Gaaad, I hated this day camp. H A T E D. In the picture I am turning around from a picnic table and I look annoyed at the photographer (no doubt my mother!) but in reality it was a pleading, get me the hell outta here!, look!!!
Why do I say that about the camp??? Let me count the ways .... It was hot, there were bugs, and the ground was dirt! Sand on the beach was one thing - I loved that! - but dirt?! There were things that I was asked to do that weren't in the realm of where I could do well - this wasn't about reading, about books, but about things like team spirit and crafts that I just couldn't get the hang of (remind me to share the story of how I made a craft octopus...). There were other kids, and I almost always had a problem with that type of situation, because I was 'born adult', I had 'a Russian soul'. I thought the soap in the pantyhose in the outdoor handwashing station was just beyond gross. Dry ice scared the bejesus out of me because I was afraid I would get burned by it, like we had been warned. And I was always scared inside that when the bus brought me back, my mother would have run away and wouldn't be there - she wasn't that type of woman, she never suggested it, she never did that!, but that was my fear: that my mother would run away and I would be stuck at this dammed camp to live in!!!