Throw Back Thursday -- Sleep Away Camp

When I was in third grade, my parents sent me to join my brother at sleep away camp in upstate New York. Geographically, I was only three hours from home -- but in my mind, I felt like I was in a different country. Before I dive into this story, let me paint you a little picture of what Ariel Klein at 8 years old looked like:

I was the trifecta of awkward. I was the only kid my age to have braces and headgear (I was an orthodontist's dream), I had the most heinous bangs across my forehead and, worst of all, I was so chubby. I mean, my legs looked identical to little Italian sausages. Also, at the time my mom worked at the GAP. This meant my entire wardrobe consisted solely of overalls, which was really just the icing on my painfully unattractive cake.

My parents dropped my brother and me off at the camp buses, which were located in the Bloomingdale's parking lot (could sleep away camp be anymore Jewish?). My dad packed me a cream soda and an Italian hero from my favorite deli because he knew eating calmed my nerves (still does). Finally, it was time to say goodbye to the parents. My brother, Jesse, gave them a quick hug and kiss and eagerly hopped onto the bus to sit with his friend Jake. I had more of a dramatic farewell as if I was leaving to serve our country for a year. There were tears. A lot of tears. I was the only kid crying and the last camper to board the bus. I sat in the very front row with the counselor -- which was such a rookie move. Everyone else was sitting with the friends they had made in previous summers. My only friend was my sandwich. Which, I began eating at 10am. Word to the wise: DO NOT eat an abundance of Italian meats and mozzarella before noon unless you want to sweat profusely and endure extreme nausea on a three hour bus ride with total strangers. 

Sleep away camp signifies fun summer activities, lifelong friendships and memories that will last a lifetime. At least that's what it meant for everyone else. I was not athletic and was extremely antisocial, which resulted in me having one friend. Her name was Emily and she brought her violin to camp -- need I say more? 

To say that I hated sleep away camp would be the biggest understatement of the century. I remember on the first night, I found my brother and told him I was going home. I had been there for almost six whole hours and I just knew sleep away camp wasn't for me. Jesse brought me over to the camp director, George, and he told me that if I was still not having fun after two weeks, I could go home. TWO WEEKS?! Hell to the no. I was sure after I spoke to my parents, they would hear my misery through the phone and come to my rescue. FAIL. They told me to give it a fair chance and to be open minded. Eff that! 

I had to devise a master plan. Something clever and flawless that would free me from this camp prison. AH HA! I had the perfect idea! Or at least it seemed genius to my 8-year-old self. I wrote a letter to my parents' best friends and told them I broke both of my arms and needed them to come pick me up. I mentioned that my mom and dad were on vacation, otherwise they would come get me themselves. Needless to say, this plan failed miserably the moment they received the letter and called my parents. 

So, I spent the remainder of my summer hanging out with Emily and tagging along with my brother when I could. As the last few days of camp were coming to an end, my brother was called into George's office, which usually meant you were in trouble. Little did I know, one of Jesse's bunk mates, Sam, had been incessantly making fun of me for being a chunky, overall-wearing, brace-face loser (he wasn't half wrong). To get revenge, Jesse stole Sam's stationary and wrote a letter to his parents pretending to be him. The letter was along the lines of:

Dear Mom and Dad,

I fucking hate you. I'm never coming home. 

You're the worst parents in the world. 

Fuck you. 

-Sam

It was a beautifully premeditated vengeance, but unfortunately Jesse's counselor witnessed the entire thing and reported the crime to George. Jesse spent his last day picking up trash and was asked not to come back to camp the next summer. When we returned home, we were both terrified of what our parents would do. But, to much surprise, our parents were really touched that Jesse took initiative and stood up for me -- even if his method was borderline psychotic. 

The following summer, Jesse went on a teen tour and traveled around the west coast with some friends from school. I spent my summer at a religious day camp as a "counselor in training" and my overalls were a huge hit. 

Everything will be O.K.

My overalls are most likely under the sweatshirt