Loss of An Illusion

Camp provided the missing ingredient of my childhood. Vilma Horvay, my school chum from P.S. 11 in High Bridge, gave me the opportunity to experience it. On the farm I could never have known this existed. I’ll be in her debt forever.

By gentle persuasion she helped me get Mama and Papa to let me go to camp with her. It wasn’t easy! Papa remained adamant until he saw me on the verge of tears knotting my skirt in my sweaty hands. It was my first chance to relate to peers away from home. What a challenge! In the deep Maine woods, I found that perfect vitamin. Nature in all its glory opened her arms and let me in.

Athletics were routine for me. Papa taught us riding, baseball, running before we could skip. What Camp Somerset offered me was a knowledge of the fundamentals of each sport. That learning opened up a world of amateur competition that today continues to keep me fit and physical and energetic. Golf still nourishes me to this day.

The greatest discovery camp produced was my aptitiude for the dance. “Ummie,” my bunk counselor, awakened the talent in me. She addressed herself with complete abandon to that art form. Her dancing to the sun and moon convulsed us. But to our amazement, we were infected. We heartily joined in her worship of the sun, moon, stars, and water.

To my delight, I was selected to be the Prima Ballerina in our annual Greek Pageant. I learned that boys and girls from camps miles around would be invited to our program of pageant, supper, and social dance.

Preparation had begun soon after our arrival at camp. We tie-dyed scarves for costumes. We selected appropriate music for our dance steps. We studied Ummie’s free choreography. We designed, built, and painted our wooded landscape scenery. We even cleared a flat meadow for our stage and seating area. The excitement was sustained and high.

A roll of drums, amusing heralded THE DAY of our performance. We sucked raspberry lollipops all day so our lips would be a lush appealing red. We folded our black silk ties with the precision of a sailor. We pressed our white middies and navy bloomer tops within a centimeter of scorching them. All was readied for the social evening.

Ummie and I unfortunately had a fight before the show. She insisted I go bra-less because Greeks displayed total freedom of body movement. To my dismay, she won. Now the drama was presented. The audience cheered our arrival. I tried hard not to be self-conscious and honestly, I believe I succeeded. At the end of the dance I was sure I did, because the applause was deafening. The boys from all the camps rushed over to congratulate me and take my picture. I was the star and wallowed in my triumph.

When I returned to the bunk, to change for the remaining festivities, the mood turned indigo. My dear friends told me the truth of my success and popularity. To my utter surprise and disappointment, my breasts were the main event, not my grace and agility. I was mortified and hysterical.

I never showed at supper. I never showed at the dance. I was far too embarrassed. I cringe today at the thought. Like a precious jewel in the limelight, the flaw marred the perfection.