Camp Sunshine

More than 20 years later I have no idea where they came from, or who bought them, or where mine might be right now. They were bright yellow with a white crest on the upper left side, the silhouettes of small children and birds frolicking within, and underneath, Camp Sunshine.

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.