Remember camp? My first experience was a day camp, probably second or third grade. I cried the first day, didn’t want to be away from mom or my sisters. But then all of those interesting projects we made: boondoggle to dangle from the keys I didn’t yet have, a ceramic inlay ashtray for parents who smoked secretly away from the other, or a new parcheesi board for a family that preferred to downhill ski or toboggan.
Then came the father and son camps: through indian guides, fishing competitions (more mosquito bites than perch), scary midnight dares with flashlights.
I graduated to one week camps, even two week camps in which we set up our very own “Olympics” and had several different categories in which you could “go for the gold.”
To honor these experiences, National Poetry Month, and more…
today I read Rachel B. Glaser’s “Camp”:
Did you go to camp? Are you camp? If so, how, when, where?