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Remembering my summer camp where days were lazy and carefree
By Fernando Bensuaski |
July 14, 2011, Thursday
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WAN Lixin's "Pursuit of GDP turns kids' summer camp into relentless study hell" (Shanghai Daily July 7) caused me to relive my summer camp days.
The camp of my youth sat by a crystal clear lake, surrounded by forests nearby and verdant hills far off and capped by a cloudless sky.
And in reading the article, I wonder, are these hellish camps nestled among the ethereal mountains of Yunnan Province, or next to Metro Line 8 station in Minhang Distrrict?
In the summer of 1965, the bugle played the sharp notes of "Reveille "at precisely six o'clock, just as the sun was rising from behind the green hills that surrounded the little valley outside Jacutiba in southern Brazil.
In the large, rectangular single room, around 80 boys aged 12 to 16 and eight adults rose from the mattresses that occupied the floor and rushed to make their beds, get dressed and get ready.
We had 15 minutes to be down by the pool, where the camp's director would cheerfully announce the new day, an honor kid, boy or girl, would raise the Brazilian green-yellow flag atop a makeshift pole and the entire group - which also included 80 or so girls - would pledge allegiance to the flag, a bizarre adaptation of a purely American ritual.
The girls were not given more time to get ready than the boys, although many managed to secretly wake up before the bugle call in order to show up at breakfast looking "hot and cool" at the same time.
Uplifting
The 20 or so adults were mostly American missionaries and Brazilian church workers, fully dedicated to making "real Christians" out of the mostly Catholic population.
It was their goal to return our souls to God; and not to increase by a few percentage points the probability of our admittance to college.
As kids, we would go to summer camp because it was mostly fun and games, because the girls would be there, and because we had nothing better to do on that first month of a hot tropical summer.
Parents sent us there probably to get rid of us for two weeks, to regain the peace and quiet of the school year, and in the hope that we would enjoy the mountain air.
And the Minhang camp kids? Are their parents pushing them into a hellish camp as a result of a materialistic, "GDP-pursuing" society? I don't think so: the parents' behavior is rather the result of a combination of a dysfunctional educational system and a parent's natural desire to give his or her kid better odds in life.
I never paid for camp and neither did my sister, and to this day the words of King David flow through my mind, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."
Joy aplenty
After the flag was up and it stood clearly against the blue sky, being, in the words of the poet Castro Alves, kissed and waved by Brazil's tender breeze, we had breakfast, then sports, then lunch, then religious education, then arts and crafts, then sports, then dinner.
No Portuguese classes, no English lessons, no French, no philosophy, no mathematics, the Bible being the only book in sight. Just a high level of energy-burning activities, ample opportunity to know our fellow travelers, and a soft attempt to save our souls.
After dinner came the bonfire, around which a light serving of religion was offered, and then came the time that gave the counselors the most work, as we spread ourselves throughout the property.
For almost two hours, we formed little groups, some seeking romance, some resting in a corner to write home, many discussing the latest of Vinicius de Moraes' lyrics, a few talking about Sartre's latest release, the autobiographical "The Words."
We lay down on the coarse grass, sat on the margins of the lake, or leaned against a tree or a rock, our gazes mostly not towards each other but upward, towards the Milky Way in all its glory, unblemished by urban lights - the Southern Cross reigning supreme.
Were we being the target of an institutionalizing effort to make children better adapted to the society? Maybe.
Did our parents or any of our camp counselors think of us children as embarrassing parasites compelled to demonstrate a promise of our future worth?
If they did they were geniuses at camouflaging it.
Did we think so? No.
During those two weeks, not even the oldest of us would think once of the word "university."
At last, amid a flurry of good-nights, we would hear the bugle playing the sweet, mournful sounds of "Taps."
(Fernando Bensuaski is managing director of Goshawk Trading Strategies Ltd, Shanghai.)
The camp of my youth sat by a crystal clear lake, surrounded by forests nearby and verdant hills far off and capped by a cloudless sky.
And in reading the article, I wonder, are these hellish camps nestled among the ethereal mountains of Yunnan Province, or next to Metro Line 8 station in Minhang Distrrict?
In the summer of 1965, the bugle played the sharp notes of "Reveille "at precisely six o'clock, just as the sun was rising from behind the green hills that surrounded the little valley outside Jacutiba in southern Brazil.
In the large, rectangular single room, around 80 boys aged 12 to 16 and eight adults rose from the mattresses that occupied the floor and rushed to make their beds, get dressed and get ready.
We had 15 minutes to be down by the pool, where the camp's director would cheerfully announce the new day, an honor kid, boy or girl, would raise the Brazilian green-yellow flag atop a makeshift pole and the entire group - which also included 80 or so girls - would pledge allegiance to the flag, a bizarre adaptation of a purely American ritual.
The girls were not given more time to get ready than the boys, although many managed to secretly wake up before the bugle call in order to show up at breakfast looking "hot and cool" at the same time.
Uplifting
The 20 or so adults were mostly American missionaries and Brazilian church workers, fully dedicated to making "real Christians" out of the mostly Catholic population.
It was their goal to return our souls to God; and not to increase by a few percentage points the probability of our admittance to college.
As kids, we would go to summer camp because it was mostly fun and games, because the girls would be there, and because we had nothing better to do on that first month of a hot tropical summer.
Parents sent us there probably to get rid of us for two weeks, to regain the peace and quiet of the school year, and in the hope that we would enjoy the mountain air.
And the Minhang camp kids? Are their parents pushing them into a hellish camp as a result of a materialistic, "GDP-pursuing" society? I don't think so: the parents' behavior is rather the result of a combination of a dysfunctional educational system and a parent's natural desire to give his or her kid better odds in life.
I never paid for camp and neither did my sister, and to this day the words of King David flow through my mind, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."
Joy aplenty
After the flag was up and it stood clearly against the blue sky, being, in the words of the poet Castro Alves, kissed and waved by Brazil's tender breeze, we had breakfast, then sports, then lunch, then religious education, then arts and crafts, then sports, then dinner.
No Portuguese classes, no English lessons, no French, no philosophy, no mathematics, the Bible being the only book in sight. Just a high level of energy-burning activities, ample opportunity to know our fellow travelers, and a soft attempt to save our souls.
After dinner came the bonfire, around which a light serving of religion was offered, and then came the time that gave the counselors the most work, as we spread ourselves throughout the property.
For almost two hours, we formed little groups, some seeking romance, some resting in a corner to write home, many discussing the latest of Vinicius de Moraes' lyrics, a few talking about Sartre's latest release, the autobiographical "The Words."
We lay down on the coarse grass, sat on the margins of the lake, or leaned against a tree or a rock, our gazes mostly not towards each other but upward, towards the Milky Way in all its glory, unblemished by urban lights - the Southern Cross reigning supreme.
Were we being the target of an institutionalizing effort to make children better adapted to the society? Maybe.
Did our parents or any of our camp counselors think of us children as embarrassing parasites compelled to demonstrate a promise of our future worth?
If they did they were geniuses at camouflaging it.
Did we think so? No.
During those two weeks, not even the oldest of us would think once of the word "university."
At last, amid a flurry of good-nights, we would hear the bugle playing the sweet, mournful sounds of "Taps."
(Fernando Bensuaski is managing director of Goshawk Trading Strategies Ltd, Shanghai.)
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