I Got Kicked Out of Camp
That time the façade I constructed got me banned from camp.
Illustration by Sarah Lammer
I spent the summer I turned ten in Vermont, at a camp made up of over 130 acres of pine trees, large meadows, and lightly-graveled dirt roads on the shore of a large lake. I have no memory of more than about four or five of those acres – those consisting of the cabin where I slept, the dining hall where I ate, and the stable, where I spent the rest of my time under the feet of the riding staff.
Like any self-respecting upper-class white girl, I was in love with horses. This camp, with it’s large equestrian program, was my chance to spend the summer riding. I don’t remember doing much else that first month. There was archery, but I don’t remember it. There were crafts, but I don’t remember them either. I am pretty sure I never set foot on the tennis courts. And the one memory I have of swimming in Lake Champlain is of a girl coming up to me in the water and telling me that I should wear my ponytail higher, because the way I had it, low on the back of my neck,…
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