6/16/12 Summertime

It's officially summer and millions of children all over the country are running free, and twice as many parents are trying to figure out what to do with them.  You tried sending them to bed early but the sun sets at 9 pm, and they just came out and complained that it was still light outside.  You tried sending them to the neighbors but when they came home they had the neighbor kids with them, and then you just had twice as many children to deal with.  And forget about sending them to the grandparents, because they just send them back.

So what is the answer?  Camp!!!!  Day camp, church camp, science camp, ballet camp, swimming camp, french camp, basketball camp, soccer camp, literature camp, art camp and finally sleep-away camp.

I am a product of many summer camps, because as we all know, a child at home at in the summer is a burden to its parents.  So from 1983 to 1988, and then again in 91, I went to sleep-away camp.  Now I am not against you sending your children to camp, but I do have a problem with sending your child away year after year to a place they hate for your own sanity.  My parents, to this day will say I chose to go to camp, but in my defense my choices were sleep-away camp A and sleep-away camp B.

I hated camp.  Summer is hot, and I was a fair skinned fat kid.  I either needed to be put somewhere inside with plenty of air conditioning or I needed to be sent to fat camp.  I was sent to neither.  For 4 years I was sent to jewish camp and for two years I was sent to an arts camp.
The jewish camp was horrible.  It was filled with mosquitos, city kids, and was built from post World War II surplus parts.  (I am not kidding here the cabins were originally painted with paint given to the camp by the government left over from WWII.)  The worst part was that you had to pray every day, and because is was a jewish camp every meal was a milk based meal.  I, being lactose intolerant, made sure that I was never too far away from one of the lovely communal bathrooms.
After 4 years my parents finally got the hint that that I hated the camp.  I don't know if it was the crying or the screaming, the arguments or the mule-like behavior that I exhibited whenever anyone mentioned camp that helped them see the light, but they finally decided that I did not have to go back.
In this case the misery you know is better than the misery you don't.  My new option was an all summer  arts camp.  Again not an option and I was going.

The camp was a nationally known arts camp in northern Michigan (Think, "This one time at band camp.").  Our family had a good friend who attended the high school there.  She was an exceptional flutist who eventually went to a music college, played in orchestras, and today still teaches music.
Everyone was sure I would love it, lots of geeky kids playing music, singing, and doing art, and I would fit right in.  As with all of my stories there was a little twist (my childhood years are like making a good wish with with an evil genie).
It turns out these were not geeks spending the summer swimming and dabbling in fine arts, these were savants, art students, and prodigies who needed a getaway for the summer while still being able to practice their art.
We had five classes a day and two sports.  We were awaked daily by a expert reveille played on either bugle, trombone, french horn, or if it was a special day bag pipes.  We got up, got into our uniforms..... o.k. I will stop right there.  The camp started in 1928 and the story goes it snowed the first year.  In order to keep the tradition going we wore the original uniform.  For girls it was a blue shirt, belt, navy blue knickers, knee high socks, and sturdy shoes.  For the boys it was a blue button down shirt, belt, socks and navy blue corduroy pants.  Thats right take it all in.  I will paint a picture for you.
Fat kid, navy blue corduroy pants in the heat of northern Michigan.  Kid Rock can stick it, he was at a lake with a cute girl, drinking and listening to music.  I was stuck at a smart kid arts camp in the heat in corduroy.  To add insult to injury we had to walk a half mile to the campus to take classes.
My schedule was as follows.  Walk a half mile to class.  Take two morning classes.  Walk back for lunch.  Change.  Take one of my sports.  Change.  Walk back to school, and take three more classes, and then walk back for my other sport.  In all we would walk four or five miles everyday just to get to our activities.  The up side, I lost about 15 lbs.  The down side, I wore the crotch out of three pairs of corduroy pants.  And to make this feat all the more memorable I had to pay 5 dollars every time I wore out a pair of pants to get them fixed.
At the end of it all I was just as miserable as I was at the other camps.  8 weeks, 15 lbs., and three pairs of corduroys later it was time to go home.

Now my parents would say that camp helped to make me the man I am today.  I would say, well first I would say they are delusional, and second I would say karma is bitch.  Somewhere there is a special punishment waiting for parents who do not listen, and if I am right it includes corduroy pants.

Now what can you do to avoid the shame and misery of corduroy.
1.  Find a camp that your child wants to go to.  As I have mentioned before, just because you loved something, it does not mean your child will also.  Case in point the afore mentioned WWII surplus parts Jewish camp.
2.  If your child does not like the camp you send them to, don't make them go back just because all of the other kids are going.  If all of the other kids parents jumped off of a bridge would you?
3.  If your kid just hates camp, suck it up and find them something else to do.  Not everyone loves camp.
4.  Go to the pool, take a trip, light some fire works, go to the pool again, and mark off the days on your calendar, school is just around the corner.