Home from Camp

[Guest]

Ah, camp.

Remember those carefree days?

We just brought our ten-year-old daughter home after five days at church camp. It really is a great camp. They swim, ride horses, do archery, crafts, and of course, have lots of chapel and praying type stuff.

She had a wonderful time. And after we packed up her stuff I could certainly tell because every article of clothing she took to camp (including three pair of shoes) was covered in mud and stinky. I mean really stinky.

In fact, after an hour and a half on the road my car now smells like a locker room.

I don't remember coming home from camp like this, honestly. A little dirty, sunburnt and bug-bitten, sure. But not this - this - aroma.

My poor mother.

 

[cantdog]

Camp was a pocket social situation with its own systems, very different from school or family, or society at large, for that matter. More fluid than the rigid authority structures of family, and one felt less herded about than in schools. I could talk with older people about things more easily, yet play sports with people my own age.

Mine had made a policy of attempting to recruit counselors from other countries. It was there I met my first Kenyan, my first Irish citizen, my first Swede and German.

I went five years, counting the year I was a CIT.

 

[impressive]

My kids are doing theater camp this summer -- but it's just a day camp.

I still remember my first overnight camp. I was nine. Science camp. *sigh* Those were the days.

 

[Guest]

Their discussions centered on Africa and missions, including a detailed study of Mary Slessor - http://www.heroesofhistory.com/page58.html

This is our daughter's third time at camp and they've all been positive experiences. Even her first year, when a visiting pastor gave a wonderful sermon about the evils of Harry Potter.

We were pretty upset when she told us this after the fact. But she also said that the members of her cabin, twelve 8-year-olds, all decided later that the man didn't have a clue. When she got home we asked our pastor to speak with her about matters so she wasn't confused. We didn't want Harry Potter to be spoiled for her by some zealot.

Anyway, she's loaded with Bible verses and good will, and after seeing the family members and petting the kitties she went off to her room and closed her door. She has lots of on-line catching up to do, apparently.

 

[cantdog]

I missed girls. After the CIT year, I never considered going again.

We didn't have an online to catch up on, of course.

 

[Guest]

I missed girls. After the CIT year, I never considered going again.

We didn't have an online to catch up on, of course.

I couldn't do it, myself.

I'd miss technology far too much.

And baths.

http://bestsmileys.com/bath/3.gif

 

[Virtual_Burlesque]

I never went to Summer Camp.

Every summer until I was twelve, my father would take me camping at a different campground -- always by a lake. Nine days of camping, fishing, hiking, boating, and swimming. My mother always abstained.

By the time I got home, I was tanned and dirty, insect-bitten, hair tangled, clothes rumpled, with scratches all over, and streaked with various earth-coloured stains that indelibly marred my heels, knees, and elbows. All my clothing reeked, and if the weather toward the end of the trip had interfered with my swimming, so did I.

Once I got home, my mother confiscated and condemned all my clothing, and audibly wished she could boil me for about a week.

I can’t believe that I missed anything.

 

[Guest]

. . .Once I got home, my mother confiscated and condemned all my clothing, and audibly wished she could boil me for about a week. . .

I have the same thoughts right now. I had to run to the store a few minutes ago to get swimmer's ear medicine (for son, not daughter) and my car still reeks.

Camping with your dad - it sounds like it was wonderful.

 

[CharleyH]

What kind of camp? Fuckalesorbiguy.com?

 

[Seattle Zack]

(My parents seriously warped me with too much Alan Sherman as a kid -- he was like the Weird Al of the sixties, for you youngsters)

My experience was Camp La-No-Che (Camp Lake Norris Cheney. the founders tried desperately to name it something with a vaguely Indian name, embracing that rich cultural Native American tradition that all us Floridians share):

Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh
(A Letter From Camp)
Hello Muddah, hello Fadduh,
Here I am at Camp Granada.
Camp is very entertaining,
And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining.

I went hiking with Joe Spivey.
He developed poison ivy.
You remember Leonard Skinner.
He got ptomaine poisoning last night after dinner.

All the counselors hate the waiters,
And the lake has alligators.
And the head coach wants no sissies,
So he reads to us from something called Ulysses.

Now I don't want this should scare ya,
But my bunk mate has malaria.
You remember Jeffrey Hardy.
They're about to organize a searching party.

(Chorus)
Take me home, oh Muddah, Fadduh,
Take me home, I hate Granada,
Don't leave me out here in the forest, where
I might
Get eaten by a bear.
Take me home, I promise I will not make noise,
Or mess the house with other boys.
Oh please don't make me stay,
I've been here
One whole day.

Dearest Fadduh, darling Muddah,
How's my precious little Bruddah?
Let me come home if you miss me.
I would even let Aunt Bertha hug and kiss me.

Wait a minute, it stopped hailing.
Guys are swimming, guys are sailing.
Playing baseball, gee that's better.
Muddah, Fadduh, kindly disregard this letter!