The Pain and Promise of Summer Camp
It is a common misconception that memories are permanent and immovable—that the way we recall things is an exact replica of events. In reality, research shows that memories are not fixed like a photograph or a video feed; they are prone to distortion and, every time we recall a memory, we subconsciously change it slightly. This malleability can work to our benefit when it comes to reprocessing difficult childhood memories.
One of my most difficult memories happened, unexpectedly, at summer camp.
In July 2004, I was standing in the camp office, clutching the landline telephone like my life depended upon it. I had finally gotten ahold of my parents, but was sobbing so hard I could barely speak. The sleep-away camp had a rule: no phone calls home during the first week. The idea was that homesickness, like a scraped knee, was best endured rather than indulged. But, after days of incessant crying, the staff made an exception for me. I was 10 years old and less than a week into my first overnight camp experience. I was miserable, and I wanted out.
My parents had expected me to love camp, and I thought I would too. I was initially filled with hope as I packed my duffel bag with a denim comforter, a skateboard, and personalized stationery to write home. I was young, yes, but camping ran in my family. My sister was seven when she first went to overnight camp; my cousin was eight. My mom worked as a sleep-away camp counselor in college, and my grandmom briefly worked in camp administration. It was finally my turn to spend two weeks at a camp in Pennsylvania’s Pocono Mountains.
I daydreamed about returning home with new friends, funny stories, and........
