Summer camp seems to be a part of most kids’ childhood memories. I’ve heard stories of kids going to the same camp every year and even returning to be a camp counselor later in their high school years. I’ve heard these stories, but have not experienced them.
Maybe it was growing up in a big family with no extra money for camp. Or maybe it was living in a small town in Wyoming. No matter what the reason was, I never experienced summer camp. How I longed to experience camp life; The Parent Trap kind of camp life, 1961 version. Go ahead and feel sorry for me now.
When I moved to Washington before my sophomore year of high school, Bellevue to be specific, I quickly learned that most of my peers grew up a little different than I had. I had no idea that everyone went to Camp Orkila in the 6th grade. I also had no clue about the bonds that were formed there, or that many of them would return as camp counselors.
When the applications for camp counselors were passed out I grabbed one, confident that my experience of babysitting since age 10, helping in Sunday School and being the oldest of five kids would look great on my application. I was wrong. What would have looked better on my application was “previously attended Camp Orkila.” Everyone who applied that had been to camp was accepted. I was not. This did not help my “trying to blend in with the cool kids” situation.
I spent the week of camp going to school just like all the other students who either didn’t get chosen or never cared about going in the first place. I felt robbed. Not only did I miss out on summer camp as a camper, but I didn’t even get a second chance as a counselor. Somehow I survived high school anyway.
I’m pretty happy that my own children are having a different experience. Both of my older boys have gone to 6th grade camp and I expect my next two to do the same. I’m sure there are plenty of other grown adults who missed out on summer camp during their childhood. I just have yet to meet one.
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