Summer Camp Experiences

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I went to a now-closed Jewish summer camp when I was a teenager one summer. The girls loved me because I was smart. (We select for intelligence.) Some of the boys bullied me, to which I had no decent recourse. I went to the authorities, who essentially shrugged it off. I was bullied because I was weak and Aspie. One boy in bunk was fat, so he was sexually assaulted Some of the girls toyed with my Aspieness, without understanding what was really going on.

Now, some of the ex-campers have organized online and had reunions. I've learned the reason why one girl could only talk about sex: she had nothing else to talk about as she is stupid. The discussions are generally along the lines of "wasn't camp great!" Needless to say, I have not joined this amen chorus.

So, anyone else have experiences to share?

I haven't been on extended summer camp, but I've experienced a week or five days long camp at the end of some school years on two of the schools I visited.

When I went to camp for the first time for the pedologic institute's after-school activity groups, we went to a camping spot near Lunteren, which is at the center of the country; there's even a group of trees that mark the 'center' of the country. It was a recreatinal camping site with some facilities for kids, like a playground and I don't remember what else. What I do remember is that I had a very hard time falling asleep that first night. I wasn't used to sleeping anywhere other than my own house; I was 9 years old and I never even slept over at friends or even relatives because I didn't like that. And here I was miles away from my house and my mother and my relatives and pets and things. I even cried one night because it just felt uncomfortable. I tried to make the best of my time there, and I made it through. Thankfully, I was on good terms with most of the other children, and we had fun together. We ended up visiting a local toy store and got ourselves some wind-up, walking, toy bugs; I got a scorpion and a beetle. But it was really a relief to see my mother again at the end of it.

There was a repeat of this the next year.

Then, after I had left the pedologic institute for my new school in 1997, a school which I ended up disliking with a fiery passion, there was also a 5 day camp thingy at the end of the year. I didn't want to go, but according to the school, I HAD to. I can be short about how this went: the first day, I started a fight with someone, and the teachers decided I was too uncontrollable to remain at camp. So they drove me back home, and I was happy.

The next year, same school, I decided to give camp another try anyway. This time, it was relatively nice. I don't remember that there were any noteworthy camp activities (well, there was this kind of game of tag that we did en masse in the forest surrounding the camp). I had just made two friends in the final few months of school, and spent some time with them. There was also a lot of lethargic hanging around in the sleeping quarters, where we all listened to music. It was the summer of 1999, so 'Freak On A Leash' by Korn was played a lot. I tie that song to those memories, that summer. Also, 'Beautiful Stranger' by Madonna.

After that, I didn't go to any kind of camp. The secondary school I visited didn't do that, thank goodness.

Attended a music camp for one summer - outstanding experience. Worked there a few years later, and was even better. The structure, the music, the environment... all worked for me.


M.

As an adult who is "outdoorsy", I would love to go to summer camp on my own terms. However my experiences at summer camp as a child are not completely fondly remembered. I was lucky to be in a cabin with "only" five other girls and an adult, but as an only child I found it hard to adjust to this. It was pretty noisy, I recall, with what I considered to be odd rules. I was lactose intolerant (which was not realized at the time), but was harassed by the counselors to drink huge glasses of milk. Then they wondered why I was subsequently sick as a dog. I guess they considered me to be a high-maintenance little runt. I had fun hiking and doing crafts, though. Now at 60 I trail run alone in National Forests, encountering bears and mountain lions, do archery and can make fire with a homemade fire bow. I wonder what those cocky jock counselors are doing these days. Maybe I should start a summer camp for geezers...

