Summer Camp – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

Farewell

But Not Gone. The Memories Will Live Forever. Maybe Longer.

A few days ago, I went up to the camp I spent my pre-teen and teen summers in. It was there I made some of the best friends I ever had. We are still friends. At our campfire, I was sitting with people who said, “We’ve known each other for over forty years. We are old.” We are. For those of you that saw Chris Rock’s show, “The MotherF**ker with the Hat,” you might recall when Rock’s character told another you make all your friends from when you’re about five until college. That’s it. I agree. However, I have made some great friends after college. They are right up there.

I took a few rides to my section of the camp; parts have been shuttered since 1988. Other sections a decade plus later. As we drove in, tears fell out of my eyes. When we traveled along the trails and saw where many buildings stood, all but one have been knocked down. All are pieces of wood and cement foundations.

My site was the one closed in ’88. It used to have a dining hall, office, old school latrine, and many leantos (sleeping quarters). We had a terrarium. As a staff member, I helped build it many times. We had a giant treehouse.

Below our hill was a no longer functional dining hall, ball field, shower house, and usable dining hall. We had our own shower. We even had hot water. I say this because my first 2.5 summers or so we didn’t. You took ice-cold showers. Or walked to the shower house for hot water. I froze.

We had lots of fun singing songs in the dining hall. And no fun eating in it. Camp food was not enjoyable. The camp had several dining halls. Mine had the best food. But it wasn’t good. I walked by most of these sites.

The main site had movie nights in a once fully operational dining hall beneath my hill. My group did our movie nights in our palace (camp office). We often brought in McDonald’s, pizza and sandwiches from El Monaco’s, an Italian restaurant famed for its red sauce. BTW, the main dining hall was kosher. We were so reverent when we brought in other food.

After spending some time in my section, I went back to the main section. The next day, I went back. I went with one of my pals from a long time ago. We first went into the lake. Our section was closed off. We went into another site’s section. At different times, there were several operational camps around that beautiful lake. When I went, there was one.

Foundation Block for Double Decker Tip Pan Latrine

We walked through a swamp to get to the entrance of the lake. I found a spot with some rocks to leave our towels. We jumped in and swam like it was many years ago. We exited and walked back to the car. We spent some time by the now boarded-up main dining hall. We walked over to the old rifle range and found the foundation blocks that once held a two-floor, 8 – or 10-seater tip pan latrine. My site had the last of the tip pan latrines. It was a five-seater.

Our ball field where we played softball, volleyball, and ultimate Frisbee now looks like a tree farm. We went up to our site and looked where the terrarium was and where our small fields were where people sunned themselves. From the trail, we walked into our site. We saw the foundation where the shack was. Years before I got there, it housed tick tubes. That’s about all we saw. The site was laden with ferns, weeds, trees and mud. Am I happy it is gone? No. Am I happy nature took it back? Yes.

We hopped in the car and drove to the gate. I jumped out of the car, turned around, looked at the trail, locked the gate and said farewell as we drove away.

My Pets. Sort of.

I Wonder How Jumper and Oscar Are Doing

Let me set the record straight oter than a few goldfish, I have never had a pet. When I was about nine, a stray dog was wandering my block. It was friendly and let me pet it. Sorry, I do not know if it was a boy or girl. So, I will not say, “he sat by me.” The dog did. I wanted to keep it. I was not allowed. I am allergic to cats and horses. Dogs don’t bother me. But maybe other family members are allergic to them.

Around the same time I wasn’t allowed to keep the dog, I caught a frog at William H. Pouch Scout Camp (Pouch), Staten Island, NY. I went to the camp’s Cub Scout Camp for two summers. I loved it. One afternoon, I caught a frog near Lake Ohrbach. I named it Jumper. I placed my new friend in a small, water-filled cup and held it tightly during my bus ride home. I was so proud when I walked into the house and showed Mom Jumper. She was not happy.

