Sleep away camps are a strange, American phenomena shrouded with well-preserved traditions. After attending a sleep away camp for seven years in my childhood, I can say with conviction that I was taught how to be self-reliant, independent, mature, as well as respectful towards nature at a very early age. The fondest memories I have can be attributed to the muggy, muddy, and mischievous days I spent making tie-dye shirts and roasting marshmallows.

I was fascinated with the concept of sleep away camp ever since I watched the 1998 version of "The Parent Trap." No one in my family had ever gone away to a summer camp, so it was the first time I had seen anything like it before. After some digging around at my local library, I stumbled upon a series of books called Camp Confidential, that detailed the drama and excitement surrounding a group of young girls at camp in rural New York. I was enthralled by the idea of going off by myself, living with kids my age, and not being constantly surveilled by my parents. The possibilities of fun at camp seemed endless. And truly, they were.

I found out that one of my close grade-school friends had spent a week at a nearby Catholic Youth Organization camp and begged my parents to let me go for the upcoming summer. Not seeing any reason as to why I couldn't, they signed then 10-year-old me up and off I went, clutching my pillow and sleeping bag. I was terribly, unexpectedly nervous that first day, despite having my friend there with me. I remember the anticipation boiling over in my chest as I stood at the gates of camp, signing in and getting my scalp inspected for lice.

After surviving my first week (and coming home with double pink-eye AND a double ear-infection as souvenirs) I was head-over-heels in love with camp. I had spent the whole week screaming my vocal cords into smithereens, riding horses, weaving vibrant friendship bracelets, swimming in a questionably-sanitary lake, and eating all the non-organic junk food that my mother would never approve of. In fact, I really couldn't shut up about camp for the rest of summer.

Me (center) in my bunk my last year as a camper. Photo by Ava O'Malley

I ended up returning to camp six more times, each year developing a deeper love for both the camp experience as well as life itself. It sounds sappy, but something about summer camp is so freeing and healing for the spirit, I emerged each year with an impassioned love for the world around me. I learned how to love the simple things in life that I may have never gotten to experience as a kid growing up in the suburbs.

I learned how to share a one room cabin with twenty pre-teen girls. I learned how to identify poisonous and beneficial plants in the middle of the woods. I learned how to be a dependable and loyal friend during the countless trust-building exercises we had to play. I learned how to turn my phone off for seven days straight, something that I'm not sure I could accomplish now. -Most importantly, however, I learned that joy can be found in less-than-ideal situations, which is a lesson I think every child should learn.

For example, at dawn each day, my cabin mates and I had to engage in a morning swim. The lake was freezing first thing in the morning, when the sky had barely been given the opportunity to tint the skies with the blush of sunrise. I hated it at first, as the icy water shocked my whole body and gave rise to painful goosebumps on my arms. But as the week went by, I learned that although swimming is nicer in warm water, the mornings swims were a great way to wake myself up fully for the long day ahead.

If I ever have children in the future, I'll encourage them to go off to sleep away camp. It's an experience that I, like many others, have aged out of, but I still want to pass on. I don't know who or where I would be had I never gone off to summer camp.