around settled itself right next to him about two feet away. He took out his camping flashlight and shined it at the foot of a log. A single frog was sitting there, staring back at the flashlight, confused. He approached cautiously and to his surprise, the frog didn't run away. Excitedly, but not too excitedly so he wouldn't startle his new friend, he picked it up and sat back down on the log. Every night from then on, when all the cool kids were playing kickball or were by a fire making smores, he went away by himself. Light-up sneakers, lake, log, and frogs that never ran away.