A block or so away are the Woods of Arden, approximately 200 acres of protected green space. I was told, or more likely ordered, to bring Jumper to the Arden Woods. Following orders, I did. I walked in and set him free. I am still shocked I was allowed to go alone. Alas, I did. I let the frog out of my hands, and it jumped into a stream. I am sure it was confused and happy. Jumper was taken out of its former home at Pouch. It had to get used to a new environment. But it was probably happy it was back in living quarters it understood. I am sure it grasped living in a stream is better than it would have been in my living room.

After Pouch, I spent two summers at another day camp. Then I made it to Chappegat Hill, Ten Mile River Scout Camps (TMR), Narrowsburg, NY. I couldn’t wait to go. Other than many weekend overnights and a camping trip or two with dad at Otter Lake, East Stroudsburg, PA, my stay here would be my longest time away from home.

I made many new friends. One friend I didn’t expect to make was Oscar. He was our pet skunk. He was white. I am not sure if he was albino white or just white. We called him our albino white skunk. We never got close enough to inspect whether he really was. But we often saw him walking around the side of our camp’s hill. There are many stories about that section. Old folklore has it that one kid is still cleaning the side of the hill. One day after a BBQ, he made a mess of it, and we made him clean it up. We teased him about it for years after. Still do.

Skunks mostly come out at night or around dawn to look for food. I was the camp’s vampire. I was usually up all night. I got to watch him regularly. I was always the first one up. I rarely slept. That hasn’t changed.

Over the last few days, I have been thinking about Jumper and Oscar. I wonder if they are still roaming around their living quarters. I know what the reality probably is. But I still believe that Jumper is jumping around the Woods of Arden.

Sadly, Chappegat was shuttered in 1988. Its host camp, Kunatah, is being sold. I feel bad for Oscar. I am sure he’s still roaming the side of our hill. Sadly, it has grown in. He is probably looking for us.

Rock Lake in Kunatah, Ten Mile River Scout Camps

Should They Have Called Me?

Do I Care?

About a week ago, the USA celebrated its 250th Anniversary. I remember the 200th. My dad and I watched the Tall Ships Parade by the South Street Seaport. I was very young. But have memories of it. Some of my soon-to-be summer camp friends were at Liberty Island, and a phrase that would become famous at camp was uttered for the first time.

I am sure in ’76 and this year, many went to BBQs and the beach and watched fireworks. I always enjoyed watching the fireworks. I was hardly allowed to light any. Once in a while, I snuck in a bottle rocket.

I wanted to watch this year’s fireworks. But I had my own fireworks. I spent it in the ER. I went in the early evening and was discharged shortly after midnight. I am fine. But did experience some discomfort for three or four days after I saw the doctor. He said all is well, told me what to watch for over the next few days, and to schedule a follow-up.

I actually had an appointment to see him in August for a routine follow-up. We kept that date. I jumped into an Uber, went home and saw Paul Simon at the Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. I am fine.

During the few days of discomfort, I stayed home. I only ventured outside once to go to the bank and get some vegetables and whatever other food I forgot to order from Fresh Direct. I did what I needed to do.

I am involved in many organizations and chair one of them. In the case of all of them, I am doing things for and with them both at their respective venues or online almost daily. I kept my online presence up. But that’s only posting to social media and maybe sending out an email or two. That’s for one org. The other all takes place at the venue.

I am fairly private with many things. Of course, my mom knew what was going on. She told my sister. I only told three or four people that I went to the ER. Some I told while I was there. Some of the next day. I even spoke to one of them while they were drawing blood. Well, maybe not at that exact time. But close enough. He had called me as I was walking to the hospital. I wound up butt-dialing him from the ER. We had a few good laughs about our crazy group and my situation.

As for the other place, not one person reached out while I was MIA. I contribute financially and do other things. In the old days, the leaders, one of whom passed away in 2020 and the other of whom moved in 2024, would have called to ask where I was. If I told them I was not feeling well, they would have sent over food and asked if I needed anyone to run to CVS to pick up medications. Those days are done.

