The Summer Camp from Hell

            When I was around 10 my parents decided that it would be good for my brother and me to go to summer camp. We were living in Topeka Kansas and the YMCA camp was a couple of hours bus ride out into the middle of a swampy nowhere. What possessed my parents to send their chubby, shy, insecure, and non-religious son to Christian camp I will never know. Never having been away from my family the horror began as soon as my brother left to be with the older boys and I was taken to my cabin and shown the pee stained bunk that I would call home for the next few weeks.

            It had already been a long day and I was hungry so thankfully it was dinner time and we were shown to the large mess hall. Having been seated at a long wooden table and food placed in front of me I was ready to start eating, but that would be too easy. You see this is where I first started to learn about “The fear of God” because at that first dinner a random boy was asked to lead the 100 plus people in saying “Grace” before the meal. I didn’t even know what Grace was so for the rest of the 2 weeks I was scared to death that I would actually be one of the chosen few.

            This being summer camp, our days were filled with what were supposed to be fun outdoor activities. Hikes, I didn’t have the right shoes, couldn’t keep up, and was always out of breath. Team games like capture the flag, I was the last one picked and had to guard the flag. Bow and arrows, I just couldn’t get the hang of it. Now it wasn’t all bad, there was one activity that was so cool, “Marksmanship”. Hand a 10 year old boy a loaded 22 caliber rifle and watch out.

            The one activity that I was good at was swimming but the camp didn’t have a pool. We swam in a small lake that was more like a big pond. It had a small beach, a lifeguard tower, and about 100 feet out there was a raft with a diving board. The rest of the pond was surrounded by trees, weeds, and reeds right up to the waters edge. The first few times was fun doing the usual kid stuff, splashing, throwing mud, and just keeping cool. On the third day I was almost to the raft when the lifeguard starts yelling “Snake, everyone out of the water!” I froze, snake, what do you mean snake? I couldn’t comprehend it, my mind went blank. After what felt like an eternity I started swimming as fast as I could back to shore only to realize that everyone was yelling at me to go back, back to the raft. It seemed that the snake, and not just any snake but a “Poisonous Cotton Tongue Water Moccasin” had cut off my retreat. I don’t know if it’s possible but I think I pooped my trunks, had a heart attack, and walked on water all at the same time because next thing I knew I was huddled on the raft with a couple of other kids who had made it there alive. Eventually they came out to get us with a row boat and a rifle. Needless to say, I didn’t go swimming again, even after we were told that the snakes usually stay on their side of the lake and the lifeguard now sat with a rifle in his lap.

            The horrors continued: My towel fell off after a bath and I stood naked in front of a big crowd. I broke the skis while trying to water ski. Other kids would attack our cabin during the night. And when my parents came for a family visit they wouldn’t take me home even after I locked myself in the car. But all that pales in comparison to the horror of what came next.

            The morning of our last full day at camp we were loaded on busses and driven out into the swamps. I started to hear this rhythmic sound that was like this alternating high pitch, low pitch chirping. As we got deeper into the swamps it got louder until it was almost deafening. As I cautiously stepped off the bus I was handed a rifle and told “OK boy, let’s get us some dinner”. I still didn’t know what was going on so I followed all the other kids down a trail out into the swamp. That’s when I saw them and discovered what that weird noise was, FROGS. Hundreds of them, not just little frogs but giant “Bull Frogs”. They were huge, as big as a dinner plate with hind legs at least 12 inches long. At the exact moment that I realized “Frog Legs” was for dinner the carnage started. Shots rang out and frogs started flying through the air. It was horrifying and I couldn’t take it, I dropped my rifle and ran back to the bus, stopping just long enough to puke my guts out.

            That night we had our farewell dinner of Frog Legs that I must admit kind of tasted like chicken. I never got called on to say Grace so I survived my Summer Camp from Hell. When I think back about that adventure the thing that always comes to mind is the kids riddle: What’s green and red and goes 100 miles an hour? Why a frog in a blender of course.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 14 of the following link. Winters Express 8/25/11

Read the Label

             So this 4^th of July I got to thinking about what it means to be American. Not in the patriotic or we’re better than they are sense but just in the label. I was born in the state of New York, which is part of the United States of American and is in North America. My older brother was born in Argentina that is in South America. My sister’s husband’s family is from Nicaragua which is located in Central America. From what I can see that makes us all Americans. Maybe here in the states we should try a little rebranding and call ourselves USAers, pronounced with a Brooklyn accent (you-say-uh). Let’s see how that rolls off the tongue, “I’m not an ugly American, I’m a USAer”.

            OK, seriously this makes me want to ask the question, why do people feel a need to label themselves? Republican, Democrat, Liberal, Conservative, Gay, Straight, Raiders Fan, Giants Fan (yea, yea, different game), Black, White, Christian, Muslim, the list goes on and on. I know that historically we labeled ourselves to show inclusion in a family, group, or clan. This was primarily for protection from or dominance over a rival group. But the world has changed, for one thing it’s more homogeneous and we now know that as a species we have more in common than differences with people we don’t know. For another point the groups have just gotten too big for everyone to have a majority in common. Just as a simple example, in the U.S. there are 130 million voting age people, if you take out the smaller parties that still leaves over 50 million people in each of the 2 major parties. I for one find it hard to believe that give their different life experiences, educational, and socio-economic backgrounds all those people think, feel, and believe the same way. So why do so many people want to march under a particular banner and I guess my bigger question is why don’t I?

            This may seem like an oxymoron but I have always labeled myself as a non-conformist. Or to quote Groucho Marx “I don`t care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members”. I have always been pre-disposed to go in the opposite direction of the crowds as well as to question authority. Sure I was once a teenager wanting to fit in but I always felt I was different and didn’t fit in. But even not fitting in comes with labels; loner, rebel, outcast, etc…

            Currently I guess my label would be; a middle aged lower middle class non-religious rural-urbanite white Hispanic of Jewish descent. Now that’s a mouthful. Maybe we should try a little rebranding here as well. Instead of middle aged, I am now a semi-centenarian something and with the way the economy is going it won’t be long until I am part of the upper lower class. As for color, Casper the friendly ghost was white I’m more of a dark pink with a touch of gray. I am a non-believer that Shirley keeps telling me is one of the “chosen people” and yes I do speak Spanish.

            So where is all this labeling and rebranding taking me? I guess if I have to be labeled I want to set my own priority, so here goes. I am in this order; Human, Man, Husband, Son, Brother, Friend, & Neighbor. You see it’s about sharing the planet with other people, so what color my skin is, or what God I do or don’t believe in, or even how much money I have shouldn’t matter. Sadly it seems that according to the main stream media those things are all that matter.

            That brings me back full circle to the whole American and USAer thing. What if I want to be part of a bigger group with a grander label? Let’s say a citizen of the Earth, an Earther as they are called in the Science fictions movies. If the Supreme Court can grant corporations the same rights as people and corporations can be multi-national why can’t people be multi-national as well. I mean we are already so interconnected when it comes to commerce, entertainment, and communications. If that connectivity can benefit mankind as a whole why not expand it?

            OK, so a few columns back I was ragging on the economic drawbacks of a “new world order”. Now I’m wondering, if enough of the 7 Billion people on earth are like minded that may not be a bad thing. As a matter of fact, I think the only way for survival in the future is through cooperation, compromise, and a lot less labeling.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 13 of the following link. Winters Express 8/4/11