…but it wasn’t at band camp. Sorry to disappoint my pal Lady Lovely. Although, her comment certainly got me to thinking about camp experiences in general. So, here’s a blog for ya.
Of all the camps I went to, I never went to band camp. True, I was in the band – at least until I started high school and the only music the marching band knew how to play was Tequila. I didn’t want to be a band geek anymore. I played the baritone – which is for fat kids not fat enough to play the tuba (at least that was my impression). I started out playing the trumpet in 3rd grade, but couldn’t hit the high notes so the music teacher gave me a baritone. NOBODY picks the baritone – you just don’t realize when it’s handed to you that it is the uncoolest instrument in the band and that someone tapped into a weakness… an inability to say “no” and voila – you’re playing the baritone.
And it couldn’t be one of those neat looking baritones with the horn that pointed up. No, I had to have the one that you had to hug in order to play it. At least the ones that pointed up looked pretty. And they would have made a girl who felt oober fat feel less so. At least that’s what I thought. Probably because the only person I ever saw play the pretty baritone was a tall, popular, blond, size 6. The other baritone players I knew had the kind I had and they were fat.
If I knew then what I know now (or, knew about 6 months of being in the band) I would have picked the saxophone or been a percussionist. Saxes are sexy… even if you’re fat… and being a percussionist would have given me a reason to hit things. I think I would have liked a reason to hit things.
Let’s see, this blog is supposed to be about camp experiences.
The first camp I went to was a day camp. I went with my cousin G-IV. Don’t remember much of the experience except that we went fishing, horse back riding, and swimming and we made lots of crafts that involved glue, Popsicle sticks, and cotton balls. I remember that I felt cool to be there – because my cousin was cool. I would never have been classified as cool except by association with others.
Then there was soccer camp. Also went to that with G-IV, but during different summers than day camp. Think I even did that one twice. Here’s what I remember about that experience: fabulously flavored Gatorade gum that we got to chew at the end of the day, Mack Attack who was the guy who played goalie for the Philadelphia Fever which was the pro team that ran the soccer camp, falling asleep during the movie we watched after lunch every day (but really, how many movies about Pele can a kid watch before getting bored) and getting nicknamed Snoozin’ Susan, winning Camper of the Day (I was such a suck up). It was fun. But, me and soccer were not a match made in heaven. I only played for a couple of years for a team called the Road Runners. We SUCKED. I think we maybe won 2 games total in the two years I played for them.
Right before high school I got to go to Writing Camp at Duke University. That was cool. Being surrounded by published authors who encouraged young wanna-be writers to practice and get better at the craft. It was neat. We watched people and wrote. We went to museums and wrote. We went into churches and wrote. It was fun. Probably my favorite camp experience of all. Although, when I started high school and began learning how to write to pass a mandatory functional writing test, I was no longer encouraged to be creative or to think. Just had to learn to write for a test that I’ve always thought was stupid. I blame 9th grade as why I stopped writing. Really, it’s my own insecurities and fears of rejection that keep me from doing it.
Last camp I went to was Cheerleader Camp. Man, I sure wanted to fit in. Enough that I tried out for and became a cheerleader. I was even on the Varsity squad my sophomore year – the first time they allowed students younger than Juniors to try out for the squad. Cheer camp was interesting. Such peppy girls. So plastic. I used to laugh at the girls who had never ending smiles on their faces and twitched their heads from side-to-side making excited expressions and nothing – because cheerleaders were supposed to show enthusiasm and excitement for everything. Even now I love to watch competitions – the athletic skills amaze me and the smiling twitching makes me laugh. I think I learned at cheer camp that I was not truly the cheerleader type. But, I lived in denial and acted like I really wanted to be one.
Cheering was a little like dance, although, I probably should have been on the pom squad, cause that was all dance and looked like it would have been more fun for me. But, since cheerleaders were popular, I figured I’d be popular too. But, I never made it to the “in crowd” just got to be friends with a couple of them outside of that group. In the long run, I’m glad I wasn’t a part of that crown. I’ve heard some stories of hurt and heartache that I’m glad I didn’t have to experience. My own stories were painful enough.
God, high school was hard.
Maybe I should have stayed in the band and gone to band camp. Cause I would have been surrounded by musically gifted dorks… and I was for sure one of them. Too bad I never recognized the coolness factor there.
Isn’t it funny how our perspectives do a complete one-eighty as we grow and learn (with some of us doing a full three-sixty)? I recall a few kids who seemed to have their perspectives set correctly at an early age; I doubt they are happier adults for all that. Image, acceptance, popularity – there is value in experiencing the churn associated with that warped adolescent perspective.
Writing camp? How cool is that? You’re a good writer – don’t let rejection discourage you! I certainly don’t. There is something energizing about putting yourself out there in all likelihood of getting squashed. I suppose that’s what attracts people to rock climbing and such – the thrill of risk makes life all the more valuable. The boldest and least helpful critics are generally those who shrink from taking the risk themselves. When you write, think of it as writing for yourself, not for others; this is one of the beauties of blogging.
Your camp experiences sound spotty at best, but at least you went to camp. The only summer camp I ever went to was Camp Go-Outside-And-Get-Beat-Into-The-Ground-By-Neighborhood-Bullies-And-Don’t-Come-Home-Until-Dark. The granite in New Hampshire may be all the rage for kitchen countertops these days, but I can tell you it doesn’t taste very good.
Jim – thanks for your words of encouragement. Blogging is like a journal for me… and if I wrote it for others, I would have something new every day to share. But, I want to make this about me – so I write when I can and when I feel moved to do so. You and Deeno are inspirations
Love to you 
I looved that post, Susan. And the pix was good, too. Very thoughtful.
Gotta say, a soph on varsity? Damn! You must be able to do a herke like nobody’s bidness!!! I wanna see it at Palooza.
(I mean, the backbend was impressive, but, somehow, I need more.)
I think we had a loophole to let sophomores on varsity – like you had to sacrifice a freshman and do two back handsprings over the offering, then land in a split while whistling the theme from Gunsmoke, finishing off by yelling ‘the aristocrats’.
You know, my contacts are dirty, and when I read this post, instead of “Pom Squad” I SAW “PORN Squad”! haha! Maybe dirty contacts…maybe the hubby has been gone a shade too long…in any case, fantastic post!
I went to a running camp which was the only one. It was alot of fun though. You wouldn’t think running 7 miles a day would be fun but it was on trails through really pretty mountains and you just got lost in your own day dreams.