Summer is almost here and there’s a group of people who know it very well. No, I’m not talking about the teachers, but the monitors.
Camps aren’t improvised as they go; preparations begin months before they start. Had you ever sent your kids to or joined yourself a summer camp, you’d know inscriptions are open long before summer. If that much time is needed to inscribe the kids, imagine how hard it is to find monitors and assign them to each camp and to program the activities.
A monitor training session consisting on some conferences and a round table debate was held last Saturday. Truth be told, we only cared about meeting our old mates. There’s no way to explain the happiness of seeing those friends with whom you’ve shared two to six intense summer weeks an year ago; so many things to tell and ask, the will and the impossibility to stop and talk to everyone and run to every other one you spot at the same time, chatting and hugging all around.
If the choice was ours to make, we’d stay and organise a monitors camp, which would be a commune of people who enjoy violating all the existing theories on life space with overacted — though still real — signs of love. Then you realise you won’t be in the same camps and that you’re going to miss them. However, it probably wouldn’t be that magical if our time together wasn’t limited. But it is.