(Warning long post)I haven't been to a summer camp as such but I have been camping with the guides a few times and I've been on week long school trips. Here are some things that stick in my memory from these trips.
I went to my first over night trip at the age of 9 with school for 3 days at a place called "standon bowers". We were put into groups of 6-ish and we earned and lost points like on Harry Potter. At meal times you had to go one group at a time to get your food, one breakfast (it was either that years trip or the one later) anyway I just got up without waiting thinking it was OK, but then my group either had a go at me or told one of the staff off me. So this member of staff told me off and I kept answering him, they called it "answering back" which it wasn't I was just stating my side of the story and answering questions (probably rhetorical ) and everything I said lost us more points. My group kind of hated me for the rest of the morning . I remember losing my favourite cardigan and a hair brush, we were only there for 3 days aswell. The next standon bowers was when I was 10, this time we stayed for 5 days. On the first night my and the girls in our dorm decided to tell ghost stories, and my friend told one that scared one girl to tears so one of the teachers came in and told us to stop, I was annoyed that the night was now ruined by wimps. And it took me forever get to sleep that night because people kept wispering and talking so I ended up crying for some reason and told them to shut up and let me sleep and they were like "What the hell are you crying for??". I do have some fond memories of that place though.

I went to a place similar to standon bowers called "kingswood" for 5 days at the age of 13, I went with school. I loved it except for one incident when we were playing a lazer gun game like quazar. My main bully Cassie (yes I have "main" bullies, how sad) kept coming up behind me and kicking me, it didn't hurt but it annoyed the f**k out of me and her stupid friend kept laughing. So I tried to stand up for myself but I was shaking and kept doing stupid things like pointing the lazer gun at her like it was real and thus making a div of myself. I eventually hit her with the gun, it wasn't hard but she over reacted and took the "vest" off that you shoot in the game, she was all "come on then" so I walked out of the room and into the cloak room thing we were in. I could tell others were on my side because they asked if I was OK and ignored Cassie. We had a disco one night which was amazing, the room was small and the lights were naff but we still had a right laugh.

That same year I went on a camping trip for 7 nights/8 days with the guides. There were guides from other countries there too including sri-lanka, america, canada, kenya and loads more. Anyway there were 2 american girls in our group and I overheard a conversation between them about the grass, because it had gone brown since the 06 heat wave. One said "is the grass always brown in England?" and the other said "I don't know maybe it's because of the dry spell" that made my day it was so funny. There was a girl in our group who from the day we arrived was horrible to me, We'd never even met before. When I first saw her I kept thinking she was somone else that I recognised, I couldn't tell (it turns out she wasn't and looks nothing like who I thought it was) so I kept looking at her and she noticed and thought I was staring, and then picked on me the whole week and just hated me for no reason and called me "lezo" (maybe because of the staring) to be honest I stared at a few people but back then I hadn't quite learned not to. We had quite a few discos which were OK but weren't the best, on one of them I decided not to dance with my guide group and had a load of funny looks off some girls because I was dancing enthusiastically on my own, I was like "so what". On the last disco the bitchy girl kept blocking me everytime I tried to join the group (the magority of them were my friends but never said anything) and she threw paper at me at one point, I ended up walking back from the disco crying without people knowing. One day I was supposed to be doing target shooting but I was lost and ended up pacing around the field for ages. I also fell out with my best friend there, she thought I was being funny with her because I wasn't talking, but I'd run out of things to say and I don't chat all the time and I told her that. We are still best friends now (but I only like her in minute doses). I hated that week.

I have been to other camps , my best one was France when I was 12 but I won't bore you with it. They have mostly been enjoyable except for the first guide camp. Isn't it funny how you always remember negatives more than positives? Or am I just a pessimist lol.

When I was 12 I went to a music-themed two-week camp. I have mostly positive memories of it because a friend was there too, the activities were fun, the food was pretty good, and we had "cabin time" in the middle of the day which gave me a chance to recharge.

I went to the same camp the next year but it wasn't as fun. Not horrible - in fact, I don't remember that much about it - just not that good. My aforementioned friend decided not to go that year, so I didn't have anyone to talk to. A few of my cabinmates tried to talk to me, but I was nervous and apparently didn't seem very interesting, because they gave up after a couple minutes and just ignored me afterwards. And then all the other girls in my cabin became a big group of friends, which was kind of awkward because I was off to the side and didn't know how to jump in.

