The Drop-Off

For the fourth straight year, my friend Laura and I have driven our two eldest girls to camp very early on a Sunday morning, and the younger two now going for their second year.  Overnight camp at the YMCA, or where ever you choose to go, is such a rite of passage.  I wish that all kids had this opportunity.  They get to explore outside their town, their families, their boundaries and meet people from other cities, states, countries as their bunkmates, roommates, counselors, and friends.

So much of camp seems the same as when I went–horse back riding, boating, swimming, crafts, archery,  group songs, family style meals, woods, group bathrooms, chores, fun, fun.   The worst part for us is waiting for check-in, arriving early so the girls can secure a good bunk near each other,  the crowds pushing forward–every group wanting the same, the newbies wide-eyed.  It’s a bit crazy.

I remember when Lisa and I went to camp.  It was August of 1977, and we took an 8 hour (!!) bus drive to southern IL.  Yes, we had one freak in our room who told us she had heart medicine that we would all DIE if we took, pretended to talk in her sleep, and swore Lisa would go straight-to-hell for going up to communion as a non-Catholic, because as a 13-year old she was too embarrassed to stay in her seat, alone.

She joyfully broke the news to me that Elvis had died when she heard in a letter from home, knowing I was a huge Elvis fan. I was convinced she was lying, but wrote my mom just in case to save me all the headlines and newspapers—which I still have today in my yellowed Elvis scrapbook.

I remember our relay race–everyone in the cabin participated–with Lisa riding the horse (boy, was I jealous!) and I sprained my ankle tripping over a raised root in the path.  Then everyone else was jealous of me because I got to see the cute, friendly doctor as he wrapped my ankle, and he let me hold newborn kittens each visit.

I wonder what my girls will remember from their yearly camp visits, other than the great songs we learn from them (“there were 3 little muffins in the bakery shop…”), the friends they can keep in touch with online, and the 1000 types of friendship  bracelets they can make.  I hope they will remember their routine of driving with their moms, the bakery we stop at for lunch, waiting in lines,racing to cabins, and many quiet and loud moments that I am sadly not a part of.

Me, I will remember the 6-7 hours Laura and I get to listen to the girls’ giggle and talk and that we get to catch up, uninterrupted on the way home.  and maybe route 65 closed, while we are SO thankful to have the iphone GPS.

Camp.  Everyone should go! C

 

Camp Check-In

Have you ever waited at a camp check-in for overnight camp?  The nervous and the calm moms, the braggarts, the newbies, a few dads sitting in plastic chairs while the kids start clamoring and the anticipation builds until 2:00–when the kids can find out their cabins and make a mad dash to get a bunk next to their friends.

The camp is truly a wonderful place, with all the typical activities: horseback riding, canoeing, kayaking, crafts, any number of sports, singing, campfires, with the children all learning about others and themselves. Realistically, I don’t think the camp activities have changed much from a camp I attended as a young teen.

My friend Laura and I have a routine, now in our third year taking our four girls to camp in Indiana (first year for our younger set).  We leave early morning, then stop at the most fabulous German bakery a short drive from the camp for lunch.  We arrive in the staging area about 1:00, pull up our chairs and grab our books, while the girls wander about the grounds.  We talk quietly; there is not stage, but you would not know that from some of the other mothers around us.  They babble loudly, glancing to see who is looking, as they ramble about their kids’ experiences at the camp before,  how many girls they already know, blah-blah-blah.

Shortly before check-in, the staff realized they did not have enough check-in tables. They told people they would open 3 more lines, so people could move over. I was stunned to see some very uncharitable behaviour displayed at this Christian camp.  As a row or two in front of us moved over, we stood to move up to take their empty chairs.  Instead, a group of moms behind us practically pushed us out of the way to move ahead of us. I felt like I was in Filene’s Basement crush looking at wedding dresses.  How embarassing–in front of their children!

As we drove to their cabins to drop off their bags (the teen bags like kryptonite, what can they possibly have in there?) on the gravel one-way road around the cabins, people drove in every direction, clamoring to get a spot.  Once the bunks were secured, the pushy moms’ anxiety level must have decreased tenfold.  As I waited with my blinker on to turn into a parking spot, a woman cut me off to get in first!  Crazy, as there was another open spot and my girls were already situated.

I am certain that once all the families left, the kids were perfectly content to revel in being with all kids. And hopefully didn’t learn any lessons from their parents that day.  I am hopeful that once the girls complete their non-electronic two-weeks of fun with no ipod, phone, computer, TV, Wii , they will find other activites to fill their summer hours once they get home. Wishful thinking, perhaps. C