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Wednesday, 07 November 2007

Summer Camp

By kenju of Imagine What I'm Leaving Out

My mom and dad sent me to camp for the first time when I was six. It was a camp for the children of employees of Union Carbide, in West Virginia. We had cabins with bunk beds, ten to a cabin, with a counselor for each.

I think six is too young to be away for two weeks, especially if you have no siblings there with you. At the end of the first week is parent's visitation. I talked my parents into letting me come home with them because of a very mean cabin-mate I had named “J”.

I had to sleep in a top bunk and she was under me. She would wait until I had been quiet for a few minutes and then she would hike up her legs, place her feet on the underside of my bunk and kick with all her might. I was nearly knocked off the bed and at the least, my sleep was disturbed.

I had never encountered someone who practiced being mean just for the fun of it before (that came later in childhood - LOL) and I hated being the brunt of her rage. Because of her, my first camp experience was cut short. Too bad I didn't have the cojones to swing down off the bed and plant one foot squarely on her nose!

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post

Comments

Thanks, Ronni! I still wish I had planted that foot!

I tended to be the same way, Judy! And, yeah, I still wish I'd retaliated, too. Being a nice little girl could be a real pain!

All my life I have regretted not fighting back when I was picked on. Some things just don't go away, do they? I'm glad your parents were understanding and let you go home with them.

My older brothers taught early in life to fight back..:D

Yes, I think six is too young also.

Six years old...and away at camp. That can be tough. What's a kid suppose to do about 'bratty bullies' away from the security of home. I wish you would have planted a square foot too Judy.

Isn't it odd that we were often raised to be "good girls"; paying attention to the fact that we should, in all circumstances, act nice and proper. Yet, further down the line, we have regrets about words not spoken, actions left undone. Maybe telling your story, is a way of figuratively giving that mean girl a bonk in her face.

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