Overnight Camp: A rite of passage

At 9 years old, I discovered that several of my friends were going to overnight camp. Not wanting to be left out, I asked my mother if I could go to camp. She discussed this with my dad and the next thing I knew, I was enrolled for three weeks. A big deal was made of purchasing and labeling “camp clothes.” A footlocker was purchased. I was given paper and pens for letter writing and stamps to send those letters home.

The evening before I left for camp, I came downstairs and asked my mom if I had to go to camp if I did not want to go. She looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Of course not. However, this was your choice so I know if you choose not to go you are not mature enough to make these type of decisions.” Slowly I walked upstairs and realized l had chosen my fate.

I spent the next three weeks crying and wanting to go home. On visiting day, my dad gave me what would be remembered as the “You are no quitter and no daughter of mine is a quitter ” speech.

For the next five years I went to overnight camp. I was not forced to go … I wanted to go. My friends were there, but every year I was homesick and spent a great deal of time crying.  In fact, my younger brother was also at camp, and he would see me and say, “Could you please stop crying, you are embarrassing me.”

On visiting day, I would walk to the camp gate to wait for my parents. As they turned into the camp, I could see the pained look on their faces. Another year, another you are “not a quitter” lecture.

In my last year of camp, I waited for my parents and saw their look of dread. I jumped into the car and said, “I love it here. It is so much fun. I don’t ever want to go home.”  My mom turned to my dad and said, “She has discovered boys!”

MAY-RONNY ZEIDMAN is executive director of the Sandra Bornstein Holocaust Education Center.