Camp “Grenada” – No Camp for Me!!

Photo from Google

When I was growing up I never was able to go to an overnight camp. Those kids that I knew who were able to go always talked about how much fun it was. I did go to a “day camp” somewhere downtown Brooklyn where I was able to ride the #65 Bergen Street bus that would let me off right across the street from the camp which was at a church. I felt so grown up because I got to take the bus by myself. The best that I recall, I was about 9 or 10.  It was so much fun participating in the daily activities and I even met some really nice people there. I decided that since I never got to go to an overnight camp that I would try my hardest to send my children. That opportunity came when Yamil was about 7 and Maya 5. Yamil’s babysitter (from when he was an infant) was a counselor at a christian camp located somewhere upstate NY. Even though by this time, we were living in Maryland, we always kept in contact with her and her family. She convinced me to allow both Yamil and Maya to go to camp for one week. She had 4 girls of her own and her and the girls would go every year. I was excited about the opportunity to send my children with someone I knew and trusted. They both seemed excited about going. I told them all the great activities they would get to do. The only drawback for me was that I wouldn’t be able to talk to them all week. In case of an emergency there was a general number I could call – but by-in-large, you had no contact – BCP (before cell phones). The bus left from somewhere in Harlem. We arrived that day with all the required things ready for an adventure. I was a little worried about Maya because she was the child that always wanted to be with me. She really didn’t need anyone else – if she had me – she was just fine. As they boarded the bus, I could see that she was about to cry. I knew she’d be ok since she had her brother and even though they fought all the time at home, I knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. So teary-eyed and all, Nayda and I waved goodbye to them and started on your own journey. We were going to spend the week in Dayton, Ohio. We spent one night in Brooklyn with granddaddy and then back to Maryland to pack for our trip. Nayda was the perfect traveling partner because she was pretty low key. She was very pensive, just checking everything out. She really didn’t talk much at 2, just necessary words like “up” and “juice”. We packed the car which was a Hyundai with no frills – no air condition, manual roll-up windows, and not even a clock. My father gave me a little clock to put inside the car so I could at least keep track of the time. The trip was to take about 8 hours. I figured we would stop once or maybe twice and that should be sufficient. I had an assortment of finger foods for Nayda, along with her favorite stuff animal (nickname “dirty Bird”) and off we went. For those that are not familiar with traveling from Maryland to Ohio, there comes a point when you have to go through a mountain. Normally I don’t have a problem with bridges and tunnels but this tunnel is extremely daunting. To see it far off in the distance you can’t believe that you are actually going to go through it. It’s massive!!!!!! All you see is this tiny hole in this huge structure that you know you have to go through. My imagination started going wild like maybe we would get sucked up by the mountain or we would get trapped inside with no way of escape only to have this monstrous structure cave in……I guess I watched too many crazy cartoons as a child.  As we were approaching the mountain my heart started beating faster and faster the closer we got to it. A couple of miles before our descent into the “Black Hole”,  I’m driving along and all of a sudden an undetermined, unfamiliar sound started being emitted from the car. The sound was short constant bursts of noise coming from the front of the car somewhere. I immediately start trying to determine where the sound was coming from and what exactly it meant. I looked down at the dashboard – everything looked normal, no indicator lights flashing – nothing.  The car seemed to be driving normally.  Nayda was looking at me quizzically and meanwhile I’m panicking more and more with each mile.  I’m afraid to pull over for fear that the car wouldn’t start back up.  Not only that, the road was pretty desolate with nothing but miles and miles of road and fields ahead and the impending hole which now was getting larger the closer we got to it. I decided to just keep going and if I got to the other side of the mountain, I would stop. Well we made it to the other side and I pulled over to investigate. By that time I was sweating like crazy and shaking like a leaf.  I was quietly cursing to myself and wondering what was I thinking driving this kind of distance with a two year old and now this!!!  Upon further investigation, you will never believe what I found…. IT WAS THAT DOG-GONE CLOCK that my father had put in the car!  Evidently he had the alarm set and that was what was making the noise. I wanted to take that clock and mash it into a thousand tiny pieces!  Somehow we managed to arrive safely in Dayton. It took a good two days for me to recover from all the stress of driving. It seems before I knew it, it was time to start back. All week I had been wondering how Yamil and Maya were doing and if they were OK. I guess the Dayton trip was supposed to be a distraction from me worrying about them. The trip back to Maryland was uneventful and then upward to New York. I believe it was a Saturday morning that the bus was to arrive in Harlem. We stood at the appointed stop waiting anxiously for some sight of that bus. Finally I could see it at the light waiting to make the final turn. The children started embarking one by one, some yelling and squealing at the delight of reuniting with their families. I could see Maya looking out of the window waiting for her turn.  When she was able to get off she ran full speed to me and just starting crying and sobbing. I felt so bad. Here I was thinking that she would be having so much fun that she wouldn’t be missing me. I found out later that she had been sick for a good portion of the time. They had her in the infirmary. Yamil went everyday to stay with her and make sure she was ok. Just the thought of my little man keeping vigil at her side brings tears to my eyes even now. I decided from then on, that I wasn’t yet grown enough for overnight camp. The words of the song “Camp Granada” instantly came to mind. That was the first and ONLY time I ever sent them to overnight camp. Day camp was good enough for me!

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*The song “Camp Granada” a fictional camp was written by Allan Sherman in 1963 as a letter to his parents depicting the horrors of camp-life and begging his parents to let him come home”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzErh_s62Wk.  Fortunately in the end, everything works out.