CAMP: Part 2

Camp gave me the chance to feel normal and to actually be a kid, even if for a week at a time.  I loved waking up, going to bed and everything that came in between.  Sometimes the weather was sunny and warm, but even an occasional cold and rainy day could not dampen my spirits. There is a warm wonderful feeling that goes along with being a kid during the summertime.  For the children of Maryville, camp represented the closest most of us ever got to living like normal kids. Life at Maryville was typically so laden with fear sadness, and boredom, that the experience at camp represented an even clearer exciting contrast to our normal lives. One of the utter highlights of camp was the competitions. While at camp, there were several competition events, in which all the girls were allowed to participate.  One was the sandcastle building challenge.  There was also the frog race (a camp favorite) and then… there was ping pong. After ping pong, nothing much else mattered.

I was at Maryville for five years but I don’t remember competing in the ping pong contest the first year. I spent most of my first year trying to survive the institution that was Maryville.  When I was in pure survival mode, I had little time or interest in learning a new sport, or much anything else. That being said, in my second year, my trip to camp piqued my interest in ping pong. That year I overheard some girls talking about the contest and they mentioned Pat Slattery had won the ping pong contest … my older sister had won a camp wide competition. Upon hearing that, I made my way to the ping pong table and began to learn to play.  I felt an immediate sense of connection and confidence with the game. I had found my sport and I was quickly playing and beating nearly anyone who challenged me.

There were droves of girls at camp with me.  It quickly seemed that each one of them had their sights set to challenge me. With the volume of girls who wanted to compete, the competition went on for hours every day. The tournament at camp was run with a simple format.  If you won you kept playing; if you lost you were out.  As time pushed on each day, I found I was playing for longer and longer and not being eliminated.  It was thrilling to realize I was getting good at ping pong.  I loved playing and competing. Winning helped raise my self esteem and more importantly, winning was just plain fun.  The first year I competed I did well, even though I did not win, but the second year I won and became camp champion.  I ended up being camp champion every year for the remainder of my time at Maryville. I was considered the best player at camp. It was an incredible feeling. I remember one year being down at the lake and walking along the long pier.  Two girls were walking behind me and one of the girls asked the other, “Who won the ping pong contest this year?”  The other girl responded, “Oh Slattery did again.”  I never turned around to see who they were, but just kept walking along the pier and feeling extremely satisfied and proud; they never knew they were talking about me and I was walking right in front of them. Even though Ping pong consumed me at camp; there were always other activities to pursue and competitions in which to take part.  Despite my personal preference for ping pong, I would be remiss without mentioning Isabella Hall and our extreme prowess in sandcastle building.

The sandcastle competition was conducted the last day we were at camp. Isabelle Hall was one of many halls in the all camp competition. We worked as a hall, not individually.  This benefitted us greatly as some of the older girls were extremely creative and industries while the younger girls were good at running with their buckets to the water. Being part of the younger group, I aided my team by ferrying water throughout the competition; we filled and brought the buckets of water back so our sandcastles would not dry out.  All week we would plan what we were going to create and how and who was going to do what.  It was called mass production; Henry Ford had nothing on us!  We worked at it for hours; the designs tested the limits of children’s imaginations, which often seemed endless. We would run down and look at the other halls’ creations to get a sense of where we stood as the competition developed; it was fierce.  The contest was judged by the nuns; never had there been a less graceful or strangely amusing sight, than a nun, in full habit, attempting to peruse the beach, to inspect sandcastles. The regular rise and fall of the sand caused their habits to become trapped beneath their feet giving them the gate of a penguin lacking coordination.  The nuns would plod back and forth with significant effort looking at all the sandcastles. Finally, after a seemingly excessive amount of deliberation, the winner would be announced.  Although we did not always win, Isabella Hall was a team to be reckoned with; we made some darn good sandcastles.

Whether I was swimming in the lake and dancing around the crabs that populated the bottom, participating in the ping pong competition, racing frogs, or watching movies when it rained, camp was wonderful. Even Mass on Sunday took on a warm and fun feel at camp. The cedar beams and the colorful stained glass served to reinforce my feelings of warmth and happiness.  I will cherish my memories of camp and what that place meant to me for the rest of my life.