Hearing counselors reminisce about their summers has conjured up a few memories of my own.
I logged five summers as a camp counselor - four at a camp in Pennsylvania and one at a camp in Maine.
I've counseled all ages - from 6 to 16 - and I've taught more than half the classes on the camp roster: swimming, fishing, canoeing, tennis, mountain biking, water ballet, and archery.
Few of my colleagues know I was a certified high-ropes course instructor. (I'm certain it's what got me this job.)
One memorable moment was trying to extract a bat from a cabin full of screaming teenage girls. After failing to capture it in my pillowcase, I took out my tennis racket. The bat buzzed me, I swatted it, missed, and it flew out the door. A camper filmed the episode.
Another time, I took a half dozen seven-year-olds camping. At midnight, it started to pour, soaking even the matches. Breakfast as a result was dry instant oatmeal and cold pop tarts. One camper asked enthusiastically: "Can we do this again?"