Summer camp was the best gift my parents ever gave me. At
overnight camp, everyone shared clothes, shaving cream, stationery, and
secrets. There were no locks: only doors that creaked and banged to announce
comings and goings. On Friday nights, I sat at a fire-circle facing the quiet
lake, chanting prayers and singing songs in Hebrew: songs, which, until then,
felt strange and foreign to me.
At camp, everything made sense, and when I linked arms with my
friends, I felt a peaceful connection to nature as if G-d had fashioned a
golden cord that started from the sun, zig-zagged over to the stars, dropped
down to earth, and connected every one and every thing. All at once, I wanted
to stay there forever.
And
in a way, I have.
Living
in Rochester, I am forever bumping into someone from CSL. Whether I’m picking
up a gallon of milk at Wegmans or walking along the canal path, there’s always
a familiar face.
Which
is wonderful.
This
summer, my son, Cal, will be staying the full seven-weeks at CSL for the first
time. I’m not surprised. He’s grown up hearing his grandmother, Shirley (Schwartz) Jacobson wax
nostalgic about her days at CSL during the 1940s. He’s heard his cousins -- Max, Alec and Audrey Jacobson -- talk about
(and text with) their fabulous camp friends. We visit CSL off-season: walk
around when it is quiet and cold, when everything is boarded up. We skip rocks
and sit on the T-dock together.
Long
ago, Cal decided there’s no better place to celebrate an August birthday than
in the dining hall after skipping around the room. In addition to connecting
with new people each summer, Cal gets to hang out with the sons and daughters
of the people I went to camp with over thirty summers ago: people he’s come to
consider his “summer siblings.”
At
the end of each summer, Cal comes home, his voice hoarse from screaming and
singing. He talks about his favorite programs, counselors, and bunkmates.
And
I’m there again.
Over
the course of a summer, campers learn what it means to live together. They
learn the importance of trust, the power of common laughter, the exhilarating
feeling of being part of a larger community. And – though they don’t know it at
the time – those lessons prepare them to be better siblings, roommates,
co-workers and spouses, long after their summer camp experience ends.
I
suppose I’ll always feel nostalgic about the summers of my youth. For a few weeks,
we got lost in a kind of magic. Nature provided the perfect backdrop: the lake
sparkled in the sun; blackberries hung from bushes heavy and ripe, waiting to
be picked and shared; leafy trees rustled in the darkness as we hurried down
dusty roads toward something that felt close to love.
All these years
later, my son feels the same way about camp that I do.
Is it wrong for
me to hope that, one day, he’ll give the gift of CSL to his own kids?
Renée A. Schuls-Jacobson,
CSL alumna
1978-1980, 1982-1988, 1993. SRC 1982.
Renée also writes at http://rasjacobson.com
