I have a lot of good memories with my parents, but they were never the camping type. Maybe they subconsciously rose above their ancestorial roots who lived in tents and slept fireside to keep warm? Or, maybe we are just pampered and like air conditioning and pillows. Either way, we didn’t go camping. When we went on vacations in the mountains, we would rent a comfy hotel room and drive to see the pretty creek the next day. We did not camp beside it. When my dad and I went fishing, we walked from the pier or pond, put the cooler back into his truck, and drove home. There was no weekend fishing trip.

I remember bringing tall kitchen chairs into the living room so I could tie a bedsheet between them to make a tent. Of course, it was uncomfortable, and the mess never lasted because it blocked the TV, and you couldn’t take the cushions off the couch because ‘cushions don’t belong on the floor.’ It’s funny how things, like TV and couch cushions, take priority over imagination and fun. But I do vaguely remember that tent. 

What was fun when you were a kid, though? My parents never pushed me to do anything I didn’t feel comfortable doing or didn’t show much passion towards, so I was only in the Boy Scouts briefly. I remember wearing uncomfortable pants even though everyone else wore jeans. I remember never earning the same badges the other kids had, but I remember going to Camp Tuscarora in Four Oaks with the rest of the Boy Scouts. I remember not wanting to be left alone. I remember being good at some things. I think it is Indian foot wrestling. I was good at that. I remember being terrible at most things. It was mostly everything else we did those weekends. I always lived in fear, so I missed out on so much. I wasn’t in Boy Scouts for very long. 

There were other times that I remember camping. I remember camping outside with my cousin, uncle, and aunt in their backyard when I was little. It was a four-person tent, and I was excited. Until, of course, nighttime came, and you realized how small a tent is. It was hot and crowded. No one was comfortable. It was a cute experience, and they tried to do something fun for us. That’s what truly means the most to me now and meant the most then, as well.    

I remember going camping in college as well. My roommate and a bunch of our friends camped out on the beach. Of course, we were in college, so someone had a guitar. We cooked food over the fire. We laughed. We inevitably got tired. I slept in my truck. That was not ‘camping,’ but it was. 

Now that I am married with kids, I am a grillmaster. I take that back, I like to think I am as good at cooking as those people on TikTok. When I light the charcoal grill outside, my youngest son adorably says we are camping. If he expresses interest in camping, I will care less about my comfort and more about the experiences that my family will share. I’ll bring my oldest son and wife along, and we’ll all uncomfortably sleep in our four-person tent, hopefully making up for lost time and making memories to last our lifetimes.

Images:

Blanket Fort by Chris Barr from the valley, bat – IMAGE_359, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2776557

Boy Scout Camp, October 2004 by Kenneth Hynek – originally posted to Flickr as Pic of the Day #1019, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8631293

Camping destination in Sri Lanka by Dilanthaonline – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=89918705