Free Camp Nurse by Tilda Shalof Page B

equip ourselves with all the supplies needed to build Popsicle-stick picture frames, lanyards, papier mâché masks, and clay pots. We’d do everything it took to stave off the dreaded “b” word. * I’d call it Camp Mom.
    “You’ll never pull it off,” they said.
    My kids were not pleased – to say the least. They loved camp. Play dates with Mom were not going to cut it. Besides, it wasn’t
my
companionship they craved. They wanted to be with their own kind, other children – and that’s probably the way it should be.
    I thought about sending them to camp by themselves like most parents did. It wasn’t as if my kids needed, or even wanted, methere. As camp nurse, I’d have to be on call at night, face the daily mess hall feeding frenzy, and deal with attitude from rude teenagers. The freebie of the barter arrangement wasn’t worth it for the work and aggravation it entailed. Still, I had this fantasy of being that iconic camp nurse, hardy, youthful, and adored by all the kids. I wasn’t ready to give up my dream.
    Spring came quickly and I had to make plans. I perused camp brochures and advertisements. One day I found a camp that looked like it might suit my kids, and me, too.
    Camp Carson seemed in every way to be the exact opposite from dangerous, fly-by-night, bare-bones, Camp Na-Gee-La. It was an established, accredited, well-organized camp that offered every conceivable activity and amenity. At first, the name caught my attention. I assumed it was in homage to Rachel Carson, author of
Silent Spring
, a book my father loved and had given me when I was twelve. Back in the 1960s, Carson had been one of the first environmentalists and had raised the alarm about pesticides, acid rain, and the depletion of the ozone layer. I imagined Camp Carson would be a back-to-nature sort of place with homespun values. However, I soon met the camp director,
Bruce
Carson, no relation.
Oh well
.
    Still, Camp Carson’s glossy brochure was enticing. It was filled with photographs of smiling campers kayaking, canoeing, waterskiing, windsurfing and wakeboarding, doing arts and crafts, and horseback riding. There were also a few features I couldn’t have even imagined, such as a ropes course (including a “climbing wall” and a “trust bridge”), an extreme skateboard park, a video production studio, cyber-arts workshop, and state-of-the-art music studio where kids could record their own compositions, even make a demo.
    “Camp Carson – a place where friendships are formed and memories are made,” was the camp slogan.
    How beautiful is that?
    “Providing a safe and fun summer experience for your child.”
    What could be better?
    “A place where every child can have a
wow
experience.”
    Yes, wow, by all means!
    In the letter to parents that accompanied the brochure, the directors stated the camp’s philosophy: “Each child is unique and special. We will do everything possible to accommodate your child’s individual needs. Our mature and nurturing counsellors will keep your child safe and happy. We aim to please!”
    I met with Coach Carson, as he liked to be called, and his wife, Wendy, who were the owners and camp directors, for a job interview in their swanky office in downtown Toronto. “Are you ready for a fantastic summer?” Coach Carson asked me. He was a toned and tanned marathon-running man in his mid-fifties who spoke so animatedly, it was as if he were about to break into a camp cheer at any moment. “So far, we have a record-breaking eight hundred campers enrolled, which means we’re filled to capacity. We even have a wait list!”
    Coach Carson explained that he’d worked in the corporate world for many years, but as a “people person” and a lifelong camper, it was as a camp director that he felt he’d finally found his true calling: the “business of fun.”
    “
Safe
fun,” Wendy interjected.
    My ears perked up at this.
    “Camp is in my blood,” he said. “I’ll never grow up. Camp keeps