Tag Archives: robindel

Profound Love

For Eric’s birthday, I got us tickets to see Jay Shetty speak at the Beacon Theater. For those of you who aren’t familiar, Jay Shetty is a well-known author, speaker, podcaster and life coach. I refer to him as a “social media monk.” Eric doesn’t so much care for this title, as he takes the teachings of Jay Shetty very seriously, whereas I see him more as a zen but business savvy dude who says fun, catchy meme-worthy shit like this:

Eric discovered him on the Calm app, a guided meditation app he uses every night before bed. As a former monk, Jay has a lot of experience in calming the mind, and Eric has learned a lot from his teachings on self care, relationships, love, and life in general.

So we went to see him speak, which was cool (if not exactly what we anticipated– we were expecting a super-inspiring Ted Talk, we got….a sort of bizarre variety show?). But Jay closed the night with a really lovely guided meditation.

He asked the audience to close their eyes and think up a moment of profound love in our lives. Whatever popped into our minds at the mention of this term, “profound love,” was perfectly fine. My personal interpretation of this instruction was to conjure up my earliest memory of profound love, which for me, undeniably, takes place at my childhood sleepaway camp, Robindel.

I pictured me and my best camp friends, age 15, at “Sing”– one of the last nights of camp during our final summer as campers. It’s an incredibly emotional night. I thought about how we all held each other tightly and sobbed, knowing that our magical days at camp were coming to an end for good, but also feeling eternally grateful for having formed these sister-type friendships that we knew would last a lifetime (and thus far have!). I remember that as the first moment of ever feeling a palpable ache in my heart because I just loved these people so much, and cherished every moment I got to spend with them.

Later, in the car driving home, Eric asked me about my profound love moment.

Me: “Being with my camp friends on one of the last nights of camp.”

Eric: “Huh. Interesting.”

(silence)

Me: “Why, what was your profound love moment?”

Eric: “Watching you, my beautiful wife, dancing with our beautiful children in the kitchen, and thinking how grateful I am to have created this amazing family and life with you.”

“Oh.”

“Right, yes. Me too!”

“Anyway, happy birthday!!!!!”

Dear Camp Robindel

Dear Camp Robindel,

Sleep-away camp season is upon us, so I’m filling out an application for my daughter. She’s still in my womb. No, I’m not crazy.

It’s for NEXT summer.

She’ll be almost 1 and, much like all the Lermans starting camp far younger than the suggested age, she’ll be fine. But also like all the Lermans starting camp far younger than the suggested age, it won’t REALLY matter if she’s fine or not, the point is more that her mom needs a break. So she’s getting on that plane, goddamnit.

If my kid is anything like her mom, she’ll be a bit confused, under-showered, and questionably lice-infested for the first few weeks, wondering if Ann and Nat are her new parents and if this bunk is just where she lives now.  Or, if she’s like her Uncle Zack over at brother camp Winaukee, she’ll wear one Teva all summer, be covered in weeks-old temporary tattoos, smell like the dubious roped-off section of the lake, and spend all her free time, voluntarily, with the camp nurse.

The adjustment will be slightly jarring, but then the first time she receives a “free” foot-long Charleston Chew at canteen without having to write the required letter home (because is this dirty, gap-toothed, bowl-haircut kid even old enough to write? No one is certain), she’ll smile and be like, “Oh, ok. I got this. I’m going to run this place now.”

She won’t even bother to wipe the chocolate drool from her chin. It will remain there, crusted over, for two months.

So reserve a spot in Hemlock for Summer of ’19, please. Top bunk. Don’t even waste your time with a guard rail. Kid’s gotta learn.

Love,
Emily, aka “Lerman”
(9-year camper, 3-year counselor. Owner of 3 CR necklaces— 2 actually earned, and 1 because you forgot you already gave me a gold at 9 years, so you gave me another at 10. I did not correct your mistake. I just quietly pumped my fists and gleefully snatched my third necklace, which would be excusable behavior had I not been 19 years old and in charge of roughly 40 middle schoolers at the time.)

robindel

The REAL Truth About O.J. Simpson

My dad used to be acquainted with O.J. Simpson. This was in the pre-Bronco days. They served on a board together, and became acquaintances (yes, I am carefully avoiding the word “friends,” because they weren’t friends. Also because O.J. does this thing where he murders people.)

The only reason this relationship is memorable is because one day, my dad decided to ask this cold-blooded killer for some parenting advice.

Dad: “Should I send my youngest kid to Winaukee, a 2-month sleep away camp, this summer? He’s only 5 years old.”
O.J.: “Absolutely! It’ll be the best summer of his life!”

So Dad sent him. Because O.J. SIMPSON IS FULL OF GREAT IDEAS!

Zack spent that entire summer crying in the infirmary. The camp nurse was his best friend. Occasionally he’d take a break from sobbing to ride a horse, which, at an all-boys camp, made him a huge weirdo. When Steph and I (who were at Robindel, the sister camp across the lake), would show up for visitation on Sundays, we’d find him shirtless, wearing one Teva sandal, and covered in a mix of dirt, weeks-old temporary tattoos, and general despair. Jeremy was at the camp with Zack and was supposed to be looking out for him  but, in a shocking turn of events, no one ever knew where the fuck Jeremy was or what he was doing. But he sure as shit wasn’t looking after Zack. Which is ok, since, at 8 years old, he was probably too young to be at camp himself.

Bottom line– it was, without question, the worst summer of Zack’s life.

So the point here is this: I don’t care if you do or don’t believe that O.J. Simpson is a murderer– I have indisputable proof that he is, at the very least, a big fucking liar.

It’s a shame no one asked me to testify in court.

LAS VEGAS, NV - MAY 13: O.J. Simpson appears during a evidentiary hearing in Clark County District Court May 13, 2013 in Las Vegas, Nevada. Simpson, who is currently serving a nine to 33-year sentence in state prison as a result of his October 2008 conviction for armed robbery and kidnapping charges, is using a writ of habeas corpus, to seek a new trial, claiming he had such bad representation that his conviction should be reversed. (Photo by Jeff Scheid-Pool/Getty Images)

Every Child Left Behind (in a pool of tears and anxiety-induced vomit)

Screen Shot 2015-05-10 at 4.14.39 PM

Teachers, people with children, or anyone who knows or cares about teachers or children, this John Oliver rant on standardized testing is a MUST WATCH.

Every bit of it is hilarious because it’s so painfully and pathetically true.

Two of my personal fave highlights:

1. “Pearson are the educational equivalent to Time Warner Cable– either you’ve never had an interaction with them and don’t care, or….they HAVE RUINED YOUR FUCKING LIFE.”

2. Did anyone else know that Pearson uses Craigslist to recruit test-graders? Yes, that’s right– “Pearson chooses test graders the same way that you’d look for a mattress full of bedbugs or a no-strings-attached hand job.” This is like when I found out that Sing at Camp Robindel was judged by the local balloon lady. (sorry to the 99% of readers who have NO idea what I’m referring to, but to the 1% who do, you know the EXACT disappointed feeling I’m talking about).