“And they called it puppy love..."
by Orysia Paszczak Tracz
The summer camp season has ended. As I sent my older
children off to camp, I reminisced about my teenage summers. I belonged to SUM
(Ukrainian Youth Association), and the beautiful camp in Ellenville, N.Y. was
my summer home. At first I was a just a camper, but later, at a still early
age, became a counselor. The summer I graduated from eighth grade was also the
summer my mother finally cut off my long braids. Sure, it was convenient to
have braids, but at 13 I wanted a change. After all, I was a teenager now and
even a counselor at camp! With my new straight-as-a-board shoulder length hair,
I turned over a new leaf. It was hard work being a counselor. And I was
responsible for a roomful of lovable but mischievous 7- and 8-year-old boys.
But there was also time for fun. The counselors and older staff got together in
the evenings for stories and songs. Many of the people had beautiful voices,
and the Ukrainian harmonies of the folk songs were out of this world. One of
the counselors was a handsome "older" man around 18. For a 13-year-old.
that's pretty old. He was tall, tan, had a gorgeous smile, and was a marvelous
dancer. I, and the rest of the younger female counselors, had a crush on him.
Every Saturday evening there was a dance for the older campers and counselors.
While the Ukrainian tangoes and waltzes played over the PA system, we either
danced with the other girls, or waited for the young men to ask us to dance.
There were usually fewer boys, so it was a big deal if you did dance with a boy.
For one of these Saturday dances. I planned to do something about
my crush on Slavko, the"older man.” He was going yo notice me, because I
was going to make myself especially pretty. From home, I had brought my
mother's home permanent curlers. On a Thursday I asked my good friend Marusia
to set my hair with these small plastic curlers. I remember instructing her to
be sure to set the hair tight, because my hair was long and thick. I forgot
that it was also fine. To ensure that it set well, I wore those curlers from
late Thursday until early Saturday evening, a scarf tied back on my head. Do
you want to guess what happened next? The curl was so tight we could barely get
the curlers out of the hair! I say we, because every girl available was helping
to free me from my beauty trap. After the curlers were finally removed, I had
the first Afro on a Caucasian person, around five or six years before Afros
became "in." Not only could we not get a comb or brush through it, my
fingers couldn't get through it. Heartbreak! It's already getting dark, the
dance is about to begin, and I'm in a panic about the frizzy mound atop my
head. I'm supposed to dance with Slavko tonight!
I did go, with another scarf tied around my puffy head. I
was so embarrassed I could die! My friends didn't help much, because to them
this whole thing was a riot. Barely holding back tears of laughter, Marusia
even reminded me how I had instructed her to make the curls, real tight,
"so that it would hold." Slavko did dance with me once, if I remember
correctly. He didn't even ask why there was a scarf on my head in the middle of
summer, at a dance yet. If he knew I had a crush on him, he never let on.
Thirty some years later. I can smile now as I recall this one-sided puppy-love
affair, and my Ukrainian Afro. But at the time, it was no laughing matter.
The
Ukrainian Weekly. No. 39, Sunday,
September 27, 1987
