Technically I was almost 6 — my birthday is in October and this was the summer before — but that’s rather beside the point. I was really, really young.

I had just finished kindergarten and was about to start first grade. My dad, uncles and numerous other relatives had all gone to this camp in upstate New York, so my parents were familiar with it, and knew the owners and camp director well. They took me to visit the camp the summer before and also knew I wouldn’t be the only 5-year-old there. And this was 1962, before camps were restrictive about visiting days, so my parents came to see me five or six times that summer — or at least that’s what they later told me.

My counselors had to wake me before reveille so they could supervise brushing my hair to get all the knots out. To this day, I can remember the pain of trying to de-tangle my curly mop, which is why my hair was sheared, with the worst bangs imaginable, before going back the following summer. 

I stunk at making my bed, too. My hospital corners were a disaster and I couldn’t get the blanket tucked under the mattress tightly enough for the bunk inspector to bounce a quarter off the bed. She always took points off because mine looked lumpy.

But truly, I didn’t care about any of that (well, maybe a little about the hair!). That first year at age 5, and the 13 summers of eight-week sleepaway camp that followed, were the greatest of my life. Camp gave me independence. It taught me about self-reliance, decision-making and friendship. At camp I learned how to swim, water ski and play tennis. I also found out that horseback riding was not my thing. 

I kissed a boy for the first time at a camp social (not when I was 5!) and became a color-war team captain (Go Blue!) when I finally made it to the senior bunk, Supy. That was a big deal because it shaped me in unexpected ways; I learned a lot about leadership, teamwork, competition and being a good loser (unfortunately, the White Team defeated the Blue Team that summer).

I bring this up now because as you can see from this week’s Light, a fair amount of space is devoted to information about summer camps. The couple I went to — Camp Roosevelt in Monticello, N.Y. for four years and Raquette Lake in the Adirondacks for 10 — weren’t specifically Jewish camps back then, although nearly all of the campers were. Friday evenings were a time to gather around the campfire, or in the social hall if it was raining, and have a service that wasn’t so much religious as it was a forum for Jewish values, especially the importance of tikkun olam, making the world a better place.

The life lessons I learned at camp, and the remarkable experiences I had, came at a price. The cost back then wasn’t nearly what it is today, but it still meant my parents had to make sacrifices and save to send my brother and me to camp. 

I hope I never took that for granted because those summers truly were a gift.  Even the one summer, right before sixth grade, when bunkmates I had considered among my closest friends turned into the meanest of mean girls. It seemed a day didn’t go by without one of us being bullied by the others. But by the end of the summer I had come to realize that while sticking up for what you believe may be unpopular, or worse, cause you to be ostracized, it also allows you to live more comfortably in your own skin. That “terrible awful ” summer taught me I have a choice about how I treat others and about how I want others to treat me.

Sleepaway camp isn’t for everyone, just like there is no one camp that fits all. Eight weeks is a long time to be away from home, especially at a very young age, and at today’s prices, is often prohibitive. Still, I’m amazed at how many possibilities there are for summer camp experiences now — from one, two or four weeks away, which wasn’t even an option in my day — to incredible day-camp programs that feature a range of activities, from sports to circus arts to cooking. Some of these camps even provide scholarships; Jewish communities have long subsidized camp, recognizing the lifelong impact those summers can have on Jewish identity and experience.

As parents, our most important job is teaching our children how to be good citizens. To do that, we want them to take smart risks, make new friends, get along with others, challenge themselves, be open to ideas, listen, use good judgment, and stand on their own. Summer camp isn’t the only venue for them to learn and practice these qualities, but it can be one of the best. Even at 5¾ years old.