Camp Day

There are two types of people in this world - those of us who have been to sleepaway camp, and those of you who haven't.  People who go to sleepaway camp get it and people who don't are completely baffled and often annoyed when the subject is brought up in mixed company.  I remember a car ride with my brother where we listened to an hour long NPR story about summer camp.  He and I sat in the front seat, enthralled, while his wife and my friend sat in the back seat, slightly irked at being forced to listen.

I am not going to spend my time attempting to make you people understand why Camp is so wonderful.  If you never went, you will never, ever understand.  Ever.  If you try to describe to an outsider why it was fun to sleep in a cabin for a month and live out of a foot locker and play sports, they will think it sounds quaint and fun.  But they will not understand that the experience of summer camp is much grander than simply fun and games.  To most people who attend summer camp, it is a life experience.  It is formative...and can even beb somewhat religious.  Camp people become a sort of extended family where everyone shares the same memories and experiences the same feelings.  It's not a quaint thing...it's a phenomenally deep thing.

Andy and I went to Camp Frank A. Day in East Brookfield, MA.  It's the best camp ever.  

I was the first person in my family to go to Camp Day.  My mom took me to a slide show at the local YMCA when I was about 10 years old and in 4th grade.  It was long enough ago that they used one of those circular carousel projectors.  I didn't pay much attention to the pictures, and instead chose to focus on the fact that Marin Bowman from school was also at the presentation.  I figured, if Marin Bowman was going to this camp, I would go also, because at least then I would know someone there.  

Thank you Marin Bowman...wherever you are.

Since that first serendipitous decision, my brother and my cousins Phil, PJ, Riti, Clark, Caleb, and Alex have all gone to Camp Day.  None of us can drive past the 90W/84S split without thinking about the 5 mile road just off the exit.

One time, I was checking out at the grocery store in Newton and was wearing my Camp Day shirt.  This was when I was around 22 or so.  The teen at the check-out said, "Oh my god!  You went to Camp Day?  I go there!  I was there this summer!"  I said, "Yes I did!  My brother actually was a counselor there this summer.  Maybe you know him?  Andy Sydney?"  The girl literally gaped at me and said, "Andy Sydney?  Andy Sydney is like a LEGEND at Camp!  Your're Andy Sydney's sister?"  

Now you know what kind of experience my brother had at camp.  He is apparently some sort of Camp Day legend.  He had more little camper girls lusting after him than I care to imagine...especially since he was a skinny little kid with dyed bleach blonde hair and braces.  

I didn't make such a huge impression on Camp.  I don't think that anyone will ever call me a Camp Day legend.  In fact, compared to many other people, my tenure was relatively short because I chose not to return as a counselor. 

Sometimes I feel slightly jealous of my brother's experience at camp, like fellow campers think that he's more devoted or special or loves it more than I do.  There are more people from Camp who remember him and love him and want to see him at reunions.  But, the truth is that Andy and I both love Camp equally as much, which is a whole, whole lot.  This love is one of the biggest things that we share as siblings, and I bet I'm not the only sibling who feels this way.

One of my favorite memories of Camp is that of the Friday night dance.  The dining hall would be lit up like a Christmas tree in the pitch darkness against the lake and the trees.  We would run through the cool night tripping over the roots next to the basketball court, our hair done in french braids and wearing the nicest clothes we had packed.  We would come prepared with our favorite songs queued up on tapes for the DJ - my own being "Life is a Highway" by Tom Cochrane.  All of the tables would be removed and the sides of the room lined with chairs.  For the fast songs, if you were brave, you would dance.  For the slow songs, if you were lucky enough to be asked out, you would meet your date on the floor and junior high dance.  Sometimes, if you came to the dance by yourself, a boy would ask you to dance, and you would take his hand and follow him out to the middle of the floor, and it felt like the best thing that had ever happened up until that point in life.

At night, after all of the shenanigans had taken place, we would drift off to sleep snuggled in our bunks, surrounded by the sights and sounds of the night; the far-off slamming of the bathroom screen door, the on-duty counselors laughing out on their picnic bench post, and the yellow light from the bare bulbs outside each cabin.  

I loved waking up very early on the mornings when it was raining, when it was sort of cold.  This was the quietest time, and because I always chose the top bunk, I was closest to the pattering on the roof.  Rain on the tents in the senior unit was particularly serene.  On those mornings, I would know that we'd most likely be able to sleep in, and so I'd snuggle deep into my sleeping bag, with just my nose sticking out and feel absolutely safe and peaceful and cozy.

I loved canteen day, when we would run out of the dining hall after lunch and line up to buy candy and soda.  Camp sold this soda from the Pop Shoppe that came in this flavor that tasted like wintergreen.  I can't remember the name of it.  But it was SO good.  I would always get that soda and either a frozen Charleston chew or a few of the long, flat jolly ranchers.  

Then of course there were all of the people who I will probably never forget, like my counselor in cabin 16, Sam.  Sam was from California (I think) an was dating an older counselor, Greg. When Greg had to leave halfway through session 2, Sam cried all day long for basically 3 days.  I have never seen someone weep so constantly.  But, I remember thinking, at age 12, that this was what love was.  

There was a girl whose name was, I think, Alicia.  She was more mature in the ways of men, and had a crush on a new boy every week.  She loved the smell of Pert Plus, and made a little love gift for one of these boys out of an empty Pert Plus bottle with little treasures and notes stuffed inside.  

There was my counselor in cabin 14, Caroline, who always wore a french braid to the dances, and did my hair in french braids when I asked her.  Her favorite song was "Groove is in the Heart".  And there was Caroline's brother Brian, on whom I had a huge crush, and who shaved his legs on a dare, which confused me greatly at the age of 11.

There was Lindsay, from Framingham, who was absolutely obsessed with being from Framingham.

There was hippie counselor Sarah with the glasses who all the girls secretly crushed on because she was just So Cool.  

There was my counselor Jess and her boyfriend Seth, who once dropped a dozen roses off on her bunk and caused all of us to swoon and imagine romantic and sexy things.

And of course, there were Dick and Sonya, our unforgettable camp directors; Dick himself having grown up in Camp Day, from camper to counselor to director.  Dick knew all of the stories and led us in all of the songs. Dick was magical and bigger than life, and I always wanted him to love me.  I particularly loved it when he sang the verse in "She'll be Comin' Round the Mountain" that went, "She'll be poppin' many zits when she comes!  She'll be poppin' many zits when she comes!  She'll be poppin' many zits, she'll be poppin' many zits, she'll be poppin' many zits when she comes!"  

Sometimes I have these anxiety dreams about Camp, where I go back as an adult to visit.  Or, even weirder, I go back as an adult to be a camper.  In almost every case, the Camp has changed so drastically as to be unrecognizable.  Maybe part of this is brought on by the fact that I know camp has changed since I went there.  I mean, it has to change.  It's not 1990 any more.  The camp must grow and change just as its campers do.  However, I find that I need to visit that hallowed ground at least once a year to breathe in the scent of the pines and the lake and see that everything is in its place, as it should be.  

I really hope that one day, if I have kids, I can send them to Camp Day.  I want them to feel what I feel when I think about that place.  I want them to know the absolute joy of loving an experience that much. 

I will leave you with this: My cousin Riti once wrote a poem about Camp Day.  I remember finding it, reading it, and feeling more connected to her than I ever had.  All I remember is the last line, "This is what it feels like when I return to Camp Day".  If you're reading this, and you went to Camp, you know what it feels like to return.  You know you always will.