At 16 it seemed perfectly logical to define your peer group with matching shirts, opting for camaraderie over snappy high school fashion. When everyone else was wearing neon colored, and loosely knit, v-neck sweaters with platform shoes, we wore Camp Sunshine t-shirts and fishing hats. Today it's not often that my friends and I wear matching clothes, not intentionally. Maybe things would be different if I thought I could go back to camp.
We knew nothing of the true identity of Camp Sunshine; it sounded like a cheery place, and we were quite happy entertaining ideas and creating our own scenarios: an isolated refuge for aging Bingo addicts or a woody hideout for former, and unaccomplished, theatre students.Now I tend to think Camp Sunshine might look just like this:
There's Peter, a former yellow shirt counselor, his husband Brian, their twins Hudson and Mercer, Hudson and Mercer's mom (minus her girlfriend), a couple of nannies, four other dads, a pair of moms and six, in total, happy, lucky and loved children.
Camp Sunshine, as it turns out, looks nothing like what we envisioned, and everything like a happy week at the beach, with people you love, should. Time to dig out that bright yellow t- shirt, I think I'd like to run the tennis program at this camp next summer.