Sleepaway camp

The summer before 7th grade, I attended a week-long acting sleepaway camp in the sticks of New York. The first signs that something was awry were the military-style cold showers, the twenty push-ups and the horse-size vitamins we had to swallow every morning. At the tender age of 12, I felt like I was on the set of Platoon. I also bunked with a blond girl named Lacey. Her middle name was Cinnamon. Lacey Cinnamon. She cried and cried until she was sent home. I stuck it out and petted the goats. Goats? Yes, there were goats. I also befriended a teacher who played John Lennon's, "Give Peace A Chance," on repeat.