I keep trying to explain the wonders of camp life to the Sainted Wife, who, never having been through the whole camp experience, just doesn’t get it. Perhaps this will help.
Summer camp isn’t really for the campers. Bless their hearts, they’re mostly just hoping to get back home with no broken bones or major emotional traumas. No, camp is for the counselors, who, after all, are there by choice, get paid, frequently snog the other counselors, and basically ride a serotonin high all summer long.
…
That summer, I learned what it is to be a minor god. To rule over my kingdom with casual confidence. To throw off the chains of the workaday world and trade them in for lazy days on a lake. To skinny-dip with a flock of hot, 22-year-old counselor chicks.
And the skinny-dipping wasn’t even the best part of the job. (Though it’s the part people always want to hear about.) No, the best part was the limitless power over the campers. Not so much the power to plunge them into the freezing lake whenever it so pleased me, but rather the power to shape these kids’ entire conceptual framework.
In related news, Ngnat is off to Pony camp in a month or so. Haven’t subjected the Hraka audience to kid pics for a year or more, so here’s an update.
Ngnat and Scotty M pretending to be 16-inch shells on the Battleship North Carolina.
Their childish screams of “This one’s for you, Tojo!” would have warmed the cockles of your heart.
And……sitting on the driveway, I think.
Leave a Reply