The Significance of Your Camp Best Friend

home insemination Kit

I was the first to kick off the lice outbreak at Camp Maplewood during the summer of 1983. You know the drill: lounging on the grass with my cabin mates, eagerly waiting for my turn in a volleyball game, when a watchful counselor noticed my constant head scratching. A quick visit to the infirmary revealed that it wasn’t an allergy to bug spray or the usual hygiene issues associated with third graders. Nope, I had lice, and soon enough, I managed to share it with every girl in my cabin. Before long, the whole camp was lining up for Kwell and getting deloused with that fine-toothed metal comb that took out huge clumps of our tangled, chlorine-damaged hair.

On that first night after my discovery, I returned to the cabin post-lights-out. All my clothes and linens had been taken away for industrial washing, leaving me with a giant Camp Maplewood sleep shirt and a new brush from the camp store. I crawled into bed, feeling scratchy against the lost-and-found sheets and an overly warm acrylic blanket. My bunkmates, usually chatty and game for games of Truth or Dare, were silent. I could hear their whispers in the dark, and I knew they were talking about me. I had brought a pestilence to our community, the Typhoid Mary of Cabin Five. I felt like an outcast.

The only person who reached out to me during those challenging days was my best friend, Lily. Lily was from sunny California, and we had been attending sleepaway camp together in Connecticut for two years by then. She had a chic bob haircut and a sparkly pink jacket that reminded me of roller skates. Lily was the one who held my hand from her bed as I cried in confusion that first night and who told the other girls to chill out because lice could happen to anyone. She stood by me long after my lice ordeal was over, even when she had to deal with it herself, while the rest of the girls succumbed one by one to the creepy crawly invasion that seems to be a rite of passage at camp.

More than the craft projects, co-ed socials, or ghost stories, the most cherished memory from my seven summers at camp is my friendship with Lily. The camp best friend is on a whole different level from your school year bestie. A best friend at home is a daily commitment filled with notes passed in class and the usual petty drama. Maintaining that friendship can feel like a full-time job, especially when it comes to navigating gossip and shifting loyalties. Sometimes, that bestie role changes—one season it’s Sarah, then Sarah drifts to the soccer crowd, and you’re onto Emma until you argue about who gets to be the dog in Monopoly, and then it’s back to Chloe.

In contrast, the camp best friend is a steady presence. Typically, you meet her during your first summer. She’s the one you sit next to at the initial barbecue or the one you hand the baton to during a relay race. It doesn’t matter how you meet—you’re around 8 or 9, and forming friendships is completely irrational. For some reason, you just click. If you’re lucky, you click so well that you keep returning to camp each year just to see each other. You trade funky charms from your charm necklaces (Lily gave me a mini bottle of perfume; I gave her a pair of skis because she had never seen snow). You swap clothes, curl each other’s hair before sundae night, and lip-sync to your favorite songs at the talent show. And when it’s time to part ways at summer’s end, you cry like you’re losing a part of yourself.

Back at home, no one really understands your camp friendship. Friends not attending camp view her suspiciously: she’s an outsider, a cooler version of a friend, almost like a “boyfriend in Canada.” But she’s real. “Mom, can I call Lily?” I’d ask at least once a month during the winter and spring, back in the days when long-distance calls had to be approved. Talking to Lily was thrilling. She was the one person who got camp life and understood the complex social scenes that shifted every summer. We could gossip about cabin drama, the CITs who were secretly dating, camp songs, and inside jokes that were so impactful for kids, so dreamlike for ten months of the year.

Having a best friend who I only saw for eight weeks each year, to whom I sent excited letters on cute stationery, was priceless. She wasn’t just my partner-in-crime at camp; she was the person whose opinion of me remained unchanged no matter my school play success or social standing. Every summer, we’d pick up right where we left off, still loving all the same quirky things, whether it was Garfield comics or stirrup pants with ballet flats. Regardless of what happened from September to June, I had someone who adored and understood me every summer.

Eventually, Lily and I moved on from camp and into high school and college. We kept in touch through letters and the occasional phone call before social media took over. She stayed in California, became a doctor, got married, and had a baby. When I published a book, she found me on Facebook and excitedly mentioned she read about me in an in-flight magazine, wondering if I was indeed “Jamie Collins,” her camp best friend. Yes, it was me, even though I hadn’t gone by that name in ages. Receiving that message from Lily brought me right back to the girl I was in the summer of ’83, lying in bed scratching my deloused scalp, and she was still that same supportive friend, always watching out for me, no matter the distance between our summer adventures.

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In summary, camp friends like Lily hold a special place in our hearts, offering unwavering support and understanding during those transformative summers. They may be temporary fixtures in our lives, but the memories and bonds formed can last a lifetime.