Questions for Men about Man-Making

Question 12. Going Camping or to Camp

The question is, did you ever go to camp? If ever there was an experience in which men can have an impact on boys, going to camp is it. Being packed off to the woods for a week or more, living in strange circumstances, and being left to the mercy of a bunch of older males is certainly transforming for many a boy.

I'm looking for stories from both the perspective of being a camper and that of camp counselor. What all camp stories have in common is that there are usually older men influencing the boys.

I'd also like to hear a story about going hunting or fishing. Maybe something like a couple of boys and some men heading off to shoot a bird or deer, or being stuck in a fishing boat and having to figure out how to pee.

I very dimly remember one story where, after shooting his first deer, the grandfather cuts the deer open, put his hands inside the deer and then smears the deer's blood on the boy's face in a rite-of-passage statement of both the boys accomplishment and the bond between the boy and the deer… memorable. I don't have any experiences like that...and that's another story.

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BILL - 25: When I was growing up I was lucky to have a father that had earned the eagle scout award, so as a family we camped every summer until I was in the 6th grade. I had great memories of starting the road of cub scouts and a few short lived years in boy scouts. I never became an eagle scout, but that didn't matter because my father had already given me the gift of living with nature. We always had our 4 person orange canvas tent with aluminum drop poles that held up the tent all around. When we got older my father bought me and my brother our own one man tents that we set up next to the famiy orange tent. We always used park campgrounds and took the hot chocolate late night tour with the park ranger. I loved each experience and looked forward to every trip we took.

Cub scouts and Boy Scouts helped me as well in my community of male models. We got together for meetings about the next jubilee to learn how to tie knots as a team with rope the size of your fist. Some boys would hold one end of the rope and other boys would run the rope over and through to create the knot. We learned first aid together with some help from a scout mom and earned merit badges by demonstrating the skills we learned within our troop. I remember memorizing the boy scout motto and how important words like truth, responsibility, loyalty, honesty, bravery, courage, and other words that meant you were learning to be a man of honor in the brotherhood of the boy scouts. In cub scouts you walked over the bridge of light to receive your arrow of light and drink the buffalo's blood, which turned out to be V8 tomato juice, but all this meant that you were ready for the next challenge and next change in your life from boyhood to manhood.

Looking back on these memories helps me to remember the men that were models in my life. There are times I have anger about my father, and I don't know why, but I remember that my father gave me a good start. He still tries to support me in my growth as a man, even when I have been mad at him. I am glad that I still have time to share with my father man to man, and now for the first time in my life, Father to Father. I would also like to thank my wife for making me a Father on March 9th 2002 at 3:10 am.

EARL W. - 73: As a young boy, visiting my Dad's boyhood home in Conde, South Dakota, I was expected to go out shooting pheasants with dad and his old boyhood pals. The entire scene was not to my liking at the time. Big old spooky house. Old grandma I'd never met before. Lots of rude, crude, family members who were rough and tumble next to a only child like myself. Being pretty much a momma's boy, I declined the invite, much to my dad's disappointment. This was to have been a rite of passage and I had failed. I don't remember it bothering me much, however, as my Dad had failed me plenty of times already himself.

Ron - 49: Early camping in my life began when I was 6 or 7 yrs old. It was the permission given by my mother and father to sleep over in small "whares" (bush shelters) and cook over fires in the bush at the back of our home. The bush, streams, and fields were endless in my 7yr old world. The permission and encouragement to venture out boldly into nature, sometimes with adults, but usually alone or with a friends and camp, developed the deep, deep understanding that nature was my friend and would nurture my spirit and body. This camp experience socialized our "gang of 4", and served as our initiation into the primal world, of self-reliance, risk, consequence, simplicity and killing for sustenance, always only for sustenance. Ritual and symbol naturally created themselves and held huge significance.

Camping in my early teens was the same but included an enquiry into bodies and sexuality. Without shame or embarrassment, we began an enquiry into our changing bodies. We danced naked around fires, discussed and discovered hair, erections, fantasy, comparison and distinction. On reflection, it was very healthy and necessary.

It seems that our fathers and mothers were present on the fringe of all our camping experiences caring, mindful, guiding and giving us "hands off" direction and liberty. We felt very wild and free. I don't think any of us had shoes (that we chose to wear) until we were about 10 yrs old. All of these qualities were (and are) carried into my ocean sailing, kayaking, climbing and trekking, and now of course my work in community and relationship building.

Steve S. - 53: Thinking about camping experiences, my mind drifted back to the memory of 1964, and an early fall high school church group retreat. Several Baptist churches had sent high school kids to the Camp for a fun-filled weekend of born-again spirituality and repressed sexuality.

Earlier in that week, the big toe on my right foot had been operated on to correct an ingrown toenail. The thing had been so messed up the doctor had to remove half the toenail and a lot of infected flesh. Because of this treatment, I had to wear a tennis shoe from which at least half of the end had been cut away to make room for the bandaging.

When we got to camp, and after cabins and bunks were assigned, I hobbled behind the rest of the campers to the dining room / activities center for orientation and the classic camp dinner of shredded carrots and pineapple lime Jell-O, ham slices, and green beans, with Kool-Aid. Yum-yum!

