Camp Names
Girl Scout camp is a magical place. The opportunity to try new things, learn self-reliance, build lifelong friendships, and share all these things with a group of other girls was a valuable part of my growing-up years.
One of the things that made camp so special was we were isolated from the rest of the world. The only vehicles on the property were driven by the handyman or camp director. The area that surrounded my camp was national forest, and the drive to the camp property was about four miles up a dirt road to the top of the canyon. With the exception of true family emergencies, phone calls were not allowed. And to top it all off, the adults in positions of responsibility were known by names like Robin, Sailor, Freud and Woody.
As younger campers, we always tried our hardest to find out our counselors’ “real names”, usually by sneaking a look at their mail. Sometimes their camp names were shortened versions of their real names, like Nap. Sometimes they just suited the counselor because they had a feature or mannerism that reminded you of their namesake, like Joker or Gomer. Sometimes it was an embarassing story in their background that proved to haunt them, like Putter. Sometimes it was just a funny sound, like Zap or Slosh. New staff members were always bestowed a camp name before the girls appeared.
Recently, I had the opportunity to get together with a number of these friends, former coworkers, and generations of people who had worked at camp with me, before me and after me. We have spent days together, planning, working and coordinating efforts to revitalize the camp we loved so much and want to see made available for new generations of girls. I think it’s a fine effort and use of our time, and we have bonded and become close adult friends in the “real world”. But we still call each other by our camp names. It doesn’t seem odd at all. When we introduce each other outside of our circle, we use our real names.
All this background to tell you about the dinner we were having at a nice Italian place in Dallas, when the waitperson returned with our credit cards. He asked which of us was Linda, and all 9 of us looked around the table at each other. It took several seconds to pull ourselves together enought to point to Shorty, who was looking around the table, too.
I laugh every time I think of it. The magic of camp continues.