Take a look at my avatar. That was me in 1974---an autistic kid who didn't know that his eccentric ways were due to autism. Two years later I went to 4H camp with my best friend. The camp was to last four nights and cost my parents 20$ (in 1976). I was 11 years old and I remember Mom packing my clothes and stuff in a simulated leather suitcase with two buckling straps in addition to the zipper. Then, our mothers drove my friend and me to Tar Hollow outside of Chillicothe, Ohio for 4H camp. We stopped to eat lunch at a new gypsy themed fast food restaurant named Wendy's (yes---back when it was done in a gypsy motif). Then, we arrived at Tar Hollow. As usual, I felt the awkwardness of trying to fit in with the rest of the other kids assembling at the camp. Our Moms left and we were among the masses. Even though Asperger's was not known back then in this country---wow---talk about the social awkwardness I felt due to it. I stuck with my friend---and he stuck with me. We ate dinner which consisted of overcooked spaghetti and greasy sauce inside a hot sweltery mess hall. Before eating, we had placed our suitcases and sleeping bags in the dirty cabin that we would share with about 4 other boys and a chaperone (a young adult former 4H guy). I remember positioning my suitcase in a specific manner with the buckles clamped in a certain way so I could tell if anyone messed with it---yep---I had OCD back then too.

After dinner we were supposed to play games somewhere on the grounds---but try as I did to play, I could not. And I did not have the motor skills to play well. Wow was I awkward socially---and I still am. I stood alone on the sidelines and watched wishing I had never come to this Godforsaken place. I wanted to be home with my roller coasters and music (my intense special interests), and my parents and dog. My friend and I were assigned to our cabin based upon the group we were assigned to---it seems like there were about 4 large groups for the whole camp---and we were in an all boy group. As night settled in, our group had to attend a campfire meeting---it seems like there were about 20 of us guys there. We had to sing songs, and listen to ghost stories. That was ok, just more or less sitting amongst the crowd and letting things happen. But then, it was participation/competition time at the campfire. My friend and I wondered what was going to happen. It was the horrifying "who can roll their stomach the best contest." Gee...OMG. I watched as some of the other boys raised their shirts and rolled their stomachs like the ocean waves. Not all participated because this can be humiliating---especially for the overweight boys. And for me---who was Mr. Skinny...and I mean skinny. I passed---I didn't do it...and I don't think my friend did either.

That night, sometime after midnight, as we lay in our adjacent bunks, my friend whispered to me to see if I was awake. I answered. My friend was crying...he was homesick. He wanted to leave. I said I wanted to leave too. I was also homesick---but very much out of place due to my social awkwardness---and the fact I was out of my rigid routine (It makes so much sense to me now about my childhood). His father was an engineer on the N&W Railroad, and he had brought along his father's log book---and the tracks ran through Tar Hollow. We thought about escaping onto his father's train---but he wasn't scheduled to come through soon. So, we planned an escape the following morning.

We slept miserably---but did catch some sleep due to the comfort of knowing we were getting out this hellhole. We didn't even shower in the showerhouse that night because of the filth and spider infestation. There was no way my bare feet would touch that horrible shower floor---though I could have showered with my shoes on---well, perhaps not a good idea. The next morning we got up, and began our plans. You see---this place was NOT designed for the option of leaving. When you got there---you were there. You were not even allowed to use the telephone! We asked and were denied. We were told to do the camp's scheduled things---PERIOD! Do you think we swam in that mudhole they called a lake that following morning? No!! ! Do you think we played those games in the field? No!! ! We were on our own planning an escape. I looked at the information in our camp booklets and found the name of the head of the camp---Mr. Randy R. I wanted to find him to plead for us to call our parents to come and get us. I found the camp nurse and told her we wanted to leave---she said, No---we had to stay. OMG---we were in Tar Hollow Prison Camp.

But I don't take "no" for an answer, and my friend didn't either. I would get us out of this place. I had to find a weak spot. We Aspies our very clever here you know. I analyzed and analyzed that morning---and I found the weak spot---the camp kitchen. I told my friend this would work. He agreed. We found a middle-aged male cook who was busy in the kitchen preparing lunch, and there was a telephone behind him. I had it in my mind that this cook was Randy R. We asked him if we could use the phone. He said, "yes." It was as simple as that. My friend called his house and got his father. His father agreed to come and pick us up.

