I still go to summer camp. Eleven years and two months ago, I first went to Camp Circle-Velt (fake name), and I haven’t missed a summer since. Camp CV is a self described “summer resort and children’s camp founded in 1928. We are proud of our seventy-six year history of providing a summer experience of fun for children and adults in a warm Jewish cultural environment. Our mission is to provide children with a safe, fun, and Jewish cultural environment in which to enjoy their summer, grow as individuals and make life long friendships.” While this certainly sounds like a quote filled with a lot of bullshit, I do love camp. Here’s why.

My first summer at camp was in 1997, and I was ten years old. I was placed in the junior boy division, and had come with a friend from home. I stayed at camp for four weeks, and loved every second of it. What’s not for a ten year old to love? Basketball, softball, football, soccer, boating, swimming, arts and crafts, and even the crazy game of rutzball. As a rising fifth grader, I think I wanted nothing more. The days were filled with things like “shower hour”, “milk call”, and “reveille”. Sure it’s a little cliché, but it’s motherfucking great. I obviously returned the following summer. From there on out, I went for eight weeks instead of four. For some reason the friend I went with didn’t see the majestic beauty of camp, so he never came back. But he’s a pretty big pussy, so all is well.

As the summers progressed and we slowly got older, camp only got better. We still spent our days throwing around balls and swimming in the pool, but once puberty hit, camp became much more interesting. It is there that I started kissing girls, learned about sex, and was fully informed of the world of blowjobs. I don’t know why we were so fascinated by blowjobs specifically, but for some reason or another we became fixated on them like some sort of holy grail.

In any event, my summers proceeded along in this fashion for quite a number of years. Ages ten through sixteen, I was a hardcore camper. So when I had the option to come back as a lifeguard at seventeen, I jumped at the chance. Sure I could have taken an SAT prep class, but I figured the opportunity to spend another summer at camp was more than worth it. I was right. Working at camp was just like being a camper, but you were older. And got paid. And didn’t have to work too hard.

While puberty had made camp take a turn for the better in our younger years, now, things-that-seventeenyear- olds-and-eighteen-yearolds- do made camp much more fun. Things like beer, liquor, and giant sex orgies really added to the whole experience. Then we got older, and grew up a little, and things that are a little more wholesome made camp what it was. These things are a bit more cliché, but it’s okay to use clichés if you formally acknowledge that you’re doing it, right? For instance, if I scream Sarah’s name, she’ll scream mine back with a smile (“SARAH!” “DOOY-CH!”). If I give Alex a high five, he brags to his friends that he has the best swim instructor. If I help Ilana with her college essay, I know that she will be forever grateful. These are the things that I finally experienced, and despite being cliché, they are the best that camp has to offer.

* * *

That, right there, was my attempt to convey the essence of camp. It has been tried many times by many people, with authors and orators always coming up short. The truth of the matter is that if you have never been, you will never understand. However, the best thing I have found that really gets across the love people have for camp is a podcast from a few years back: http://www.thislife.org/ Radio_Episode.aspx?episode=109. If you ever have an hour to kill, listen to this. The people at ThisLife do great work.

It makes me sad to see the direction in which summer camps are headed these days. It has been only a little over a decade since I started going to camp, but the industry is much different now. In short, summer camps are slowly dying. SAT prep courses, math league camps, and college visits at age fourteen keep kids away. We’ve all heard the stories about how kids’ lives are so structured these days. The fifty-year-old man informing us, “when I was a boy we would play stickball in the street for days on end”. And it’s true. With less and less time for kids to be kids, it’s a shame that even their summers are being stolen.

Even I, someone who just turned twenty, find it extremely difficult to get back to camp anymore. My Penn friends spent the last few weeks as investment bankers, stock traders, and mechatronic engineers. I was a lifeguard. It’s true that I’m falling far behind in the competitive corporate world, but I bet my summer was more fun than yours. And right now, that’s all that really matters. And all that should matter.

For camp is life in its purest form. I thought of that sentence when I was up in chair four, lifeguarding one day. I was watching kids in the pool as they were happy. Really happy, like happier than anyone ever is when they’re a kid living at home with their parents, and it was a lovely day weather-wise. When I thought of the sentence I thought it was genius. Looking at it now, it’s not as good as I had hoped. But still pretty good. I thought maybe I could work it into the article, but it never really came up. So here it is, at the end. Next to paddling down the Mississippi river, camp is life in its purest form.