A few days ago, I was back. One of the leaders said, “Where were you?” I said I wasn’t feeling well. They said everyone was concerned because you weren’t here. I said, well, you could have called, texted, LinkedIn, Snapped, Facebooked, etc. With a laugh, he said, nah. Not us. The next day, I was back. Several people asked the same question. I went through the same situation I did the night before and received the same response.

Should they have reached out? I don’t know. Within their clique, they reach out to each other 24/7. Does it make a difference to me that no one had the decency to check in? Not at all. I didn’t expect it. And I am strong enough to know it’s not a slight. It’s life.

What Does AI Really Know About You?

How Accurate Is It?

By Mitchell Slepian

I read on a social media platform to do a deep AI search of yourself. You should see what people find about you when they search for you. It’s a good idea.

These days, organizations do that as a pre-employment check, potential dating partners check you out and organizations do it to see if you’re okay to volunteer with them. This is only the top of the list.

Maybe you read my May 15 post, “Is AI Really That Smart?” I discuss its accuracy and your need to verify. AI is a great tool, and it is forging ahead. We are in the midst of a revolution. We are also at a learning stage.

The other day, I took the advice from my reading and did an AI search on myself. I used Google. I have found that it and X’s Grok offer the easiest and quickest searches. Was what I found about me accurate? Yes and no. Was it concerning? Not really. Was it funny? A little. Was it slightly misleading? Yes.

Let’s jump into it. It quickly found my employment records. All it did was search LinkedIn. It was fairly accurate. It didn’t pull up the timing I had for certain roles. But it was not terribly off. My LinkedIn profile is accurate as the platform allows. That’s the simple stuff.

I asked it about my interests. It quickly pulled up my loves: the Yankees, summer camp, and theater, particularly at Lincoln Center. I am in love with the fountain. I’d love to jump into it. That’d be way cooler than jumping into the one at Washington Square Park. I have been in that one when there was no water in it. I’d have no problem jumping it when the water was in it. People do it every day. Lincoln Center’s fountain is too classy. Maybe they can do a fundraiser and let people pay to jump in. I’d donate and jump.

I asked it some questions. It said I was an avid Knicks fan, and I do not follow the NFL. I only follow MLB. I am not a Knicks fan. Sure, I am rooting for them in the championship. I have never watched a basketball game in my life. I was once offered tickets in the area Spike Lee sits. I turned them down because I was attending a more exciting (at least in my mind) event at the Plaza Hotel. Google told me to I check the scores of their games. During the final game of the playoff round, I checked once while I was watching the Bronx Bombers. As a New Yorker, I felt the need to know. I was glad they won. Does this constitute me being a hardcore fan? No way.

I asked it about my family. It noted that my father passed away. It mentioned my mom was an RN. It said, “I am very close to my sister, and we travel regularly to Long Island for photo shoots.” I do a lot of photo shoots. My photography is mostly shot at Coney Island, Scout camps, my European vacations, and the East and Hudson Rivers. My first one on Long Island will be next week at Baiting Hollow Scout Camp. My sister will not be there. She has never been to any of my photo shoots. Oh, the ones I allegedly do on the Island are shots of the stars. I tried that once in Forest Hills. One day, I will try again. It also said someone who is not my sister is.

I asked it what music I like. It said the top of my lists are Sir Elton, Billy Joel, and it claimed I don’t like the Beatles. I love the Fab Four. It expanded to list my new-wave and punk loves – The Clash, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, and others. It left out my favorite band, U2. Was it right or wrong about music? I am not sure. Google pulled stuff from my blogs. In some of them, I mentioned what I listen to while I am writing or editing photography. All of these bands are in there. For the record, I am listening to goth right now. So, I guess AI was making educated guesses.

It noted “Rent” is my favorite show. Hands down, it is. It pulled up my volunteer work and my role as chairman of the Ten Mile River Scout Museum. It mentioned my other volunteer work and attendance at religious services. It might have made me too religious. It is what it is.

