| Girl Scout Camp by Carol Gill Anderson |
| Carol Gill Anderson, former
Girl Scout, lives and writes in Connecticut. She is currently at work
on a novel. Saturday, August 7, 1954 Dear Mommy, Daddy, Mary Beth, and Patrick William, You left right before lunch, bologna sandwiches. ICK. After lunch is “quiet time.” Do they think girls going into sixth grade take naps or something? Maybe on Mars, but not on Long Island. We have to give the counselors a letter or post card to send home before we get an afternoon snack. After we write our letters, our tent is going to learn canasta. It’s a card game I think. So here goes. My tent has five girls. Two from Levittown and two from Seaford. They are best friends. Not all four, just two and two. I am the tallest one here, and the only one with brown hair. Two have blonde and two have black. Like they came as twin sets. I wish I came with a friend. My counselor is June. She rules two tents. There are two other counselors, so we have six tents of girls, and one tent in the center for the three counselors. June doesn’t like me. She said I had to move to the middle bed, so the twin friends could take the bunk beds on the sides. Monkey-in-the-Middle they call me, and June says that’s gonna stick! But I don’t care. I got the best bed. It can’t rain in the middle unless the roof leaks. We’ll see when it rains. They say we have to go to the mess hall if it thunders. I think they have quiet time so the counselors can smoke. I thought only grownups smoked. June says seventeen IS grown up. She’s pretty and has red hair and got extra freckles instead of a tan. She says I’ll get sun burned for sure because I have such pale skin. I put all my stuff in the orange crate like Mommy said to make a little dresser. The only problem is my citronella bottle broke and now everything smells like bug dope, even my sleeping bag and pillow. And has little glass pieces, so I have to be careful. We have the swim test later -- to the dock and back in the Big Dipper, where it’s over your head. If you fail you have to swim in the Little Dipper where the water is slimy. The latrine stinks like you can’t believe. Worse than citronella. I can’t even go, if you get my meaning. I held my breath and tried. No luck. I can’t hold my breath that long. After swimming we can go to the canteen and buy something from the $3.00 Mommy put in. I’m getting a candy bar and stamps for my letters. They said to buy extra batteries for our flashlights. But who cares if it’s dark. It’s not like I’ll need it to get to the latrine at night. I AM NEVER GOING IN THERE AGAIN. Well, I wrote a letter. From, Your daughter Colleen Marie Shannon (MM = Monkey-in-the-Middle) Sunday , August 8, 1954 Dear M, D, MB, and PW, Jell-O. That’s what was for snack. That was for dessert at supper too. Green or red. I hate Jell-O. HATE, HATE, HATE. And I hate that June. She says I have to do the Little Dipper. I swam the hard part, where it’s over your head, but I touched down before she said, “Okay.” And she does smoke. I told her I would tell if she didn’t pass me. She didn’t. But I wouldn’t really tell. The stuck up twin girls share clothes. They brought real shorts. The camp paper said we had to wear uniform outfits, but they didn’t care. They came last year and said no one checked up. Now they won’t share with me because I have stupid Girl Scout stuff. And it all smells bad anyway. It’s too bad about the citronella. It doesn’t work. I have about 497 mosquito bites. At least. Spiders don’t care about citronella either. I found out the hard way. My left hand is all swollen by this one bite on my thumb. June says the spiders come in the night and bite you. Great, huh? Now I won’t be able to sleep OR go to the bathroom. The Catholic girls had to go to Mass today. I told June I was too stinky to go, but she said Jesus wouldn’t mind. And Mass was good because you got donuts after. So I said a prayer camp would get better. The coolest part was June can drive the camp truck. So we sat in the back and she drove over the big bump really fast and we screamed. Lunch was canned spaghetti and meatballs. And, you guessed it, Jell-O. And horrible red juice. The girls call it bug juice ‘cause the only things that like it are bees and ants. Good thing I wasn’t too hungry. I’ll never complain about drinking milk again. Milk is so great compared to bug juice. After quiet time is swimming in the Little Dipper. We hold onto life saving rings and kick our feet. For an hour. Kick, kick, kick. You can stand up anywhere in that little pond, so who needs to kick? I asked to go to the nurse for some calamine for the mosquito bites and cream for my sunburn. She has a real toilet, so I finally went, if you get my meaning. The nurse checked me all over for ticks. That’s all I need. She says they are popular here because the dirt is sandy. I miss you all a lot. Love, Your daughter, CM PS: I don’t have ticks. Lucky me. Monday, August 9, 1954 Dear Family, You have to come over here and take me home. It’s disgusting. How many days can you live on canned spaghetti and Jell-O before you die? June said I can’t go to the nurse every single minute, so no going for me, if you get my meaning. Do they expect me to hold it ‘til Saturday? We had arts and crafts this morning. We put bugs in plastic goo and they’re frozen in there just-like-life forever. It sounds gross, but was kind of fun. I wonder if it hurt the bugs? Who cares, they don’t worry about me when they have lunch all over my skin. Today I retake my swimming test. If I get to the Big Dipper I can use the canoes. But if I fail, really, really come get me. NOW. This minute. Love, The Most Unhappy Monkey PS: At mail call the black haired twins got a package from home with a dollar and 2 new shirts…matching. Write me. Okay? Tuesday, August 10, 1954 This letter is private and just for Mommy, I thought you told me seventh grade? You will be happy to know I have found the perfect way to go the nurse and use the flush toilet. I got my period!