They remind me of summer camp as a kid.
I just found out that the camp (Kippewa) was recently sold to a camp conglomerate. And in learning this, found out that like me, many of my friends from way back when secretly wished to purchase and run the camp.
Realistically, that would be a nightmare. I don’t do well with throngs of kids. I don’t do well with throngs of people in general for long periods of time. I liked camp because it was quiet when I wanted it to be and fun when I wanted it to be and I got to play tennis for like 23 hours a day.
Something else I learned – those counselors, the ones with the cool accents from Britain or Australia or Scotland or somewhere else far away – they were YOUNG.
A bunch of us went back a couple of summers ago for a reunion weekend. A good money-making scheme by the owners. We sat around and ate smores and went water skiing and made stuff in arts and crafts. And we smuggled jug wine and other contraband (like candy, oooohhhh) into the camp. And smoked. All around mayhem. Oy.
The counselors, the people charged with “taking care” of us, who had just finished up 8 weeks of 7-14 year olds, seemed impossibly young for the task. When I was one of those 7-14 year olds, they seemed all-knowing.
Ugh. Now I feel old.
Camp is like Lord of the Flies. You can't understand until you get older how absurd it is to give a group of teenagers – who probably aren't allowed to have unsupervised parties because of their poor judgment and potential for "bad" behavior – the responsibility of caring for a bunch of younger kids from the moment they wake up until they fall asleep. How insane?!?!
[...] I miss: summer camp. But only in theory. [...]
[...] got a special fondness for folks with whom I shared 4-8 weeks at a time in Maine every year. It’s a little Lord of the Flies, as Woolverine points out, and I like to torture my mother [...]