The smell of the rain during the summer instantly brings me back to walking down the camp road on the way to the old rec hall for some rainy day activity.
My kids cannot go to Canobie Lake Park without hearing some story about how we were not allowed to make phone calls home on trip days and how we weren't allowed on the big roller coaster when I was their age (not that I would've wanted to go!)
A Friday night shabbat service at a temple is instantly compared to Friday night services at camp. (The tunes aren't the same and it's not spent putting arms around the person next to you in an overly heated dining hall as you sway back and forth) (With only one giant fan blowing in row five-the way back of the place!)
4th of July was spent eating bomb pops and admiring fireworks which were being set on the docks at the waterfront. The smell of bug spray ruminating in the air as we all huddled around yelling "ooooh, aaaaahhhh, awesome" (I wonder if they still do that?)
I am absolutely without a doubt a camper through and through.
I was when I was 9, 15, 21 and carried it with me into my adult years.
Is it because of the friends that I made (many of who I still stay in touch with. Others who if we had lost touch, instantly reconnect on facebook and it's like no time has ever come between us)
Is it the connection that we all have? The fact that they also have the same memories that I do?
Or was it the fact that for 8 weeks we got to go away to a place that became our second home. A place that we learned to be independent at a young age.
I learned to make my bed with hospital corners, use a dustpan, fold my socks, shave my legs, dance with a boy, audition for a play (even if I was completely tone deaf), serve a volleyball, hit a tether ball, tie die a shirt, paddle a canoe.
Or was it the more unusual stuff that make the memories so fond? Gravestone rubbing at a cemetery, playing a game called grease the watermelon, learning songs like Father Abraham , being able to recite a "lice" poem because the entire camp got lice?, banging the pot during a Saturday afternoon oneg presentation, listening to a man named Irv teach us about a holiday none of us had even heard about until we entered camp, going to a James Taylor concert as a CIT counselor?
I have hundreds of such amazing memories that I hold on to deep within. On Sunday I bring my boys to tour the place that I loved so much. The place that I would return to in a moment if I could but really hope they want to experience it for themselves.
I'm sure I will get butterflies as I drive down Rt 111 and head past the pharmacy- it's the butterflies of getting to go back-even if it is only for a few hours.
And if my boys choose not to ever go, I will just hold onto my memories and maybe make an occasional future trip to the g-store just so I can eat a potato log!
My kids cannot go to Canobie Lake Park without hearing some story about how we were not allowed to make phone calls home on trip days and how we weren't allowed on the big roller coaster when I was their age (not that I would've wanted to go!)
A Friday night shabbat service at a temple is instantly compared to Friday night services at camp. (The tunes aren't the same and it's not spent putting arms around the person next to you in an overly heated dining hall as you sway back and forth) (With only one giant fan blowing in row five-the way back of the place!)
4th of July was spent eating bomb pops and admiring fireworks which were being set on the docks at the waterfront. The smell of bug spray ruminating in the air as we all huddled around yelling "ooooh, aaaaahhhh, awesome" (I wonder if they still do that?)
I am absolutely without a doubt a camper through and through.
I was when I was 9, 15, 21 and carried it with me into my adult years.
Is it because of the friends that I made (many of who I still stay in touch with. Others who if we had lost touch, instantly reconnect on facebook and it's like no time has ever come between us)
Is it the connection that we all have? The fact that they also have the same memories that I do?
Or was it the fact that for 8 weeks we got to go away to a place that became our second home. A place that we learned to be independent at a young age.
I learned to make my bed with hospital corners, use a dustpan, fold my socks, shave my legs, dance with a boy, audition for a play (even if I was completely tone deaf), serve a volleyball, hit a tether ball, tie die a shirt, paddle a canoe.
Or was it the more unusual stuff that make the memories so fond? Gravestone rubbing at a cemetery, playing a game called grease the watermelon, learning songs like Father Abraham , being able to recite a "lice" poem because the entire camp got lice?, banging the pot during a Saturday afternoon oneg presentation, listening to a man named Irv teach us about a holiday none of us had even heard about until we entered camp, going to a James Taylor concert as a CIT counselor?
I have hundreds of such amazing memories that I hold on to deep within. On Sunday I bring my boys to tour the place that I loved so much. The place that I would return to in a moment if I could but really hope they want to experience it for themselves.
I'm sure I will get butterflies as I drive down Rt 111 and head past the pharmacy- it's the butterflies of getting to go back-even if it is only for a few hours.
And if my boys choose not to ever go, I will just hold onto my memories and maybe make an occasional future trip to the g-store just so I can eat a potato log!
thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteCTN CIT '05