What is the perfect word that matches hell? Why, it's camping! Camping is the purest form of hell. In fact, camping and hell go hand in hand. A perfect marriage made in hell, so to speak...) In fact, I bet while God was busy creating the woods and all the cute little birdies, Satan was in his basement making up plans for the first campsite on earth.
I know that camping would not be my first idea of a fun summer holiday. I'd much rather prefer sitting at home picking my toes or watching Baywatch reruns, lovingly caressing my remote control. That sure sounds like a perfect holiday to me.
There were a few problems with our first camping expedition. Some of them were minor but most of them were major. The first problem was that you cannot put much else besides the cooler in the trunk of a Pontiac Sunbird. If you can manage to get the cooler in the trunk (with the help of a crowbar and some vaseline) you're lucky. The other few odds and ends (like the tents, pillows, sleeping bags etc.) are stuffed in-between the family members in the car, with a large bottle of aspirin wedged securely between my legs. Luckily, we decided not to bring the cat or I would have had to stick her on top of my head.
Of course, our arrival at the campground in Algonquin Park coincided perfectly with the arrival of my wife's P.M.S. I knew I was in for quite the camping experience when we began to try to put up our tent. I have enough trouble trying to tie my shoelaces. Anyway, I made the mistake of asking my wife a question about putting up the tent (something along the lines of "Where does this thing go?") and her replying that I was "brain dead". Maybe I'm just being too sensitive here but I believe calling your husband brain dead at the start of a camping trip is not the best way to
start a holiday.
We finally got the tent up after my youngest son helped my wife assemble it while I sat in the car and sulked for a couple of hours. I will not go into detail here about the struggles we went through to get the campfire going on the first evening or the struggles we had to put out the campfire five minutes later.
The first night in our tent was not a pleasant experience. First of all, I knew I wasn't going to get what I wanted, as my two sons were wedged in-between my wife and I. Finally after a hectic day, I managed to relax and was ready for a good night of sleep. Wanting the experience of true campers, my wife had decided we would not bring anything remotely comfortable to lay on. Anyway, our sleeping bags were at least a good quarter inch thick. After a few hours I almost didn't mind the roots of the tree digging into
my back.
Within a minute of closing my eyes I was ready to drift off into dreamland and get out of the damn campsite. Then I heard a sound. Not actually a sound but a noise. My oldest son had just dozed off and he was snoring very loudly. I shook him gently but he kept on snoring. I shook him gently and he kept on snoring. I elbowed him in the ribcage and he whimpered. It was at this point I realized it wasn't him snoring. It wasn't my other son or my wife snoring either. I knew it wasn't me snoring as I hadn't fallen asleep yet...
I finally realized the snoring was coming from a tent about five feet away from ours. I don't mind having neighbors but this was ridiculous. This man was really good at snoring. If there was snoring in the Olympics he'd get perfect marks. As I laid there awake hour after hour, I started asking God to forgive me for all of my sins and to stop that goddamn bastard from snoring so loudly. My prayers went unanswered once again. Finally, in the middle of the night, I fell asleep, only to be woken up by my youngest son. He grabbed onto my wife's arm and cried out "Mom, there's a bear! There's a bear! It's right outside our tent!!!" I thought to myself, "Great, first I have to battle my wife's P.M.S. and now I have to battle a bear." The only weapon in the tent was a plastic fork and one of the teeth on it was broken. I soon realized that what my son was hearing was not an enraged bear but our beloved neighbor happily snoring the night away.
I'll always remember my first night of camping. For the sake of the children and my own sanity I put on a happy face that morning as the thunder rolled in and the rain poured down on our happy little piece of paradise. Naturally, to start off this beautiful morning it started to rain. In fact, this rainstorm was what my one son called a "real doozy", whatever that means, I knew it wasn't good. Rain was not going to dampen my day, although deep within the recesses of my brain I heard those magical words, "I am not a happy camper".
We decided we would either sit in our damp tent playing cards all day (while starving to death) or go to a restaurant. We ran like hell to the car and drove off like a bolt of lightning. As we sat inside the lovely restaurant eating our delicious breakfast and drinking the best coffee my wife and I had ever had, it finally hit me. I looked over at my wife and she did not have single trace of P.M.S. She was happy, contented, relaxed.
My two sons were in a great mood and not a single punch was thrown. They almost liked each other! This was now a real holiday. Sitting in a warm, cozy restaurant being served. Not a single mosquito to swat. Not a single care in the world. I was now experiencing the perfect family vacation. My wife has decided that we will be going camping again this summer and I'm only going to do one thing differently from last year. I'm going to pray for lots
of rain.
Larry Graves
CKA Super Elite 