It chronicled my Scouting America history. It noted that I was the chief of the former Aquehongian Lodge #112 and that I am an Eagle Scout. It got a few other things right and some things wrong. Funny thing is, I searched on the same terms two days in a row. One day it said this. The next day, it said that. It also pulled my fiction blogs and looped what my characters are doing as me. Most of the characters are based on me. That has never been mentioned. So maybe AI figured that out.

Bottom line, AI is getting there. Is it 100 percent accurate? Will it ever be? Probably not. But will it be really close? No doubt about it. Should you use it as your final check to judge a future hire or date? No. Should you still verify and check other sources? Absolutely.

Seeing Things Through a Different Lens

By Mitchell Slepian

Do you ever try to see things through a different lens? Are you so stuck in your usual way of thinking that you cannot? It might even scare you to try to look. The other day, I was at Grand Army Plaza and the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. I was thrilled to see that the plaza renovation is finally complete. It made the fact that I looked through a different lens even more special.

Normally, when I stroll through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, I have my camera with my Nikkor105MM F2.8 macro lens. That’s the lens that lets you to closeups of the flowers. You can shoot shots of the bees flying around and landing on the pretty flowers. Perhaps they are fetching honey. That’s an old joke from a camp skit. The lens allows you to take close-ups of a nice ribeye with that glass of red behind it and hashbrowns on the side.

I love shooting macro. But it doesn’t allow you to go wide or zoom. You are at a fixed focal length. That’s cool. Most of the best portrait and street photos are shot that way. I have taken dozens of floral shots with my 105 mm lens. I have been contemplating going to the BBG with a different lens. I finally did. I brought a Nikkor 24-70MM F2.8. Some call this the everyday lens. It is amazing. It gives you the versatility to do nearly everything. It doesn’t go as wide as a standard wide-angle. Nor does it let you zoom like the 70-200MM. It goes from wide to short telephoto. It is light and won’t weigh you down. It is a great choice when you wanna go out with just one lens and not be weighed down by your camera bag.

As I walked by Prospect Park towards Grand Army Plaza, I was shocked to see that the renovation work was complete. It took about two years. For NYC, that’s super-fast. They’ve been doing track work on the R-subway line for several years with no end on the horizon.

I was so happy I took my 24-70 lens. The macro would have done a great job. But framing the shot would have taken much longer and been more difficult. The other lens allowed me the flexibility I needed. Yes, I tried to take a shot of the Brooklyn Museum. No dice. I need my wide-angle lens. If the museum were about a half-foot smaller, I could capture it.

As I entered the garden, I took my usual opening shot of the field and was able to capture it all. I was able to shoot the ponds and capture them perfectly. As for the close-ups of the flowers, it did okay. It captured them nicely. Does it capture the same detail as the macro? No. But that’s why they make that lens.

Bottom line: seeing things through a different lens opens your eyes to new things. Give it a try.

My Childhood Home was Destroyed

I am Sitting Shiva for My Leanto

By Mitchell Slepian

Me by my leanto at the bottom of Chappegat Hill

For those of us who never attended Ten Mile River Scout Camps (TMR) or perhaps hiked or camped along the New York State’s Adirondack and Catskill Mountains, along the Finger Lakes Trail, and other parks like Harriman State Park, you might not know what a leanto is. Let me explain. A leanto is a three-walled structure used for sleeping. The front of it is open. You can build a small deck on its front and add screening. You wanna keep the bugs out. But bug juice (a camp drink) is fine.

That’s what I lived during my teen years on Chappegat (Chappy) Hill, TMR. Mine had a deck, screening and electricity. It had fridge stocked with Cherikee Red (A now-discontinued super sugary red soda), other soda, etc. We had boxes of Freihofers chocolate chip cookies and home-baked cookies from Noni (my grandmother). I shared it with my camp friend. Many people crashed in it. Some crashed every night.

