Jesse Gerstein     Summer of Luv ... After spending the summer at a boys' camp in central Maine, I now have a new respect for the way kids are taught about the wonders of puberty and the opposite sex. Of course, they learned a lot about the outdoors -- sailing, canoeing, waterskiing, sports, and how to dance/stand against the wall while listening to crappy music at socials with the girls' camps in the area. I am convinced, however, that one of the main reasons parents send their children to camp is so that all the taboo and embarrassing questions regarding sex are answered by someone other than themselves. As counselors, the staff and myself played the role of older, wiser brothers --people the kids could go to with questions about virtually anything. Seeing as how the kids in my bunk were twelve year olds, the inquiries were pretty remarkable. The questions included, "What's the little acorn thing?" and "If a girl has really big, you know, will she be a hooker?" Needless to say, I laughed a hell of a lot. Their questions did get more technical, but luckily, my fellow counselors and I were able to refer to a certain camper for assistance with those requests. One of the boys hit puberty in a hard way. He had a cracking voice and one of those teenage mustaches that look as if somebody wiped their ass and rubbed it on his upper lip. Best of all, he was not at all self-conscious. Before he came to camp, his parents decided to buy him videotapes about puberty, in hopes that the tapes could explain certain things that they never could. He watched these over and over again, I guess due to a fascination with the years spent in a teenage hell. He arrived at camp with these tapes memorized, and whenever there was a question that one of the counselors would not answer, we'd call on "John" to explain the situation. He had the music down, the timing, and the tone of voice. He would perform these little vignettes, playing the roles of up to three characters at one time. The best one, though, would have to be when he played "Billy" and "Billy's father." "Billy, why are you making your bed? You never have before." "Well, uh, Dad, I'm thirteen now, and I need to start taking responsiblities and act like an adult." "Are you sure?" "Well, uh, no. Dad, I actually don't know what happened. I woke up and my sheets were sorta wet, but I know I didn't wet my bed." "Oh, son," chuckling, "You had what is known as a nocturnal emission, or a 'wet dream'." He went on to explain the technical jargon, and the other kids fell on the floor laughing. I wound up with a huge bump on my head after falling into a wall. The other counselors fell out the door that they had been leaning against. The "no shame" thing with "John" extended beyond the bunks and puberty stories. In the dining hall, we would play waiter games. The games were to determine which camper would have to clear the table and who would be his assistant. The games ranged from "Freeze!" to the "Laughing Game," in which the kids could not laugh no matter what was said or done. Sometimes other methods were used. "John" happened to be a huge fan of Marvin Gaye and had all of "Sexual Healing" completely memorized. To avoid being waiter, he would stand up, grab a glass for a mic, and sing the song in the middle of the dining hall, all eyes squarely on him. He was never a waiter. In short, the kids left camp better athletes, capable of sailing across the lake by themselves, able to build a fire in the rain, and extremely knowledgeable about themselves. The kids knew all the answers I wanted to know when I was twelve and found them out without any of the embarrassment of going to dear old Dad. I wish I had gone to summer camp.

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