Camps, JAPS, and the beauty of Maine
I'm am trying to pick a camp for Sophie and Zeke, my 10 and 7 year old kids and who knew it would be so difficult. Those of you who spent your summers scrabbling in the mud-filled holes they called sleepaway camps in the 70s and 80s will probably be as shocked as I am by the lavishness of summercamps nowadays. No more spider-infested bunks, now they have actual mattresses on the beds and real bathrooms. Now there are inflated trampolines in the lakes and fleets of sailboats. Now some camps have, I kid you not, YACHTS. So I'm looking at all these camps and I think to myself, If Reesa Nudleman taught me how to use a curling iron in a camp where the idea of activities was lanyards on a broken picnic table, what's going to be going on at this camp? Will little Clay and Josephine Nudelman be bringing their palm pilots and cell phones to camp? Will my nebishey little California children be ostracized because their parents don't drive Beemers or Humvees? Will they ever get the chance to go to a bat mitvah at Leonards of Greatneck?
There are actually camp consultants nowadays who will help you pick a camp. That's their JOB. They get paid for this. I don't think my parents ever looked at the dumpy camp they sent me to. And I loved it. I LOVED IT. So how do I choose, here?