[Foreword: Some of you may remember my story of June
17th on the topic One Summer Afternoon, wherein I described my frantic and
futile attempt to qualify for the camp lake beach reserved for youngsters who
could demonstrate their ability to swim.
Had I succeeded in drowning myself in that attempt, I would not have
been able to write a second essay on the much-overrated “joys” of
summer camp experiences that continued to plague me throughout my tender years. I submit this in the hope that we can
dispense with any and all topics related to camping for the foreseeable
future.]
17th on the topic One Summer Afternoon, wherein I described my frantic and
futile attempt to qualify for the camp lake beach reserved for youngsters who
could demonstrate their ability to swim.
Had I succeeded in drowning myself in that attempt, I would not have
been able to write a second essay on the much-overrated “joys” of
summer camp experiences that continued to plague me throughout my tender years. I submit this in the hope that we can
dispense with any and all topics related to camping for the foreseeable
future.]
During the summers of my
9th through 13th years, going to camp became a sacrificial ritual imposed upon
me by parents who must have been desperate to get me out of a chair in front of
the television or out of BB gun range of sparrows unfortunate enough to inhabit
the branches of elm trees within three blocks of our house. The only condition was that I had to be home
before the Bermuda grass needed cutting again–a span of between 7 and 10
days. I felt that I was being punished
for being an only child. They could
hardly to afford to send any additional children to camp so there was always a
chance, as their hypothetical first-born, I could have had the option of
staying home.
9th through 13th years, going to camp became a sacrificial ritual imposed upon
me by parents who must have been desperate to get me out of a chair in front of
the television or out of BB gun range of sparrows unfortunate enough to inhabit
the branches of elm trees within three blocks of our house. The only condition was that I had to be home
before the Bermuda grass needed cutting again–a span of between 7 and 10
days. I felt that I was being punished
for being an only child. They could
hardly to afford to send any additional children to camp so there was always a
chance, as their hypothetical first-born, I could have had the option of
staying home.
My introductory stay at
camp was also the longest–10 days. It
was the camp with the lake that I wrote about before. We slept in cabins with, as I recall, five
bunk beds each–two along each side and one across the back wall. After about four days, I was struck with the
worst case of home-sickness I can recall having. I had made no friends, the food sucked, and I
had just the day before almost drowned.
I remember writing a letter to my parents in which I said,
word-for-word, “If you love me, you’ll come and get me”. I think I might have left a tear stain or two
on the paper, as well.
camp was also the longest–10 days. It
was the camp with the lake that I wrote about before. We slept in cabins with, as I recall, five
bunk beds each–two along each side and one across the back wall. After about four days, I was struck with the
worst case of home-sickness I can recall having. I had made no friends, the food sucked, and I
had just the day before almost drowned.
I remember writing a letter to my parents in which I said,
word-for-word, “If you love me, you’ll come and get me”. I think I might have left a tear stain or two
on the paper, as well.
Oh, there were happy
experiences at camp, especially as I became more accustomed to being away from
home. I can remember sitting around a
big campfire at Boy Scout camp after dark, surrounded by woods while the adults
told us ghost stories. I have seldom
been afraid of the dark or ghosts and enjoyed watching a few of the other boys
who appeared to squirm uncomfortably or glance over their shoulders apprehensively. That gave me a sadistic sense of
satisfaction. I can remember a time when
a few boys came across what they described as a copperhead in the woods–a
sight which sent them running back to the safety of camp. I fancied snakes and wished wholeheartedly that I had been with them, as I would have tried to capture the snake so I
could study it.
experiences at camp, especially as I became more accustomed to being away from
home. I can remember sitting around a
big campfire at Boy Scout camp after dark, surrounded by woods while the adults
told us ghost stories. I have seldom
been afraid of the dark or ghosts and enjoyed watching a few of the other boys
who appeared to squirm uncomfortably or glance over their shoulders apprehensively. That gave me a sadistic sense of
satisfaction. I can remember a time when
a few boys came across what they described as a copperhead in the woods–a
sight which sent them running back to the safety of camp. I fancied snakes and wished wholeheartedly that I had been with them, as I would have tried to capture the snake so I
could study it.
One memory lies halfway
between those which were painful and those which gave me pleasure. It occurred during my last Boy Scout camping
experience. I, being one who has always
believed that the safest place to be after 10 PM is at home, was resting on my
cot in my tent when I heard a commotion outside. It seems that some of the more brazen boys
had pinned another Scout down, removed his pants, and run them up the flagpole–activity
for which I knew of no connection to being awarded a merit badge.
between those which were painful and those which gave me pleasure. It occurred during my last Boy Scout camping
experience. I, being one who has always
believed that the safest place to be after 10 PM is at home, was resting on my
cot in my tent when I heard a commotion outside. It seems that some of the more brazen boys
had pinned another Scout down, removed his pants, and run them up the flagpole–activity
for which I knew of no connection to being awarded a merit badge.
I remember thanking my
lucky stars that I was not the unfortunate boy who fell victim to such
silliness, as I was precisely where I was supposed to be–safely ensconced in
my bunk. Still, I began to wonder what
it would be like to have been among the perpetrators. It gave me a kind of warm thrill to think
about it, but only briefly, for within a few minutes, I heard the breathless
giggles of 12-year-old ne’er-do-wells approaching my tent. They threw back the tent flap and four rambunctious
boys rushed in and crowded around my cot.
One was carrying a flashlight.
Two of them held my arms and legs while the third flung the cover back
and pulled down my pajama bottoms. Although I could not see, I could almost
feel the heat of the flashlight. I was
horrified and titillated at the same time, not knowing which reaction might be
betrayed by my very stage-frighted anatomical barometer. “Please, God,” I thought, “don’t
let them laugh. And where the hell are
the adults?”
lucky stars that I was not the unfortunate boy who fell victim to such
silliness, as I was precisely where I was supposed to be–safely ensconced in
my bunk. Still, I began to wonder what
it would be like to have been among the perpetrators. It gave me a kind of warm thrill to think
about it, but only briefly, for within a few minutes, I heard the breathless
giggles of 12-year-old ne’er-do-wells approaching my tent. They threw back the tent flap and four rambunctious
boys rushed in and crowded around my cot.
One was carrying a flashlight.
Two of them held my arms and legs while the third flung the cover back
and pulled down my pajama bottoms. Although I could not see, I could almost
feel the heat of the flashlight. I was
horrified and titillated at the same time, not knowing which reaction might be
betrayed by my very stage-frighted anatomical barometer. “Please, God,” I thought, “don’t
let them laugh. And where the hell are
the adults?”
As you can probably tell,
camp to me was that brief interlude in the middle of summer when I wished I
were back in school…well, except for recess, of course. But that’s a subject for another day.
camp to me was that brief interlude in the middle of summer when I wished I
were back in school…well, except for recess, of course. But that’s a subject for another day.
© 19 August 2013
About the Author
I came to the beautiful state
of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I
married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas
by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working
as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman
for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured
that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I
wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just
happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both
fortuitous and smooth.
of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I
married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas
by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working
as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman
for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured
that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I
wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just
happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both
fortuitous and smooth.
Soon after, I retired and we
moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years
together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One
possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group
was there to light the way.
moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years
together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One
possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group
was there to light the way.