By this time, my friend and I had come up missing because we weren't with our assigned group. We got called into the administration office where we were confronted by some man. He asked us where we had been---and I said we were going home. He said, "No you're not." We said, "Yes, we have already called home and they are coming to get us now." He said, "Who let you use the phone?!" Hmm, I provided the answer, "Uhh, Mr. Randy R. let us use it." (For some reason I really did think that the cook was Randy R.) Oops, I didn't know it was Randy R. we were talking to---and he was not the kind cook---talk about a shock when he said he was Randy R. He got angered and left and sent us to the nurse who tried to persuade us to stay. Why did they want us to stay so badly??? Why???

Well...in a little over an hour both our fathers arrived and told us to pack our things. Gee---they were already packed. Wow was I glad to see my father. We made a mad dash into that big old sedan and counted our blessings. I spent that afternoon at my friend's house. We listened to a K-Tel 8 Track tape (remember those---older members?). It had such classics as "Stir It Up" and "Smokin' in the Boys' Room." We never again went to 4H camp. You know what...I heard they later condemned Tar Hollow 4H camp due to substandard conditions. I have never been back.


Where we ate greasy spaghetti and used the telephone to escape.

Woah.
I think I was younger than you when I went. I went twice. One was to a horse camp, which I think was the bad one... for one thing, one girl in the group was scared to trot or run so we didn't get to the ENTIRE time. WHY ARE YOU AT A HORSE CAMP? But the rest was my own problems.;;; I think I got mad at one girl (forget the reason) I put some slugs in her bed but she didn't seem to notice, so next time she made me mad I flipped out and pushed her in the lake or something, so I got sent home a few days early. That kind of thing always used to happen to me, ugh. D: (lolllll, does that sound heartless?;;; She wasn't in danger, it was shallow and we swam in the lake every day anyway.)

The other camp was really cool though. It was a llama camp, and we hiked in to the camp site with pack llamas. XD We each took care of our own llama, moreso than the horses. When we weren't doing llama stuff, though, I would climb out on this big log over a little ravine thing and read.

Glider, that's an awesome story and I hated to see it end. It reminds me very much of my experience.

In the summer of 1981, a flier was circulated around 7th grade at my catholic grade school for a place down in southern Illinois called Camp Ondessonk. I took one home and stared at the photos of nifty-looking treehouse-style cabins nestled among dogwood trees, attached by a maze of wooden walkways and staircases at different levels, and thought how freaking cool it would be to go there. I begged my parents to let me go, and surprisingly, with my dad being miserly and my mother being paranoid and overprotective, they agreed. What helped was that I got my friend Erin and a couple other friends from school to persuade their parents to let them go (my ma), and the fact it was a Catholic camp (my dad).

Then came June and summer vacation, and before we knew it, my friends and I were boarding the bus in the Oak Lawn Holiday Inn parking lot and heading down I-57. It was a long ride, flat, grey and overcast, the only notable geographic feature being a bridge across a fairly large lake which, looking back, must have been Rend Lake.

I was excited beyond belief; it would be my first time away alone, and I'd spent the weeks leading up to the trip obsessively preparing my little 70's flowered suitcase with little things like a travel-sized bar of soap, mini baby powder, and Vidal Sassoon shampoo, and compulsively packing and rearranging those items just so. The only problem was, I was from the city. My parents were from the city. None of us had ever gone camping or knew the proper supplies to take with. I had no insect repellent, no first aid, an impractical sleeping bag made for indoors only, and a pair of sandals.

When we finally got there, orientation took place and we were assigned our units. I ended up in an ugly unit, with an ugly name along the lines of "Grouper" or "Gupta" which looked nothing like the brochure; plain, grey, dilapidated, doorless wooden cabins containing four shoddily-constructed triple bunks with stained, one-inch-thick prison mattresses, no electricity, an outhouse a hundred yards away, and worst of all, ground level. The obliteration of my treehouse fantasy was just the beginning of a week-long, slippery slope of disappointment and misery. It was a Catholic camp, so we were required to attend services daily in a little A-frame church, where we were told tales of the Seven Holy Martyred Fur Trappers and some indian saint named Takemewithya or something along those lines. The mess hall was a large old wooden structure with a screened front and a couple ceiling fans that did nothing to alleviate the constant stifling heat and humidity of southern Illinois, but managed to circulate the flies well, where meals consisted of a choice of water, water with a hint of milk, or water with a hint of orange juice if you were aggressive/lucky enough to get yourself some. I'll say one thing, most of the kids there were pretty nice, and from St Louis. Whether being from St Louis had anything to do with it, I don't know. Near the front of the camp was a black bear in a penned-in area named Tommy, who was in danger of being "sent away" for having mauled a kid, and this apparently was the local hot topic in the area because a news crew showed up and we were all forced to stand around and sing "We love you Tommy, oh yes we do" over and over, to show our support for the bear.

