A long time ago in a faraway land called Huntington, Massachusetts, I went to a sleepaway camp for six consecutive summers. It was there – in the fresh air and to a schedule dictated by a bugle – that that I had my first kiss with a cute blonde boy, where I learned to do the butterfly stroke in the dark and murky lake, and where I engaged in fierce battles of Color War where the entire camp was split into two groups and we spent a week engaged in tug-of-war battles that could get real ugly real fast. I was never the most competitive kid in the bunk, but during Color War, all bets were off; I wanted to f*cking win.
The enforced division that took place turned us all briefly into adversaries, but once the week ended and we were back in our bunks and allowed to wear any color shirt that we damn well pleased, the harmony came flooding back. And maybe nothing said “harmony” in those days quite as strongly as … Continue reading