Cutting the cord can be painful

PEARL SALKIN SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH BULLETIN

The morning my son Will went to sleep-away camp for the first time, I dragged myself out of bed at dawn. Six tortuous hours of recurring nightmares were my limit.

The camp was less than 100 kilometres away but rush hours tend to run together and going a short distance can take a long time. Knowing that one centimetre on a map can equal six hours in traffic, we set out extra early. We drove through little towns, past a mall, across sprawling suburbs, past another mall, up the highway, past three more malls, beyond the hamlets and into the backwoods – summer camp country.

It was good to get away from the congestion, and we enjoyed the soothing scenery. Soon we saw a sign for the camp. We joined the line of cars waiting to enter, and I was happy to see a friendly face – my daughter, the camp counsellor assigned to welcome new arrivals, was waving and smiling at the front gate. She was doing such a nice job, and I felt very proud. But when we pulled up, Ellen's smile faded, and the greeting I got was, "Mom, put away the camcorder."

We parked the car and took out Will's things – enough stuff to feed, clothe, photograph and entertain a small village for a year. And yet with all that gear, Will quickly noticed that something was missing. We had double-checked his list before leaving home, but we ignored the obvious – we forgot to take the pillow from his bed. He had to settle for the small, faded cushion I kept in the car to ease my aching back.

After signing in at the registration table, we toured part of the property. It was my first visit, and the quiet and natural beauty of the area surprised me. But after hearing about a couple of near misses with deer (one by my rabbi) and my neighbor's accident that proved fatal for a bear, I realized that we're intruders in what's left of a former pristine paradise. I guess years of attempting to keep woodchucks away from the vegetable garden and squirrels out of the attic should have taught me that a long time ago.

After the momentary awe inspired by my Eden-like surroundings, I was back to business as usual. We escorted Will to his cabin and were disappointed to see that most of the bunks already had stuff on them. They were covered with sleeping bags, blankets and big backpacks, evidence that someone had moved in.

One bunk was bare, the one above the counsellor's. Nobody wanted that one. One bunk had only a sweatshirt on it and no kid to claim it was his.

Will wanted that one, so he removed the sweatshirt and put it on the bed rail. Suddenly, a kid on another bed shouted out, "It's taken!" I asked where the occupant was, and I was told that he hadn't arrived yet.

Then another kid and his mother walked in and set his things down on the bed. I protested. I said, "Excuse me. That's my son's bed. We were here first." The other mother ignored me and continued to unpack her son's stuff.

I got really angry and wanted to settle the matter outside, but the woman paid no attention. I wanted justice. I wanted my son to be happy, and the Brooklyn street fighter in me wanted to duke it out.

I carried on for a few minutes, then my daughter wisely dragged me away to visit her cabin deep in the woods.

Will did quite well after I express-mailed him a fluffy, new pillow and some M&Ms. He sent us a couple of "I'm fine. How are you?" letters and never complained about the food or anything else. I suspect his outgoing mail was censored.

When he returned home intact, tanned and taller, he seemed more mature and more focused. He did so well that we didn't mind adding another week to his stay the following year and signed him up for an adventure on the seven seas. Actually, seven days at a sailing camp. But for that extra $500, we would be planting the seeds that could lead to fantastic voyages to distant shores or victory on the America's Cup team. Such a small price for big dreams.

During the time both kids were out of the house, I was able to plan my nights and weekends. But I didn't. I wanted to seize each day and follow my whims wherever they would take me.

The only thing on my agenda was a stop at Victoria's Secret to buy myself something sexy. But since I had to give Will my car cushion, the ride home from camp left my back locked in spasm. Victoria's effectiveness would have to remain a secret.

I did get the chance to do some daring deeds – I added two easy listening stations to my car radio's presets, and I served chopped liver as an appetizer one night, acts that would have elicited condemnation from the kids. And I went into my recipe file and put together some grown-up menus. But after investing all those hours preparing a special dinner for my husband and then watching him wolf it down in record time, I decided we'd eat out or order in pizza until the kids came home.

The three weeks Will was away flew by. When he returned home from camp, he seemed older; while he was away, my husband and I seemed younger. You can't put a price on that.

Pearl Salkin is a freelance writer living in New Jersey.

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