Camp is Over, Let the Mixed Feelings Begin

I loved my summers at camp.  I made such wonderful friends and created memories that have lasted since childhood.  On Friday night, one of my camp friends flew in from out of state and five of the six of us were meeting up for dinner and some long overdue catching up.  We sat in a restaurant for four hours.  We talked about our families, our marriages, our jobs, and of course, our camp memories.  We all had a long drive home and had to go our separate ways, but we made sure to plan our next get-together for a winter weekend longer than four hours.  The gathering couldn’t have come at a better time – my friend’s daughter came home earlier that day and my kids were coming home on Saturday.  We were deep into camp mode that night.  On my ride home, I thought about what my kids and their friends were doing at camp on that final night.  Were they trying to stay up all night so they wouldn’t miss the last few moments with each other?  Did they push their beds together and sleep in the middle of the bunk, giggling until the last one passed out from two months worth of exhaustion, and most recently, Color War?  Were they trading phone numbers, email addresses and planning to flush the toilet at 9pm the next night in solidarity?  As I pondered their evening activities, I began to feel the reminiscent pangs of the end-of-camp blues.

Many of my friends send their kids to sleep away camp.  Most take advantage of the nights out without having to pay a sitter, but a few days before camp ends, those same parents stop eating out and start restocking the fridge.  They clean up the house and wash any outstanding laundry molehills in preparation for the mountains of musty, damp, and stained clothing, sheets and towels that will soon be deposited in their garage (those trunks DO NOT come into the house for fear of bugs, snakes or any other critter that may have stowed away in the camp luggage).  Excitement starts to build and even bubble over with Facebook countdowns until the bus comes back to town and post pictures of happy campers all dressed up at the final Banquet dinner.  I am the opposite, or I should say, my feelings are mixed;  I am not only excited, but I am saddened too.  But not because I lose my nights out or because I have to start buying enough food to keep a teen and tween and their friends satisfied.  I am sad because I remember packing my trunk and trading mailing addresses and making pacts about flushing toilets.  While my kids are saying goodbye to their friends on Friday night, so did I.  The agonizing wait through back-to-school season, snowy winters, and slow starts to spring to get back to camp with those friends was fresh in my mind that night and my heart hurt for my kids.  As much as I couldn’t wait to hug and squeeze them, listen to their stories, and hear camp songs, I knew that as much as they loved the hugs too, they wanted to be back at camp.  I knew from my own experience and from my son’s four years of re-entry from summer camp, withdrawal from the bonds of friendship was painful and I, like all parents, hate to see my kids in pain.

As the buses pulled in and the kids disembarked from the last moments of their camp life for 2013, I choked back tears.  I saw it in my son’s face: Happy to see us, but so deeply disappointed to be leaving his friends and his home away from home.  I had experienced that same feeling 20-something years ago and I had felt it again on Friday night.  When camp ends, and you and your friends go separate ways, a part of you goes with them.  When you reconnect the following summer, or a rainy Friday night as an adult, your missing piece still fits perfectly and you are whole again.  Kids are lucky these days: They have technology to keep them in touch.  They can text and FaceTime and Skype and connect in a multitude of ways.  We had snail mail and flushing toilets.  Before we pulled out of the parking lot, my son was already setting a up a group text chat with his camp division so that the line would always be open and everyone would be able to reach out.  Kind of like at camp, when all of the lights are out and the chatting has died down, you could whisper, “Anybody still awake?” and someone would always answer.

And so the countdown begins.  For my kids, the number of days until camp starts is overwhelmingly far away, so we start with reunion in November, and then continue counting down until we reach single days and final hours when the trunks are packed again with clean clothes and bedding, hair is cut to last seven weeks without a trim, and mixed feelings bubble up all over again.  For me, my countdown began on Friday night and will end in January when my camp girls gather for a an overnight visit, a Jacks tournament, and sleepy whispers well after lights out.

xo

B