The girls who will not go to summer camp

Call me resentful, but there are grievances that have stuck in my memory and haven't left me even after years. With the arrival of June, the light of the lengthening days, swallows crossing the sky, and the exaltation of the beginning heat, I can't help but remember that end of the 8th grade school year. The summer camp had been in preparation for months, more important than any that had happened before because it would mark the end of this very significant stage of our lives, the end of primary education and, to some extent, childhood. It had been an effervescent school year, I had learned, thought, and felt more than ever, and I was convinced that anything was possible. One of the problems with summer camp for families was always the cost, but at our school they knew this very well and, since before Christmas, they launched initiatives to help us finance it. One of them was selling lottery tickets. I didn't know yet if they would let me go that year or not, but I wanted to go so badly that I thought if I worked hard to cover the cost, I would eventually achieve it. Surely my tutor and the school principal would convince my father to let me participate in such an extraordinary activity that filled me with immense excitement, as if it were a trip to the Moon. So, I spent my Christmas holidays in the center of Vic stopping passersby with that plain accent I had back then, saying: "Would you like a lottery ticket?" I remember myself like this and I find it hard to believe that I overcame my shyness and dared to speak to strangers as if it were nothing. I soon discovered that I had a great knack for this new activity. I sold everything that could be sold, and I covered the expenses for my summer camp and for others. And yes, I was absolutely sure that with that effort, He (as we called him at home) wouldn't say no to me. I spent the day imagining what it would be like, how much fun I would have, and also that I would be near the boy I liked, of course. I was 14 or 15 years old. I would leave the neighborhood, breathe a completely different air.

When it was time to return to school, the signed authorization form fell on me like the world: "No, you won't go," He declared. I was the most responsible girl in the world, the best girl, the most studious, and the one who resolved countless things for the family that were not the responsibility of girls, but the answer was firm: “No”. The injustice was even more flagrant if we considered that I had brothers who had always been able to go on camps. Boy brothers, I mean. And, moreover, I have a twin who was then a boy as boys should be, without having to carry on my shoulders all the things that were always attributed to me (as if I were the older one when we were both, but it seems that being a girl tips the scale of responsibilities and duties, not that of freedoms). So that was the enormous injustice with which my basic education ended: me at home without going on camps and my twin going and having a great time.

I remember that experience now that I visit schools and meet girls who resemble the girl I was. And many of them tell me that they will also stay home. And they don't participate in any of the activities that go beyond what is strictly academic. Excursions, camps, extracurricular activities, swimming, or parties outside of school hours are things that always happen to the girls next door and not to them. Some will say that what matters is that they go to school. But education is not just a transmission of content, it is living together, it is establishing bonds, it is recreation and enjoyment beyond the walls of educational centers. It is experiencing things that cannot be experienced at any other age and rooting the joy of living to grow in freedom.