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
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