The inside and outside of my leanto (1988)

We played Risk, ate food from El Monaco’s (Now closed), McDonald’s, and I kept my Frosted Flakes there. I rarely ate the lish (delicious) meals prepared in the Kunatah Dining Hall. May it stand forever. We played music on Bertha. She was the boom box that one of our crashers brought up to TMR. It was a double-deck cassette player with a CD player on top. Remember those? U2 (My bunkmate hated them. Right now, I have mixed opinions on the band I worshipped all my life.), Steely Dan (My bunkmate loved them), The Clash, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, Sex Pistols, The Beatles, The Who, Mojo Nixon, Jethro Tull, Squeeze, The Ramones, XTC, and, unfortunately, Pink Floyd played 24/7.

Camp was the time of my life. I looked forward to it all year. I remember riding around in the “WhoMobile “(A 1966 F-85, A basic version of an Oldsmobile Cutlass). Sometimes the camp staff drove it. I remember when Kousin Keety (Keith) got his license, and we would ride around listening to “Rock Lobster” by the B-52’s. That’s the only song he had on the tape. We just kept playing it.

I drove the “Truckster” (A 1976 blue Cutlass station wagon). I cranked Depeche and U2. Joey cranked Judas Priest and Metallica. Larry, our assistant scoutmaster, would, in his good nature, make fun of us teens and our music. We would drive him around to Peck’s Supermarket (Now Pete’s), the hardware store, and other places to go shopping for camp. And of course, until we lost him, he teased me about my famous episode of getting lost in Hawley, PA, a Wayne County, Pennsylvania, borough along the Lackawaxen River.

We all had fun canoeing down the Delaware River and swimming in the Ten Mile River. Most of us earned many merit badges. There was special list for those who did not earn badges. I never slept. On my first morning in camp, about an hour before wake-up time, I was sitting at a picnic table by the Palace (our office), staring at the black rattle snake in the fish tank. Larry was walking from the willy (latrine) where he may have come from the shower and asked me what I was doing. I said, I don’t sleep. He decided I was the Chappy vampire. Quickly, everyone knew. They still call me Dracula. It’s cool, unlike Bela Legosi, who’s dead. I am flying around.

We had action-packed days. But eventually, some people needed to sleep. So, we retired to our leantos. Chappy closed after the summer of ’88. It should have never closed. That’s another story. My leanto was at the top of the hill. To get to the top, you climbed muddy steps.

After Chappy closed, my leanto was moved to the bottom of the hill. I slept in it during Alumni Weekend of 2009. I visited it on every alumni weekend. The grounds of Chappy were part of the Rock Lake Camps (D1 Kothke, D2 Chappy, D3 Kunatah, and D4 Ihpetonga). Sadly, that section is in the process of being sold. Much of what was there was destroyed, my leanto was marked, “NOT TO BE DESTROYED.”

I am chair of the Ten Mile River Scout (TMR) Museum, located at TMR’s HQ. At our facility, we have the Dr. Karl E. Bernstein (My camp hero) Cayuga/Kotohke Cabin, a willy (Sadly it is not operational), and the former Kunatah Trading Post, which will soon be the Hal Rosenfeld Museum Annex. My leanto was supposed to be moved to the museum. A week or so ago, one of our trustees cleared the area where it was situated and got it ready to be moved. He went up a few days later with his friend to haul it over. As soon as he arrived, he saw that a machine had crushed it. There’s nothing left. My name and other names had been scribbled all over it when it was alive. When I heard, part of me died. To all my camp friends, remember the trails you hiked and the lakes you jumped into. You never know when they may be taken from you. I am sitting shiva. You’re welcome to join me.