Did I mention I was from the city? My only exposure to nature was the drainage ditch alongside the railroad tracks behind my house filling up with water after a hard rain, and some lilac bushes in our yard. I. Was scared. Of everything. The highlight of the week was the Overnight Hike. We were taken out on a trail by unit counselor Lisa, a girl who looked like James Young of Styx, circa 1980, and after about a mile into the hike and shortly after going through the ubiquitously named "Fat Man's Squeeze" rock formation, promptly lost the trail. We were screwed. I was scratched up, miserable, bitten, scared, lost, and now on the verge of panic and tears. Would I ever see home again? What if I die out here? They sent out a few able-bodied, nature-savvy scouts (thank god for people from St Louis), and after about an hour, the trail was re-located and we were back on our way. By that point I didn't care any more. We set up on a large expanse of bluffstone at the edge of a wood at a point of high elevation, a camp fire was made and we ate half-cooked weenies. Erin and I laid there in our impractical sleeping bags, staring up at a terrifying skyful of something called "stars" and an even more terrifying swath of something called the "Milky Way", and cried silently for our mothers, trying not to crap ourselves at hearing a great horned owl for the first time. I thought Al Pacino was lurking in the woods. I drifted off to a fitful sleep after trying to take a picture of the night sky with my Vivitar 110 camera. About two hours later, we were awoken by the unit counselor blowing a whistle. We had to get up, it was starting to rain. My brown flannel slumber party bag was misted through with an uncomfortable dampness. We rolled up and were herded back onto the trail, no light, no moon, no flashlights, to feel our way along the two mile trail back to Globule. By the time we made it back I had to make a run for the outhouse, and then tried to sleep the rest of the night in a damp bag. But that didn't matter because reveille, an ear-piercing recording played over the only electrically-wired item in the unit, the loudspeaker, went off in just under an hour.

Misery and Fear of Everything prevailed as the theme thoughout the remainder of the week; there were things like swimming contests (i couldn't swim), canoeing (never been in a canoe in my life), horseback riding, a really scary indian ceremony in a grotto that we had to walk to by candlelight, archery, and the only thing I was any good at: riflery. To get back to far-flung Gribble, one had to cross a swinging footbridge over a small lake. At night this was particularly daunting for a city kid hearing giant bullfrogs, which I mistook for some kid off in the distance with whooping cough. One day I came back to the unit cabin only to find that a horde of giant black ants had wound their way into my suitcase and into the bag of Bit'O'Honey candy my mother had sent along with me. There was nothing left but the perfectly formed shape of the paper wrappers, ends still twisted - but with no candy inside. The ants had eaten my only connection to civilization. I freaked out and beat the remaining teeming millions out of my clothes, my suitcase...my underwear. The rest of that week, I spent as much time as I could in the Better Bathrooms toward the center of camp with a nervous stomach.

Erin found a way to call her mother and tell her how miserable we were. I didn't know until I got back, but our mothers were apparently thisclose to getting in a car and coming down to get us, but must have decided to let us finish out the week.

The end of the week had finally come, and the blessed reveille was sweet music to my ears that morning. I bid Goulash goodbye, and we assembled and began our long journey home. Most of the bus ride home was spent staring at the odd retro boomerang pattern on the formica-panelled walls of the outdated bus.

It was sunny and summery when I got back to Chicago; we hobbled off the bus and made a collective beeline for our mothers, aghast at the proliferation of bites and scratches on our bodies. When I got home, I entered that bastion of civilization called my bedroom and saw that my mother had bought all kinds of goodies for me and laid it out on the bed for me. New summer shorts, tops, underwear, socks, colored markers, pens, notebooks, stickers, comics, candy, and whatever else floated my boat a the time. My ma hugged me kissed me and fed me and made it all better and my dad probably shook his head at a waste of 78 bucks. I was so happy to be back home with toilets, running water, air conditioning, real food and TV, that I didn't care what the hell was on. So I watched Lawrence Welk.

