By Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence
I don’t know about you, but my kids’ summer plans for next year are already secured the minute I receive the first email from camp announcing the various types of programs and activities they are offering, which usually arrives a week after camp ends.
The organizers of these programs know a few things. First, that parents will pay a premium to occupy their kids during the summer. Second, that there are a lot of us with limited spots available, and third, that all we need is two days at home with the kids before we begin counting down until next year’s summer camp when we get to feign sadness for being away from them for two months.
Naturally, I’m kidding, but you get my point.
But they find a way to intrude on our temporary respite, don’t you worry. And the way they do that is called “Visiting Day.”
In my home, we put coins in a swear jar when I’m reminded that I have to spend roughly twelve hours driving up to the Catskills, desperately looking for any place besides the local Walmart to give these children a taste of adventure during the five hours we have to visit.
You might be reading this and thinking that I sound a tad dramatic, but I promise you that visiting day is right up there with PTA and doctors’ visits as my least favorite activity to attend, at least in my book.
If it’s not the eight hours of driving and traffic that’s to be expected on a Sunday when you’re heading upstate, it’s getting to camp and realizing with horror that your son hasn’t used any of the clothes you bought, labeled, folded, and nicely packed for him to use. That somehow, these carefully chosen clothes have been lost in the camp laundry or else traded to some other kid in exchange for a snack.
Your son greets you happily and you wonder if he’s had a proper shower since you last saw him two weeks prior.
These things personally don’t bother me because I think it just adds to the whole outdoorsy camp experience, but once you meet the eyes of a fellow mother whose kid is in the same bunk as yours, and she’s trying like mad to maintain her composure when she sees the general level of griminess in the bunkhouse. Upon closer inspection, you see a tinge of horror and a determination in her eyes to clean as much as she can in the short amount of time she’s there, Lysol or no Lysol. The first plan of action is walking into the bunkhouse, which in itself requires an unshakable resolve that not everyone has inside them.
And it’s easier said than done in some bunkhouses, where the large number of kids who’ve been placed there for a month exceeds the load the creaking floor can bear, but no matter.
As I walked past a bench with some fathers I knew, waiting for their wives to finish whatever they were doing inside the bunkhouse, I asked one of them why he didn’t go inside. The father just shook his head and replied, “Can’t do it.”
Nothing, however, can get in the way of a mother who needs to make sure her son—who’s been rolling around in mud since the day he left home—will sleep on clean sheets that night.
She enters the bunk and makes a beeline for his bed. She takes note of his overflowing laundry bag and realizes to her chagrin that all kids assume that any shirt you try on, regardless of whether they wear it or not, automatically goes into the dirty clothes pile.
She removes the linen and changes it while holding her breath as she squeezes into the 5-inch allotted space between the bunk beds, wondering how the boys who sleep on the top can physically climb into their beds at night.
Those kids are more resilient than we realize.
At some point, when all that housekeeping induces the need for a bathroom break, she glances at the stalls in the back of the bunkhouse and shudders, deciding to put aside that insane notion for the moment.
Then it’s time to go on a hunt for a clean bathroom that hasn’t been discovered by every other parent visiting their loved one for the day. I’ll spare you the sordid details, but finding a sanitary, functioning toilet on visiting day is like discovering gold.
Next on the agenda is trying to find an activity for the kids to enjoy for around four hours. Requirements include spending as much money as possible, so we usually head to the local eatery where we’re likely to run into a large portion of the frum parent body sending their kids to the same camp who are attempting to do the same thing. Yes, this is our version of “Survivor: Visiting Day” in the Catskills.
That will shave an hour and a half off and then we go to Walmart to replenish the snacks they managed to finish in the week and a half since you’ve last seen them. We buy out the candy section and you feign shock and disbelief at their next dentist visit when they tell you about all the new cavities in your kid’s teeth, conveniently forgetting about the desperation you felt on that Visiting Day Sunday when you would do just about anything to make them happy so they could go back to camp and do the snack trading that every kid loves.
As we near the end of Visiting Day, a feeling of dread comes over some of the kids who have to part from their parents. Depending on your child, some go on their merry way and look forward to the special dinner and night activity the camp has planned, while others have a really hard time parting from their parents. This year, I had one of each, and while I was a bit insulted at how easily my little one went on his merry way, I spent a healthy portion of the way home obsessing over how long it will take for my elder son to shake that homesickness off and go back to his regularly scheduled camp enjoyment.
I suppose all of these emotions are important for kids and adults alike to experience. The anticipation and joy of seeing family. The excitement of relaying their day to friends. The sadness and need to self-soothe after we leave. One of my favorite childhood memories were those camp summers, and although visiting days are not the easiest to navigate, I still remember those days many years ago, and hope that my kids will recall these days with the same fondness in the future.
Malkie Gordon Hirsch is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of 5, a writer, and a social media influencer.
