Summer Camp
July 17, 2003

Well, we are about halfway through summer. If you have kids, odds are that they have attended some sort of summer camp. There are several to choose from, ranging from basketball camp to church camp. Nowadays they offer camps that I never imagined, such as computer camp, space camp and movie director camp. When they start offering millionaire camp, I’m volunteering as a counselor.

Our boys just returned from camp last week. Too bad not everything did. Somewhere out there, sitting in someone else’s laundry room, is a bag full of dirty clothes belonging to a 12 year old boy, not their own. I hope they found a happy home.

The first rule of summer camp: Don’t send anything to camp that you want to see again. Except of course, your child. Like it or not, you will see them again. But for everything else, the return trip is not guaranteed.

Actually, when it comes to apparel, you can simply send just one set of clothes for boys, since they will wear the same pair of underwear all week anyway. But for girls, send at least three changes of clothes for each day.

Summer camp is a microcosm of society. All types of kids are found: nerds, jocks, rockers, bookworms, divas, etc. Most fall somewhere in the middle. But there is always that one kid who brings all the latest in technology.

I can relate to the kid who must smack his flashlight against the palm of his hand, trying to make the light come on and wishing he had brought an extra set of batteries— While this other kid lies back in his bunk, watching high-definition television in Dolby surround sound, surfing the Internet with a laptop computer, talking on a cell phone, monitoring his police scanner, drinking a cold one and eating a grape that he just retrieved from his portable refrigerator. Isn’t this the same kid that borrowed thirty-five cents in the snack line?

Life at summer camp offers great experiences for kids, …including romance. At camp, no one knows whether you have a boyfriend or girlfriend back home. You are free to be “a player.” And no one knows your social history—whether you were a member of the “in crowd” or an outcast. You have one week to make your best impression on some unsuspecting member of the opposite sex.

Most of us can maintain an alter ego for a week, before exhausting our repertoire-- assuming of course, that our friends are not with us, blowing our cover. Striving to keep a straight face, you engage your new prospect in clever conversation, while your so-called “friends” stand behind them at a distance, acting out “kissy faces” and make-out gestures.

You persevere through the week, and just when things start to pick up, it’s time to go home. In the old days, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers. Today it’s email addresses and screen names.

But some things don’t change. All the way home, you treasure that little scrap of paper inscribed with the number of that hot number from camp. It may just be a torn-off corner from a piece of notebook paper, but you value it as if it were one of the ancient Dead Sea scrolls.

That’s why you’re so distraught the next day, when you discover that it got washed with whatever dirty laundry actually did make it home. With tears in your eyes, you gently try to unfold the fuzzy little wad of paper, hoping to decipher the remaining inkblots. And just like that, potentially the greatest romance since Romeo and Juliet—gets washed out with the “Tide”.

At summer camp, it’s funny how you can make friends with strangers, but end up estranging your friends. They may be friends, but when you live with them in close quarters for a week, they are elevated to sibling status, and thus the obligatory treatment. Luckily, when you get back home, things get back to normal.

Once home, kids debrief their parents by sharing all the wild stories from camp. As a parent, these yarns don’t worry me. What DOES concern me is what they are NOT telling us. If these are the events they choose to share, just imagine all of the OTHER stuff that went down?!

© Copyright 2003 Glen Davis