It's 1987 and I am again at Great Times Day Camp, deep in the New Jersey hinterland. This will be my final year at camp, followed by eighth grade, and it seems like the whole world is changing. It is toward the end of the season, which regularly includes an entire week of Color Wars. The colors are always red and yellow, and the entire camp population is divided and required to wear their color while we run wildly through the campground in loosely assembled games of volleyball, softball, and relay races. Campers who do not wear their color are made to paint their faces instead. I am on the Yellow team, and have brought in a small jar of yellow enamel paint which I found in the garage. I volunteer to paint faces with the paint, meant for model cars, and many kids line up for me stripe their cheeks. They squeal with joy when they think they look like Indians.
It's the last day of Summer camp and I have just been spoken to about the yellow paint. Several campers had reactions which caused their flesh to swell in anger, and their parents want answers. When I show my counselors the jar of yellow enamel, they roll their eyes in consternation. Getting in trouble at camp is much easier than at school. We celebrate the final hours with a talent show. Me and The Boof draw on the little stage which is not very entertaining, but the campers clap anyway. A gazelle-like girl named, Mindy, sings and dances the Itsy Bitsy Spider including an extended ending where she reaches high notes like a Disney Princess, which makes me cry for its beauty.
It's 1987 and it's my birthday. This year, I am having a sleepover. This is a novelty, as my birthday falls at the end of Summer break, when I have drifted away from my school friends. I invite Heather Gallagher, Megan McCloskey, Elena Bolling, Missy Wilson, and Joy Blackman who cannot make it, because it is the Sabbath. We are wearing pajamas, and have pushed the two black and grey Art Deco couches in the rec room together so it makes a huge bed which seems decadent to us, and we jump on it until Missy Wilson's foot gets stuck and she narrowly misses a sprain. We sit there catching our breath while Elena's hand reaches behind her backside, and she asks, "What's this?" as she extracts something from deep in the cushions. We all scream when we realize it is a petrified hot dog. It is there because my brother hates meat and often finds creative ways of avoiding eating it.
It's 1987 and I am out of books to read. I find a copy of Mein Kampf, by Hitler in the garage. I am challenged by the vocabulary and look up each word I do not know in the dictionary. I bring it with me to school. and Mrs. Anderson tells us it's quiet reading time. When she sees my book, She grows irate and her eyes cross in fury. I am given a list of words to study, and she sends a letter home to my mom recommending more appropriate reading.
It's 1987 and we are playing keep-away with John McNulty. Chris Bolinsky, my neighbor who is one year older than me, joins us for our after school fun and games. This raises the bar considerably, as he is big and fast. I can still run faster than him and am very good at tackling. I am also good at tripping people, because of my brother and sister. I trip Chris and pin him to the ground and kiss him on the mouth. He jumps up and wipes his face and stomps off in disgust. He doesn't talk to me for a long time.
It's 1987, and I am enrolled in ballet class. I have decided that I want dance lessons instead of horseback riding lessons, and I hem and haw about it to my mom until she finally acquiesces. Two of the Jennifers from Saint Peter Celestine are there as well, which explains all their grace. We pretend to not know each other. Although I attend class religiously for ten weeks, I am not able to participate in the recital because neither my mom nor my dad have money for the expensive costumes, which is the only reason I wanted to take ballet lessons.
It’s 1987. And my mom has relented and allows me to participate in the recital complete with the glittering costumes. During our performance, I concentrate hard on the routine which I can only do with my eyes closed. When I open them and see I am on the wrong side of the stage, I quickly twirl toward the other girls, hoping no one noticed my blunder. This happens twice, but no one says anything when we go out for dinner at Ponzios afterwards.
It's 1987, and the men in the neighborhood, led by the taciturn but industrious Mr. Bolinsky, decide that the way to solve the gypsy moth problem is to burn the cocoons, which are all big and white and all over the Crab Apple trees. I am devastated by the destruction of the cocoons which are part of the life cycle of my beloved caterpillars. When I see them cut down branches with the offending cocoons and pour lighter fluid them, I fly into a tantrum, and follow them around crying and begging until they relent. The men give me a branch and tell me that if I take it away, the moths in it will be saved. It's days later that my mom notices the branches with white cocoons in our yard, but by then, the larvae have hatched and tiny black caterpillars crawl up the Willow tree.
It's 1987 and I am riding the bus to Saint Peter Celestine. Every morning, I promise myself that I will memorize the directions to school. My brother is younger than me, and he always seems to know the directions. The problem is every time the bus makes a turn, my mind wanders, and the next morning, I am back where I started. My sense of direction is abysmal. More than once, I had gotten lost in my own neighborhood, requiring intervention by kindly neighbors, and sometimes the friendly neighborhood police.
It's 1987, and we are on our last class trip to the roller skating rink. The DJ plays YMCA and we all make the letters with our arms while bouncing around in circles. It’s almost time to go and I am hopeful that this will be the day that I get through the whole two hours without falling. The DJ dims the lights for dramatic flair, and we flail in skaterly glee to "Oh Mickey You're So Fine You Blow My Mind - HEY MICKEY!I
It's 1987 and I am in line at church for Eucharist. Jennifer Cribben is asking me why I do not hang out with Megan McCloskey anymore. I say that I do not know. Megan has blossomed into a tall waify beauty with cascading ringlets of bright blond hair. She will be going to Camden Catholic along with many of the others, and has become distant. While this saddens me, I form a bond with Christina Russo, a tall sassy Italian girl who will be going to Cherry Hill West, like me.
It's 1988 and Christina Russo is sitting in front of me during quiet reading time. It's the last day of eighth grade. Mrs. Anderson hands me an envelope with my mom's name on it and tells me sternly not to open it. Christina Russo spins around and asks me "what's in the envelope?" and I tear it open to see it is the $50 cash refund for the school dance. I am no longer allowed to go because I put orange peels in the donation box at church. Mrs. Anderson sees the torn envelope, crosses her eyes in anger and leads me wailingly by my ear to the principal's office and tells the principal that she cannot take one more minute, even though there is only an hour left to the school year.
It's 1988 and I bring Christina Russo home with me. My mom is home from work and when I introduce Christina Russo to her, Christina Russo says, “Hi.” When she leaves, my mom is fuming because she wants our friends to say, “Hello Mrs. Kryza” and not “Hi” when they meet her. I think this is absurd, but say nothing, and wonder why it is that my brother's friends not only say, "Hi" instead of "Hello Mrs. Kryza", but also run around the house like its their very own.
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