In Camp

Marc and Alana went to camp. They were in the section that was closed. This was the spot that was Marc’s many moons ago. It was closed down my people called professionals. The only thing they are professional about is stupidity. Campers were running around the remainder of the operating camps. Both were under capacity. Marc set up the fire lay. He would light it later. Alana was in her black bathing suit, yearning to jump into the lake. The two’s eyes met, and they frolicked down the lake. They jumped in. They swam for over an hour. They walked out of the lack, hand in hand, like love cats. They got back to their site. Marc lit the fire. Alana changed out of her suit to her The Cure t-shirt from the concert the two attended in August of 1989. Marc still had his shirt. That was one of the best nights of their lives. Thirty-five years later the two were still in love and still argued nonstop. Perfect. The steaks Marc grilled were perfect. The ice-cold Genesee Cream Ale was perfect. As were the bags of Wise chips. Alana wanted to bake brownies. For some reason, she could not find the ingredients. She would bring this up with Marc. Supposedly, he had a friend who was an expert on getting brownies. It was getting dark. Love & Rockets was cranking out of Alana’s iPhone. They were sitting by the fire and nodded to each other. Off they went to Marc’s old leanto.

Marc is Busy at Work

Marc was sitting in his office. He was pleased that his website updates took. He began writing some corporate statements. He has yet to respond to the headhunter from the other day. The job market sucks. So, who knows what roles are real and lasting? It’s too bad he can’t be a superhero for hire. He goes about his business and takes of business. He often has to work solo. But loves it when he and Alana tag team. Toss in Anat and Jerry, and they are unstoppable. They are their version of the Fantastic Four.

Everything was so quiet. It was late Friday morning. Marc was wondering what he and Alana would do Friday night. She’d light candles. She probably got the usual takeout dinners. The two of them sometimes cooked. It was an experience.

Alana texted him that she just bought a challah and was gonna cook salmon. Marc texted back his approval. The market was tanking. What else is new? The Cure was cranking on YouTube. “Disintegration” came on. It brought him back to the 80s and his first date. He took Laura to see the Cure at the former Giants Stadium. The Pixies and Love and Rockets opened. It was a night of darkness. They loved it. The two were too young to buy beer. They shared M&Ms and held hands. She kept saying how angelic Robert Smith’s voice sounded. Still does. He remembered Depeche Mode dates with Dina and Erasure with another girl. And all the shows he saw with Alana. They will continue to see many more. Of course, he saw a few shows with Jen. Some of these women were camp girls. Not his. He went to an all-boys camp. The girls went to the typical jappy camps. Anat and Jen met and had their first fight at one of those camps. It was the only time Jen ever beat Anat. She didn’t yet have her powers. For the girls in those camps, it was who had better clothes. The guys in those camps weren’t much different. Marc was more rustic and met the best people ever.

His group was extraordinary. Anat fights with dried fruit. This delicacy played a significant role in Marc’s camp. As did dairy products, voodoo, and resting. Sometimes things went wrong. But everyone was always very apologetic for their wrongdoings.

Just as “People are People” came on, Marc hit send on the document to senior leadership. He anxiously awaited their response. He sipped his water and again checked MarketWatch. The Dow was lower than earlier. Don’t even think about the NASDAQ.

About an hour or so later, his inbox lit up with comments. Minor edits were made, and the document was approved and scheduled to go live Monday morning. Marc grabbed his coat and headed to the subway.

He approached the station and saw some madman spitting at people. He usually stayed away from these crazies. He knew he could stop them. But too many people filmed these individuals.

A young child was spit on. The guy was throwing things out of his pockets. The kid’s mom was in tears. She looked like a sweet young woman. She was dressed like the girls from the camps Marc’s girlfriends went to. Alana didn’t bother with camp. She only went one summer. Alana was the mixed-up cutey in all black. She kept to herself and listened to Joy Division. She’s still mourning Ian Curtis’ death.

Marc couldn’t let this kid get hurt. His mom was shaking. He walked up to the perp. He told him to stop and leave the poor little boy alone. The guy tossed a bottle at Marc. He then launched a decrepit old sweater. Marc ducked. The guy got closer to him. Marc shot pomegranates out of his eyes. He loved the feeling. He always wondered what Palpatine felt like when he was shooting Force lightning. The assailant fell back. He rose back up. Marc nailed him with honey. It hit him in the eyes. He fell back. Marc fired a few pomegranates and wished Alana was here to fire her apples, wine, and figs. Marc saw that guy was not getting up anytime soon. People were circling the nut and taking pictures. Marc used that as his chance to run down the stairs and catch his train.