During the first evening's get-acquainted games in the dinning hall everyone was milling around forming circles or squares or partnering off based on some passage of Scripture that was taped to the backs our shirts or blouses. I didn't participate because my foot was throbbing so much. I just stood against the serving line counter minding my own business, accepting the attention of several pretty girls when this fat, wise-assed, piggy-eyed, troglodyte, jazzed on way too much Kool-Aide decided to stomp my bandaged foot just for the fun of it. My big toe was the size of a small lemon. The color of the wrap, due to the use of Ceptcol as a disinfectant, was the color of a lemon too. I think my wearing that worn out old black low-top Penny's sneaker on my post-operative foot must have screamed out to him, summoned him to do it.

The next thing I remember is the young and pretty camp nurse kneeling over me while around us both were all the faces of my fellow campers, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. I had fainted dead away. As Piggy was dragged away by his ear, she put one hand on my chest telling me not to move and lifted my eye-lid to check for dilation. And as she did so her blouse gaped and I was treated to the loveliest sight. In my view were the most beautiful breasts I think I have ever seen, from now to the present. Cupped by a lacy pink bra that too fell away, almost to her pink nipples, I remember how round and soft and unblemished they appeared to me. And, as I lay on that dusty floor, I recall that more than my foot was throbbing.

She cradled my head and asked me how I was doing. 'Wow, pink bra.' was my only thought. I don't remember what I said...only what I was seeing. Talk about the conflicted feelings of a teenager! I do remember my destiny changing in that instant. I was moved from my cabin to the nurse's cabin where I had a bunk in the treatment room, just one door from the little chamber that was her sleeping room. I recall how she swayed and giggled in her bathrobe as she moved between the bathroom with its shower, and her room that evening. Late that evening while she showered, I exercised my imagination and released the pressure that had been building from the moment I had laid eyes on the pink bra and what lie within.

I remember how later, she came to sit on the edge of my bunk, smelling of soap and humid beneath her robe, to inquire as to how I felt. I felt shy, and nearly speechless with longing as I lay under the sheet in my T-shirt and shorts. The pretty young nurse changed the dressing on my foot that night as I, careful not to get caught looking, was again treated to flashes of breasts and even the inside of her thighs. She was the silver lining in my cloud of pain that whole weekend. It was the best church camp session of my life.

Mark O. - 58: I was a camp counselor at a church camp for three weeks during my 11th and 12th grades. I had 6 campers; they were 7th and 8th graders. Part of my role was to keep them in line, yet let them go. Church camp is the place where many kids have their first dating experience. Many of the girls actually were the most aggressive in making the "date," mostly to just hold hands and walk off into the woods. In some cases, kids actually have their first kiss at church camp. It is a safe place after all.

One night, I took it on myself to make sure the kids know what a kiss was all about, what a French kiss is, an ear kiss and so on. The campers lay speechless in their bunks and listened to every word of what I was saying. I knew at some level that church camp was not the place to talk about sex, but it actually turned out to be the best place. Being in an all male cabin, with the lights off, and an older male instructing them in what it's all about was perfect.

After sharing this secret information, I left the cabin in total silence as the boys pretended to be asleep. But I hung out by the back window to hear their reaction after I left. It was fun and interesting to hear how they, each in there own way, tried to assimilate this new and important information from an adult.

Ian - 28, Canada: I am 28 years old and I have Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (AD/HD). When I was about 7 years old I was involved in a local cub scouts program and one weekend we went out with other chapters for a camping trip in the woods. I remember there were dozens of groups out there camping, cooking, hiking, and practicing outdoor survival skills.

I remember the adult who led our group (our "Akela"). He was a gentle man with a patient but firm demeanor. He taught us how to make a fire without matches using the lens from a pair of glasses. It was very interesting and I think my love for the outdoors may have begun at this point in my life.

One evening, five or six of the other boys in my group and I were going to sleep in a big tent that we shared together. I was restless and was amusing myself by making jokes and trying to get a laugh from the other boys. What I was really doing was keeping everybody else up and being a disturber in the process. This probably went on for a while, because the next thing I remember is that my father was opening the zippered door of our tent and was asking me to come out with him.

He took me for a short walk to the grownups' tent where he and I sat on chairs and watched a little black and white TV. I clearly remember how my dad treated me that night. I knew that I had done something wrong, made a mistake, gotten into trouble, but I knew that my dad loved me, forgave me and had patience for me and my misbehaviour. He didn't say much, but those moments of silence taught me a lot about how men treat one another when they care.

Living with AD/HD certainly has not been easy. It caused me many problems in my youth as well as in my adolescence and adult years. Sometimes I worry that I missed the "manhood boat" because I feel immature relative to a lot of the other men my age. I wonder if I will ever "grow up". But there is one thing I have no doubt about -- how I would treat another person who has to share the burden of this disorder. I would be patient, gentle and forgiving, but firm and helpful in the best way that I knew how.

