Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Summer Is Over, But We'll Always Have Camp Memories

Ahhh summer...swimming holes...Mad Dog 20/20 binges...burnt fannies...But there were times that were a lot more innocent...
I remember, as a kid, going to a few summer camps. Whitewater bible camp. Vacation Bible School. Jesus's Great Outdoors. Okay, I made that last one up. But it might as well be. I grew up in Ohio. The bible heart of America. Hell, the state itself looks like a heart. Not really a human heart, but a Valentine's Day replica. Anyway, I was pawned off by my folks to these thumpers for two reasons:

1) Cheap. Most of the times the trip was funded by the church collection plate. I guess they figure that if they could get us into the wild they can indoctrinate us faster. And it did kinda' work. I can't tell you how fast I prayed when I got explosive diarrhea from the over-saturated generic bug juice I drained by the gallon. "Oh sweet Jesus, may there be a pine cone large enough for my cornhole!" "Cheap" happens to be one of my Mom's favorite words too.
2) Chinese people church. You wanna know a really screwed up combination. Take some already out of control judgmental people and introduce them to religion. I think my Mom is atheist. Never got around to asking. But I remember being at my Grandma's funeral, and I could've sworn when they talked about heaven, she rolled her eyes. Tough cookie, no matter how she crumbled. She'd drop us off at church only to go shopping on Sundays. That kinda' was a clue too. She'd pick us up, and...well personally I couldn't wait to get out of there. Her attitude was that they were Chinese and maybe some of that Mandarin language would rub off on us. Never did. Not that she pushed the issue...or tested us. I think for some, you find your peace on Sunday wherever you can find it.

Every summer they'd have a retreat. I remember Mom would bring the subject up subtly "Hey, instead of wasting your life around the house doing bunk, how about go on this retreat?...whitewater bible camp!!" In my mind, I'm thinking "Hell yeah...tackle the rapids. Cheat death. Just like 'Race For Your Life Charlie Brown'" Who gives a crap if I had to learn a few verses in between. This is how stupid I was. This is Ohio. The only rapids we have are if a bunch of rednecks stitched together a few Slip n' Slides. But I was sold. Must've been the humidity.

Meanwhile, my Dad was always in the background. He spent the better part of the summer running his restaurant and mowing the lawn. He's got a fixation for his lawn. I didn't realize until later that from a person who came from a concrete jungle of Taipei...the feeling of grass between your toes must feel like clouds. He really earned it.

Whitewater bible camp seemed to be a wash. It was on this really weird island in the middle of northern Ohio. It was actually on an old plantation. The rapids? A creek with a canoe. The rest was bible studies. Man...did that suck. Didn't have no archery. No horseback riding. Not even wallet making, like the Native Americans use to do :). We made suncatchers to bask in the rays Jesus provided us for the day. And like a buncha' damn Pilgrims, our noses were in scripture for about three hours a day. The other few hours were listening to missionary stories where the people of the Amazon were referred to as "savages." That was the best part. The guy who told these stories was a pediatrician. And had a jackrabbit laughing style that freaked me out. He was genuinely a nice guy, but I was a punk kid who snubbed any attempt at interpersonal connections.

I remember there was a main house where all the older kids stayed in. We stayed in cabins. Slave quarters to be precise. Stacked in bunks. Which was really cool. But the kids there were total Squaresville. The already knew the bible forwards, backwards and upside down. Me...I couldn't remember which day God rested. And all those dudes begat-ting other people. I'm like...this is pure smut. And I said so, to anyone near me. No one believed me. They went with it like the were rubbing elbows and children popped out. Those dudes laying pipe like you wouldn't believe. I guess before "Mad Men" or "The Simpsons" it was the best form of entertainment.

I spent a week here and something really interesting began to happen. The kids in my cabin...started to lighten up. Not sure if my constant snide remarks or open defiance to learn the Good Book had anything to do with it...But I guess they were like me, trying to gauge who the narcs were. Mid-week we were telling dirty jokes, making fun of people and conspiring to burn down the whole place. Cooler heads prevailed. We rode the damn sad canoes. But we'd fence with the oars. We'd splash water at the truly uptight campers. I added profanity into the community bibles so that the next group of readers had the privilege of reading the Book of Blow Job.

All and all, it was actually a good time. When Jesus wasn't involved. I get the feeling what we were doing probably was an affront to the almighty. But it was my damn summer...and you cannot force feed faith. You end up digging a trench and hoping the splash back wasn't going to be too awful. God and heaven above!

I caught myself rolling my eyes at that thought.




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