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Jan. 12, 2007
Making camp a family affair
Staying on site with your kids is one way to share experiences.
PAM KORN
Calamine lotion, sleeping bag, flashlight. Sounds like the checklist
for packing your kids up for overnight camp, right? Actually, I
was packing my own soft trunk as I, mother of two, packed up and
left for the great outdoors. Goodbye, suburbia. Hello, Camp Green
Lane.
For more than a decade, this fairly affluent, upper-middle-class
woman in her 40s has left her 5,400-square-foot home in West Bloomfield,
Mich., to live in a 12-by-12 moldy room, equipped with a semi-private
bathroom, questionable plumbing and no air conditioning.
Why would I do that, you ask? Was I suddenly single? A little bit
crazy? Well, truth be told, I like to think that I am as sane as
any middle-aged, carpool-driving mom on her best day. But every
June, when the school bell rings for the final time, I trade my
car keys in for a whistle, stash my make-up and blow dryer in a
bottom drawer and, with my omnipresent clipboard, head off to summer
camp.
Camp has always been a family affair for our clan. As a kid, I spent
12 consecutive summers there, bonding intensely with the same cabin
mates year after year and going on to become a camp counsellor.
Three of my closest camp friends were bridesmaids at my wedding
and two of my camp friends are my children's godmothers. When I
left camp in my early 20s to get a job in the real world, I knew
that it would not be my last camp summer.
Work, marriage and children were the reasons for a hiatus from camp,
but when my daughter Julie was three years old and my son, Danny,
18 months old, the smell of smores and Noxema drove me right back
down those dark, wooded roads. For two months every year, I forget
about the grocery store (except for iced tea, bottled water and
chocolate – who can leave home without that?). For eight weeks
every summer, I don't cook, do laundry or wash dishes. My children's
cries of, "What are we doing today?" are simply not my
problem, but that of their surrogate summer moms and dads –
their counsellors.
For 11 summers, I was senior girls' supervisor to dozens of teenagers.
Being "Aunt" Pam was an enormous responsibility; the hours
lasted longer than my lantern batteries and the pay was trail mix.
There was, however, a big payoff. You haven't lived until you can
witness your daughter plunging head first into a mud pit as she
scrambles to lead her team to victory in the annual Crazy Olympic
Day. It sounds silly, but it's tradition – and that's what
makes the overnight camp experience irreplaceable. It is also is
why I have spent 27 summers at camp.
Although many kids love camp because it's parent-free, most camp-staff
children are happy to have their mom and/or dad around. "What's
the best reason to have Mom at camp?" I once asked my daughter.
"I like to steal drinks from your fridge," she said, "and
it's one less person I have to write to all summer."
Perhaps the biggest fan of family camping is my husband. Husbands
are affectionately known as "drones" in the camp world.
Every Friday afternoon, there is the March of the Drones as the
husbands drive into camp, ready to spend their weekends lounging
by the pool or playing basketball, tennis and softball with each
other as their Queen Bees go about the business of running the place.
What's more, working at camp is a huge financial incentive, as most
often your kids go for free or at a reduced rate.
Sharing summers with my children has been a priceless experience.
How many mothers are there the first time their child serves a ball
over the volleyball net or debuts on the camp stage as Chip from
Beauty in the Beast? How many moms can witness their daughter's
first dance or kiss? OK, so I didn't actually see her first kiss,
but I had a swarm of giggling girls delighted to be the "first"
to tell me about it.
When you camp with your kids, you share the same language. You know
what carnival queen, bucket brigade and birthday meal mean –
and you understand the intensity of winning the pudding contest
and eating the watermelon – when the rest of the world says,
"huh?" Camping with your kids means experiencing the thrill
of winning Camper Captain right along with them and sharing the
same tears as they watch their friends board the buses on the last
day. Camp is part of the fabric that created the strong bond I have
with my daughter today. She's 17 and she still likes me. Need I
say more?
But just as summer is fleeting, so seems the time I spent at Camp
Green Lane with my kids. For the past three summers, my son has
chosen to go to a performing arts camp and my daughter has spent
the past two travelling to Canada and Israel. As much as I would
have loved to hop in her duffle bag, a few postcards and rushed
phone calls have had to suffice.
These past two summers, there has been one more woman pushing a
cart in the grocery store, and I've updated my summer look with
stylish capris. But instead of tossing my camp wardrobe, I've tucked
it away in the attic. "Aunt Pam" may someday turn into
"Grandmom Pam." There I'll be, ready with my 70-year-old
smores recipe, welcoming 70-year-old Grandpa as he visits for the
weekend. Let their parents go on vacation alone; I'll be going to
camp with my grandkids.
Pam Korn is a freelance writer living in West Bloomfield,
Mich.
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