That Summer in 1980

That Summer, 1980.

Camp Danbee; one of life’s defining moments. And not just for me but for several other British counsellors who spent those three months surrounded by the beauty of the Berkshire Hills, Massachusettes. My twenty-second birthday was approaching, and having lived for two years in the controversial state of Israel, how wrong I’d been to believe I knew something about the Jewish culture. 1970s Sabra and Diaspora Judaism couldn’t have seemed more different to me. Preconceived ideas and the pre-camper paradise were about to go up in flames.

The little darlings arrived by private plane, helicopter, and swanky automobiles -some chauffeur driven and soon to have some of my less worldly countrymen draped over their bonnets for glamour shots. Being a person of such sophistication, I kept the shock and awe to myself, as I did with many thoughts in those days. I’m British!

For the next 6–8 weeks, I was in charge of six-year-old girls in a cabin close to the flag pole -the communal gathering spot to pledge allegiance to a flag at some unholy hour every day. Getting them ready and positioned at the right time should be a piece of cake, so thought the delusional me, but these children were six-going on thirteen. They argued over their designer clothing, hair had to be perfect, and some insisted on adding coloured lip balm before being pushed out of the cabin in a tantrum. Could the teenagers be any worse, or would their counsellors be able to apply reason when resolving disputes? How did older campers behave if six-year-olds acted like teenagers already?

It could only get better, and it did -slowly. As a nation, we’re not famous for bubbling enthusiasm and positivity, the entire premise for a successful camp experience. Sarcasm had ruled in the homes of many and thankfully passed undetected over the heads of Americans unfamiliar with the humour of Monty Python and The Goons. Many of my little campers thawed and showed more likeable traits; some were more sensitive, felt isolated and sought comfort; others retained their precocious entitled ways, and I wonder how they fared in later life. They’re probably on the Supreme Court or running for President.

And so, my English student-teacher friend returned to England and smothered her initial dream of becoming a respected educator. Another moved their sights to the institutes of higher education, and a few of us -me being one of them- considered sterilisation the most reliable form of contraception against producing future offspring.

When asked If I’d ever put myself through an ordeal like that again -during the Danbee owner exit interview- my response was a resolute “no”, but in 1987, Malibu, I did! Forewarned is forearmed.

Addendum: Eleven years later, my son, Sebastien, was born. It had taken that long to recover and was a one-time deal.

*Calling Danbee Counsellor Alumni: make contact through miss.dmeanour@gmail.com