Nostalgic Moment #17

Of course I'd have to post on election day. It just seems almost a given. Right now thousands upon thousands of people are filing in line to place their vote while I sit here in my pajamas and contemplate the great big mess we're about to be in. Ultimately, I think the economy will pick up a little bit after this whole painful ordeal is over, but I'm not too sure about the future. Yes, I plan on voting even though I'm not that convinced that who I'm voting for is the right person for the job.

Truthfully, I've considered writing in my pick on the ballot because my candidate dropped out a few months ago. If you must know, I'm referring to Dennis Kucinich. The dude was abducted by aliens! He said so himself! That's the kind of rational thinking we need in the White House for crying out loud! OK, I'm just kidding... not about the aliens bit, just about the part that I'd ever vote for that quack.

I thought to myself, what would be the best way for me to kick-off election day on my blog? The answer came almost instantly... I should blog about camping! I hope you will enjoy reading three of my favorite camping memories:

1. CAMP TEFT - It was at a Fathers and Sons camp out many years ago when the first incident happened. After a fun-filled night of whatever goes on at these camp outs, my dad, my brother and I retired for the evening. As a little side note, I tend to suffer claustrophobia when I get in a tent. Something about waking up pinned against that thin layer of vinyl that reminds me of being inside a large egg. Anyways, sometime in the middle of the night, my dad woke up to see me clawing at the side of the tent. I was trying very hard to rip open the tent and get outside.

"What are you doing son?" my dad asked.

"I need to go to the camp teft," I mumbled.

My dad propped himself up on his elbows and stared at me. "The what?"

"I need to go to the camp teft," I said, clear desperation rising in my throat.

"I don't know what you're saying, Frank," he said.

"The camp teft! I need to go to the camp teft!"

"What is that?"

"Camp Teft! Camp Teft!"

"Spell it." I had my dad really confused by now.

"T.E.F.T. Teft!" I actually spelled it.

Finally my dad realized what most of you probably already realized. I was asleep and making no sense what-so-ever.

"Go back to sleep son," he said, sighing. To which I immediately plopped down on my sleeping bag and went to sleep. We never found out what the Camp Teft was, but for some reason I woke up in a wet sleeping bag. No I didn't! I was at least 11 or 12 years old! Come on people!

2. INJURY - Here's another camping story that occurred during a Fathers and Sons camp out. I honestly can't place what year this happened. For all I know, it was doing the same camp out when incident number 1 happened. We had just arrived at the campgrounds and my dad started pulling out our gear to set up for the evening. I remember him asking for help, but my brother and I ignored him. Instead we decided to grab our gloves and throw a baseball back and forth.

After a few tosses, the contest started to get a little heated. My brother and I fought quite a bit when were kids and it didn't take long for us to get in an argument. My dad continued to set-up, asked us to stop fighting and help out, but we were too involved in shouting at each other. For some reason, I kept making fun of the way Michael was throwing the ball and with each jab he tried to throw the ball harder, hoping to hurt me. Finally, I must have pushed him over the edge and in a fit of rage, Michael wound up, and threw the ball as hard as he could. Unfortunately, the ball left his hand at an angle and screamed through the air right at my dad. I still remember the sound of the ball hitting him in the leg and seeing him drop from view behind the car. I really can't describe to you the horror I felt wondering what sort of punishment my dad was going to dish out. Michael and I fell silent and probably prayed. I could always blame it on my brother, but I knew from experience that this approach wouldn't fly. We were both going to be caned for our actions. My dad, however, after righting himself and getting to his feet, just shook his head and went back to setting up our camp. Michael and I stared at each other, confused, but we didn't protest. We quietly dropped our gloves and went over to help.

3. FRONTIER PIES - So, I guess I don't have another platform for telling these stories. They all happened at a Fathers and Sons camp out when I was young. Without further ado I give you the final installment to this post. I think I might have been 14 or 15 when our stake decided that the best place for our camp out would be in a recently used cow pasture. Needless to say, it was a mine field full of cow patties. Everywhere we looked there were these little place mats of brown goodness. We had no clean spot to set up our tent, and so we set up the stakes in cow patties. They were everywhere! This is not an exaggeration. Throughout the entire camp, everyone could be seen high-stepping around the obstacles. It was completely unfun. We ate our food flanked by feces. (I thought a little alliteration would fit nicely there.)

Towards evening, some of the kids decided to start up a game of capture the flag which is almost a must at any camp. I eagerly joined in and soon the game began. There's something about competition that makes one forget about side-stepping those low-rising, fly-infested hurdles. I was no different. I traipsed through the field trying to help my team until the unthinkable happened. I lost my balance and collapsed head first into a mound of something warm and soft. Since we didn't have any shampoo, I had to settle for water to wash the gunk out of my hair. It really didn't do a good job. That had to be the most miserable camping experience of my life.

Now get out there and vote!