Marc sinks into a depression

Marc was thrilled to see the Woodsman. He knows his words speak many truths. Yet Marc was so depressed. Here he was in his childhood home and now it was just barren land.

Alana put her arms around him. She felt his pain. She knows as brutal and cold as his, he will always crumble when things happen to his home. She remembered when they tore down the original Yankee Stadium. He went there and prayed at its ruins. Whenever he visits the new Stadium, he walks the park’s grounds where the House that Ruth Built sat.

In his mind, Marc was contemplating his next course of action. Most important, he had to do something that would make the Woodsman proud. He walked the trails up to a window that is quite picturesque. He took in the view and traveled a little further toward a cliff. Here were the ruins of former cabins, a dining hall and a latrine. It has been a long process, but this place has been made smaller and smaller through the years.

His iPhone buzzed. It was Anat. She wanted to know how he was doing. Alana called her. It’s amazing how the three of them became friends after all the fights they had. She said Jay was still bothering her and Jerry, who is getting stronger.

Marc was pleased. He knew he’d have to provide security at her wedding. Of course, Jen would be there. At this point, he didn’t care. Marc was happy Jen was doing well. He and Alana would go on till the end of time. Probably longer.

Jen talks marriage and has memories of camp

Jen and Jake were dining on juicy bone-in ribeyes with perfect marbling at Reserve Cut. A bottle of Shiloh Legend was poured into their wine glasses by the wait staff. Things were getting serious with these two. Jen was hoping a ring was not so far away. Jake felt the same. He even started looking for them with his mom and sister.

As Jen dug into her perfect cut of meat an old camp memory hit her right in the head. She remembered Anat Ovadia. She was a weird kid in camp. She wasn’t the friendliest. She didn’t bathe much. She always wore boots, whether she was hiking the trails, playing softball and soccer. She never took them off. She had an affinity for eating dried fruit. Her grandmother often mailed her platters of it. She never shared.

Jen remembered one late evening when she and her girlfriends, all about 11 or 12 years old grabbed her out of their bunk. She was wearing her boots. The tweens held their noses. They dragged her down to Stone Lake. They pulled her boots off. Anat freaked. They had to gag her to shut her up. They put a life preserver on her and tossed her into a canoe. Jen and the others got into their own canoes. Sarah jumped into Anat’s canoe. They all paddled out to the center of the lake. Jen paddled over to Sarah and Anat. Sarah gave the high sign. Jen swamped Sarah’s and Anat’s canoe. Sarah pulled herself over the side of Jen’s vessel. The other girls circled Anat and started a splash war while Anat struggled. She was not a good swimmer. Thankfully she was wearing a life preserver. She was treading. Tears fell down her face. The girls were taunting her. They stopped and paddled back to the docks. They left Anat in the center of the lake.

The girls sat on the docks and had chocolate snacks. They laughed while they watched Anat slowly swim back. When she got out of the lake, they made her swear to keep her mouth shut. If she blabbed they promised they’d take her fruit snacks and leave them out for the raccoons. They let her put her boots back on and made her march back to the bunk in silence.

Man, we were mean Jen thought to herself. She sipped her wine and gazed into Jake’s eyes. Jake started talking to her about marriage. Jen felt the butterflies tingle. As he was talking she thought of Marc and was wondering whatever happened to Anat. She was connected with all of her camp friends on Facebook and Linkedin. One or two might even be bridesmaids if everyone goes as she wishes. Later she’d look Anat up. She figured she probably turned out ok and might even be a mom. Her mind flipped to the time she was kissing Marc as Bowie played Starman at the Garden many years ago.

The two left the restaurant, kissed each other good night and headed to their respective subway lines.

Meanwhile, Anat was trolling the city munching on dates and apricots. Life was not kind to her. But she was not kind too much.