The Kids Of Summer

By Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence

“Hi! I know it’s a hectic week for you with getting the kids off to camp, but would you happen to have an article?” asked Michele—the gentle query I get whenever I forget to hit send.

“Oh, is it Wednesday?” I replied in horror, suddenly realizing not only had I forgotten to write anything, but that G-d was still running the world by days of the week—and I had inadvertently skipped several of them while attempting the high-stakes juggling act of having my kids home all day and simultaneously packing them for camp.

While I may have naively assumed that things would mellow out as the school year wound down, I was clearly serving myself a hefty slice of delusion. Nothing could be further from the truth.

This time of year is a fan favorite among kids who’ve survived ten months of 9-hour school days, and among parents who’ve spent every morning prying said kids out of bed in the hopes they’d show up to school with a pencil and maybe even lunch.

But you can always tell when the finish line is near.

Suddenly, there’s a mass migration to local 7-Elevens as teachers reward their students with sugar-laden treats for making it to June without combusting.

When your kid asks you for $20 and you wonder what on earth they’re buying at a convenience store, just know: this is the dress rehearsal for how fast your money will disappear during summer camp.

First come the emails with all the required forms.

Medical info, bunkmate requests, and various documents that make you question whether your child is going to summer camp or applying for dual citizenship.

Some camps really lean into the nostalgia by asking us to print and cut out our insurance cards—like it’s 1980 and not everything we do runs on Wi-Fi and caffeine.

My favorite part of “adult arts and crafts hour” is when, after dutifully submitting all that paperwork, the camp still somehow loses it and asks us to call in emergency prescriptions mid-July.

It makes me wonder what things were like 50 years ago, when parents filled out a simple form, waved goodbye at the bus stop, and hoped for the best. “Don’t call me.” was the silent prayer as their kids boarded the bus. “We’ll miss you!” was what the kids heard as their parents stood outside and wondered how long they had to stand there, pretending to be sad about not seeing their kids for a month.

Once the paperwork is in, the panic begins: makeover mode is activated.

Dentist appointments. Haircuts (and then more haircuts when your son instructs the barber to “leave the top,” and a week later he still looks like a chia pet). Fingernail inspections. And of course, multiple shopping runs for clothes and shoes that will either vanish in the laundry or never see the light of day from their cubby.

Then there’s the gear.

Personalized blankets.

Monogrammed bags.

Mini fridges stuffed with skincare products fancier than my own (shout-out to TJ Maxx, my ride-or-die). Sunscreen? Bug spray? Toothpaste? Nah. Let’s make room for the coordinating watermelon-scented salt scrub, moisturizer and body spray.

When I went to camp, I had Care Bears and My Little Pony bedsheets and considered that peak luxury.

We didn’t have egg crates. We had plywood and a one-inch mattress—and we were grateful not to get lice.

Character was built by sleeping on the floor because it was softer than the camp bed.

Grilling your own steak?

We were lucky to rhyme our way into the lunch hall:

“Chaya Gila Rena Ditza, let us in to eat our pizza!”

I can see today’s kids rolling their eyes and asking ChatGPT to write a lunch jingle in Italian: “Siamo affamati, non ci far aspettare—facci entrare, è ora di mangiare!”

So 2025.

In my day, we passed time by counting air bubbles in the weird dense chocolate pudding we couldn’t get enough of or perfecting keychain lanyards no one really wanted.

If we were lucky, we cared for a bunk mascot—a salamander praying for release from a group of overenthusiastic preteens.

There were no travel camps, sushi nights, or Pilates classes.

And yet, we were so happy.

These days, I’m the rare parent who doesn’t obsessively refresh the camp photo site in search of a blurry glimpse of my kid on a zipline. Still, well meaning friends and acquaintances send me screenshots like they’ve spotted Bigfoot:

“Oh look—it’s Yosef. Yep. Still looks like Yosef—just not as clean.”

As the school WhatsApp chats go quiet, the camp WhatsApps spring to life with a vengeance.

First, bunk confirmations. Everyone chimes in: “Bunk 4!” I join in too—because if I don’t say it in the chat, is he even really in bunk 4?

Then it’s on to more pressing matters: overpriced kugel and cholent packages delivered to camps that already serve kugel and cholent. But this stuff is special—it’s got gourmet potatoes.

Next comes the age-old debate: bus your kid home or make the sweaty pilgrimage to rural Pennsylvania for Visiting Day.

“Ma, wanna come see my bunk? It’s up that steep hill…”

You’re already sweating.

Some camps roll out the red carpet with visiting day programs, meals, and sibling activities. Others simply sweep the floor and expect you to sit on your kid’s bed for hours—or change their sheets—before hitting up the local Walmart for another round of snacks that somehow disappeared in a week.

But no matter what the experience looks like—rustic or posh—the goal is the same: we want our kids to be happy.

And maybe, just maybe, we parents need to learn to let go. To stop hovering. To allow our kids the freedom to figure out who they are without our constant narration.

I can say with certainty that my siblings and I look back on our summers away as some of the best moments of our lives. And despite all the changes, that’s what we want for our kids too.

A break from the screens. A chance to form friendships in real life. The ability to be just kids—unplugged, unscheduled, unfiltered.

Sure, today’s activities might be cooler. Sure, we’ve added tennis instructors and skin care routines. But the heart of summer remains the same: it’s where kids start becoming themselves.

Wishing you—and your children—a safe, meaningful, and joyful summer. 

Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of five, a writer, and a social media influencer.