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I had my special kit with me, the one you make me take everywhere, but the nurse says I have to change the pad every two hours and I didn’t bring a zillion Kotex with me. So Mrs. Hanson says she has some for girls who forget and you can pay her back when you come. Which should be immediately. I am the only girl here with a period. Even JUNE doesn’t have one. I am certainly not going to take swimming lessons with this contraption on. You didn’t tell me the metal hooks would cut right in! Or how much blood there would be. I ruined the yellow bathing suit and I will have to wear the blue one every day, even if it is wet…unless June lets me stay out of the pond because my “friend” is here. Some friend! And this happens every month? I wish I was a boy. Give me one reason, just one, why girls have to have periods? They are disgusting. Come as soon as you get this…I mean it. Colleen Marie PS: Everyone got a letter from home today except me. Please write. Or come. PPS: June said the twins have to play canasta with me. They said 4 was the total number who could play and June said 5 is actually better. Maybe she likes me now because she stuck up for me. Wednesday, August 11, 1954 Dear Mud Breath, When you are in fifth grade, don’t say you want to go to Girl Scout camp. They’ll probably let you and then you will have a horrible time. This one counselor, June, she smokes, and when she is working hard cutting wood she takes off her shirt. She just works in her bra like it’s a bathing suit top. She says I could take my shirt off too, but I don’t have a bra. And she says I should. That I am a disgrace jiggling around like this. So when you get boobies like me, tell Mommy to get you a bra. And don’t take no for an answer. I am going to get one as soon as I get home. And bigger tee shirts, too. NOT Girl Scout ones. And extra big, so no one can see anything. My counselor says I am a woman now. Going to camp doesn’t feel like being a woman. It feels dirty, and stinks, and you feel bad all the time. These people don’t know what they’re talking about. I told Mommy that she should come get me, but I keep checking the parking lot and she’s not there. So when you read this tell her to come. I know she pays attention to you because you’re littler and she likes you better. If she liked me, she would have come right away. And bought me a bra before this stupid camp. I miss you so much, Your sister, Cool Me Thursday, August 12, 1954 Dear Pee Wee, You don’t read because you’re not in school yet. Have Mud Breath read this to you. I miss you the most. Camp is not fun. Never go to camp. Start liking Jell-O now if you ARE even thinking about it. EVER. Learn to swim right away. It is important. Trust me on this. Be happy you are a boy, I can’t tell you why. The best thing here is canoes. You can get a certificate. See you when Mommy remembers she has an oldest kid and gets out here to rescue me. Love from your big sister, Leeny Friday, August 13. 1954 Dear Mommy, Daddy, Mary Beth, and Patrick William, The last day of camp is tomorrow, so you have to come even if you don’t want to. COME EARLY. There is a craft show and a lunch, but we should leave right away. I’m already packed. It will probably be balogna and Jell-O anyway. Not once in my life will I ever eat Jell-O again. You might want to throw my stuff away as soon as we get out of here. Clothes and a sleeping bag for a week at Girl Scout camp with citronella spilled on them, well, they would probably ruin the washing machine if you put them in. They made us write down everyone’s address in our tent so we can be pen pals in sixth grade. June too. YUK. She is going to college someplace like Osseanta. I threw the paper away when no one was looking. Can we please, please, please buy me a bra when I get back? I promise to be good, to do the dishes every night, and sweep, the careful way, even under the table. And go to Mass and not complain. And not fight with MB or PW. Ever. The only thing nice here is the nurse. You owe Mrs. Hanson $3.48. June made an announcement at supper last night that they have room for two more girls for next week. DO NOT SAY YES if they ask you. I’ll die. Your daughter (who wishes you loved her and came for her when she asked). COLLEEN MARIE SHANNON, Age 10 PS: I got my first mail today, a post card from Grandma. At least one person missed me. Funny though. It was dated August 4th, even before I got here.
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