And that kids, is my camp experience. The funny thing is, today, it's people who scare me, not nature. I grew to appreciate the great outdoors and wildlife of all kinds. I know the trees and plants and animals and how to climb, scale, and crawl. You could plop me down anywhere with minimum of survival needs and I'd be ok.

Years later, I found that the camp is still there, the bear is gone, and one of the founding priests of the camp was accused of sexual abuse and subsequently defrocked by the Vatican.

and yet..

As horrible as the experience was, something way down still wants to go back to that camp and take a nostalgic look around...

I went to a church-sponsored sleepover camp for a week or two (or three) for every year between 1987 and 1996.

It became a great escape for me. My life at home and school was unpleasant and I would more or less sit around all year waiting for camp to happen. The people there were nice and it was very much geared toward nature, which I could get down with (the camp was situated on beautiful woodland grounds).

Unfortunately, in the long run, my inability to act like a normal human being undermined that experience, too.

Ah well.

I absolutely loved summer camp. I think I went for five years, maybe six. Each time there was a different reason to love it.

I was actively involved in the Boy Scouts, so our summer camp was with our troop (people I knew already). We had a nice facility in the mountains of southwestern Pennsylvania with a big lake, lots of woods, and peace and solitude for any who were willing to take it. I have always loved the outdoors, so camping came pretty easily to me. Since we were there for a week, we had long-term canvas tents on platforms. Platform tenting is simply awesome.

The first two years were fine. I took merit badge classes and spent lots of time hiking. There was a 6-mile trail that wove around the lake. I always loved hiking that trail for some reason... maybe because it got me away from the busy camp and the other kids. When I was hiking, I was me, by myself, exploring nature.

What really captured my attention, though, was the Order of the Arrow. This is, more-or-less, the Boy Scouts' "secret society" whose purpose is to inspire young Scouts to a lifetime of cheerful service.

You are selected by members of your troop and are "called out" from your peers at a big, solemn ceremony (complete with enormous bonfires) in the middle of the woods. You are then led off into the night, not to be seen again for 24 hours. That night, you sleep under the stars, and the next day you are put through what is called the Ordeal. The Ordeal consists of one day of service projects around the camp on "meager rations" which maintaining absolute silence. That evening is the big, solemn celebratory membership ceremony (off in the woods in a hidden grassy ampitheater whose location is known only to members).

At 14 years of age, this was amazing stuff. The Order of the Arrow became the main reason I went back summer camp year after year. I went back to be a guide (we called them Elangomats). We worked in silence and "meager rations" alongside those taking the Ordeal, serving as "spiritual inspiration." I also served as a mentor to many of our younger troop members, and I really enjoyed doing that as well. It was incredibly satisfying for me to watch them go through their Ordeals.

Looking back on it, I think I had a bit of a childhood obsession with the organization. I would get giddy just thinking about it. The funny thing is that I never got involved outside of summer camp (except at one Fall Ordeal, where I got to be a ceremonial figure). I think the nostalgia of summer camp was too great, and outside the ceremonies and Ordeal, the group really didn't do a whole lot. I found that to be a bit disappointing, so I continued to immerse myself in the summer camp experience year after year. I would have gone to be a camp counselor except that I couldn't possibly be away from practicing my music for 8 weeks in a row.

The Order of the Arrow is the reason I found out about Alpha Phi Omega, a national co-ed service fraternity which is based upon similar principles (there is a loose affiliation between the two groups). Alpha Phi Omega is the first group that I got involved with where I felt 100% accepted.

It's funny because if I were to go to any of those friends from Alpha Phi Omega and tell them that I was autistic, they would laugh and think I was completely joking. If I were to go back to a high school friend, there would be skepticism but I'd eventually receive an, "I guess that makes sense." If I were to go back to an elementary school classmate, I'd probably receive a, "I'd never thought about it before, but that makes total sense."