Let me take you back to the summer of 1983 at Camp Maplewood, where I became Patient Zero in an unforgettable lice outbreak. Picture this: I’m lounging on the grass with my cabin mates, eagerly awaiting my turn to play volleyball, when a sharp-eyed counselor spots me scratching my head like I’m auditioning for a role in a horror flick. A swift trip to the infirmary confirmed my worst fears: it wasn’t an allergy or just typical camp hygiene. I had lice! Before I knew it, I had efficiently spread the little critters to all my cabin mates, leading to an entire camp lining up for Kwell treatments and an intense delousing session with a metal comb that removed giant clumps of our chlorine-ravaged hair.
That first night post-diagnosis, I returned to the cabin after lights-out, feeling like a total outcast. All my clothes and linens had been confiscated for boiling and disinfection. I was left with nothing but an oversized Camp Maplewood sleep shirt and a new brush from the canteen. As I crawled into bed, the usually lively chatter of my bunkmates vanished, and I could hear their whispers. I was the villain of the story—the Typhoid Mary of Bunk Five.
The only one who didn’t treat me like a pariah was my best friend, Sarah. Hailing from sunny Florida, we had been attending camp together for two summers. With her quirky bowl haircut and dazzling pink roller-skating jacket, Sarah introduced me to the wonders of Duran Duran. She adored Michael Jackson and even had a keychain of his iconic glove hanging above her bed. While I lay confused and scared that first lice night, it was Sarah who squeezed my hand from her bed, comforting me and telling the other girls to relax because lice could happen to anyone. She held my hand through my lice ordeal, and as the other girls fell victim one by one to the creeping critters, Sarah remained steadfast by my side.
Beyond the pipe-cleaner crafts, co-ed socials, and ghost stories, what stands out most vividly from my seven summers at camp is the bond I shared with Sarah. The camp best friend is a unique entity, distinct from the best friend you have during the school year. The home best friend requires constant attention—passing notes in class, dealing with petty squabbles, and navigating the ever-shifting social landscape. Sometimes, the home best friend changes with the seasons; one fall it’s Jenny, then it’s Molly, and so on.
But the camp best friend is a constant. You typically meet her during your first summer; she’s the one sitting next to you at the welcome barbecue or the one you pass the baton to in a relay race. You don’t question why you click; you just do. If you’re fortunate, you return to camp year after year, sharing charm necklaces (I still remember the tiny bottle of perfume Sarah gave me) and swapping clothes. Together, we’d spend hours getting ready for make-your-own sundae night or lip-syncing to “The Reflex” in the talent show, tears streaming down our cheeks as we bid farewell at the end of summer.
At home, no one quite understands that magical camp friendship. My non-camp friends eyed Sarah with suspicion, seeing her as a mysterious outsider they couldn’t compete with. It was like trying to convince them about a “boyfriend in Canada” (except she was real!). “Mom, can I call Sarah?” I’d plead at least once a month during the long winter. The thrill of talking to her was unmatched; she was the only one who understood the intricate social dynamics of camp life, the gossip, and the inside jokes that made those two months so enchanting.
Having a best friend I only saw for eight weeks each year was priceless. Sarah didn’t pass judgment on my school life; she didn’t care about my grades or who I was friends with at home. We simply picked up where we left off each summer, sharing the same interests, from our love for Garfield to stirrup pants paired with ballet flats. No matter what my school year was like, Sarah’s unwavering support was always there for me.
As time passed, Sarah and I eventually parted ways from camp, transitioned to high school and college, and stayed in touch through letters and the occasional phone call. She remained in the south, became a doctor, got married, and had a baby. One day, I received a message from her on Facebook, excitedly asking if I was the same “Missy” she once knew from camp. Yes, that was me—even if I hadn’t gone by that name for ages. In that moment, I was transported back to 1983, the girl who lay in bed worrying about lice, and there was Sarah, still my biggest cheerleader, no matter the miles that separated us.
For more insights and resources on home insemination, check out Kindbody, where you’ll find excellent articles. If you’re looking for reliable information about at-home insemination kits, Cryobaby is an authority in this field. And don’t forget to review our privacy policy for more details.
Summary
The camp best friend is a unique bond that blossoms in the carefree days of summer camp, distinct from the complexities of home friendships. Like a cherished time capsule, this connection maintains its vibrancy through years apart, reminding us of the pure joy of childhood camaraderie.