Stephen R. - 50: I have been in many camps in my life but the story I want to tell now is of my first real camp. Ages are a bit hazy now that I am 50 but I think I was about twelve. I was in sea scouts in Nelson New Zealand and the camp was to be on an island in Nelson harbor. The officer who was leading the camp could not come until Saturday and so a senior boy around 16 or 17 was delegated to lead us over to the island on Friday night. He was experienced in bush craft and seamanship and mature for his age. His nickname was Chook. I was scared of him.

A storm was clearly brewing when we arrived at the boatshed but Chook was determined to set out for the island, about 1.5 Km of rowing away. We put our 18 foot row boat in and as the storm grew closer, headed for the island. The sea was pretty rough and it was getting darker and colder and wetter. We made it to the island and landed on a shingle beach with lots of breaking waves. We unloaded the gear and carried it up off the beach. It was very hard work for a 12 year old and only accomplished with much swearing and ordering on Chook's part. I was scared and tired from the trip. As we were unloading the storm broke with lightning, thunder, wind and rain. I was very scared but even though he yelled and growled at us greenhorns, I guess I trusted Chook because I did not run and hide.

I vividly remember standing on a concrete sea barrier looking back towards the Nelson port area as a flash of forked lightning lit the sky. I felt so alive. More alive than at any time in my life till then. The contrast between being tucked up in my bed a mere 1.5 Km away as the crow flies and standing wet and cold and scared at the mercy of the elements was thrillingly stark. Although I was cold and scared and uncomfortable, I still had faith in Chook and eventually, the difficult time came to an end. There was a cabin with wooden sleeping shelves, and a fireplace, near where we landed and we loaded the gear in there and dried off. The rest of that night is now hazy but I know that I did not enjoy it because of my fear of Chook. The officer arrived the next day and I was very relieved as he was a much gentler man and I had a lot of confidence in him. I enjoyed the rest of the camp and many more on that island over the years.

I suppose that this experience should have put me off camping forever but I think instead, it may have whetted my appetite because I have always enjoyed camping out since. I think I also learned that with application and fortitude even the most difficult situations can be endured and even enjoyed… if only in hindsight.

Dean - 32: I went to camp when I was 17 years old with a bunch of juvenile delinquents. We played all kinds of games involving trust. Falling into 8 guys arms while standing 6 feet above them etc. One adventure we went on involved the men gathering the boys at about 10 PM and taking us way out in the woods. It was near the Canadian border and it was winter. We took turns blindfolding each other and leading the blind guy further out into the woods.

The coolest thing was when all the boys and men took a very hot sauna. We stayed in there for about a half an hour until the thought of jumping in a frozen lake actually sounded good. We were all naked wearing only socks.... on our feet...that is. We left the sauna and walked down to the lake thru the snow where the men had a 3-foot square cut in the ice. Two men stood on each side of the hole and, one at a time, they grabbed each of us by the arms and dipped us in the 35-degree water. We were held there briefly and then yanked us out. We then all stood out on the lake butt naked, with a full moon, comfortably enjoying the beautiful evening. About 20 minutes went buy and then we went in. It was very memorable.

Mark S.- 55: I remember going to Boy's Camp in Iowa when I was probably 11-12 years old. I thought everything was so dark and I was homesick for the first few days. We needed to get up at 5:00am to salute the flag, say the Pledge of Allegiance, etc, and only after that to get breakfast. The people directing the show were probably in their early 20's and did a "show" each day where they'd embarrass several of the kids. One time they intercepted a letter home from one of our troops and called him up in front of everyone to read the letter out loud in front of everyone. The reader said this "big bambino of an idiot keeps doing X,Y, and Z every day," or embarrassing words to that effect. It was horrible.

I was afraid of lots of things but when the Indian war party went by all the tents at night, after we were told to stay in our tents all night. That's when I really wondered what I was doing there. I remember that by the end of the week I'd become this "hardened" soldier and had some good times the last few days.

Chris - ??: My kids' school took 5th grade kids away for a few days each year to a nature camp-- get them away on field outings, see it up close with a guided walk and group activities. They made it work by getting parents to volunteer as chaperones and I took on a group of a half dozen boys (including my son Colin). I don't remember it as being unique or very special, but I remember my son telling me about his impressions of that trip many years later.

These boys were, naturally, bouncing off the rock walls for much of the trip. I remember being firm but fair and getting them organized, ready, and behaving appropriately through much of the camp. Of the boys that I chaperoned, was "that kid" -- you know him because every school has him. He was a bully, loud, ADD and uncontrolled, giving lip to everyone and disrespectful of any adult. The woman that organized the trip actually apologized in advance when she included him in my little pack. But even he fell in line. Other groups couldn't seem to pull it together like we did-- despite the "reputation" of the boys.

Years later my son commented on the trip and shared with me why "he" thought the boys towed the line so well. He reminded me that I have a speech habit with younger boys that I take for granted. I allowed them to call me "Chris" but I inevitably referred to them by their first name when they were behaving and by "Mr. McChesney, Mr. Dow, or Mr. Johnson when they were out of step with the drill. But when I spoke to them or referred to them in a group setting-- to them or in front of the other adults, I referred to them using the term "Gentlemen" rather than boys... Colin told me years later they always respected being treated like young men rather than being treated like kids.

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