When Keli Rabon’s son, Brock, returned to their Houston home,24 hours after narrowly surviving a historic flood at his sleep-away camp, he walked into the kitchen and pointed to the ceiling.

“Mom, if it floods here, we can go up there,” he said. “We’re gonna need a ladder. Is there one in the garage?”

It was the first sign that Rabon’s 7-year-old was grappling with the emotional wounds of a near-death experience.

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July 3 was Brock’s first day of a two-week session at Camp La Junta, an all-boys camp in Hunt on the Guadalupe River.

Many years have passed since my days as a former camper and counselor at a similar sleep-away camp, but I remember the swirl of first-day emotions all too well. It’s a gumbo of anxiety and excitement. And at night, when the kids are in their bunks getting ready for bed, adrenaline gives way to a hint of sadness, particularly for new campers untethered from their comfort zone.

That’s a normal first night at camp.

Brock’s first night was anything but normal. He woke up in the middle of the night to find his bottom bunk surrounded by water. A biblical flood pouring into the cabin. The counselors — teenagers — telling the campers to climb to the top bunks. The water rising. Fast. A couple of feet every five minutes. Two of the cabin walls giving way. The kids, terrified, climbing to the rafters, surrounded by floating bunk beds, mattresses and trunks. A group of seven- and eight-year-old boys who had barely learned each other’s names, huddling together in a cabin hollowed out by a torrent surging at staggering velocity.

Hours........

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