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They just were not a part of camp society, And they did not seem particularly bright. Yet one day they had made their intentions clear, using the
prized sailboat as a raft, Remorselessly removing cement block and mast, Showing no regard for camp traditions of property rights,
and Ignoring all attempts to enlighten them in this matter,
except the invoking of authority. At summer camp, rumors of intended revenge shortly precede
the actual event, Permitting time for concern and mental preparation. Far too late for a course in martial arts or construction
of anti-tractor defenses, Survival in summer camp, hinges only upon your history and
your head. My real training consisted of growing up the second of four
brothers, Wrestling for fun and food, Learning moves and scams by observation and reflex, Standing regularly in the corner as punishment, well
deserved. When the lights suddenly went out, I was prepared. Already the scam was part of the worldly knowledge of camp
males: Sneak quietly into utility area of dorm, after campers are
asleep, Loosen main fuse on moonless night, attack sleeping victim
in total blackness. In instant reaction, I slipped from my cot, and turned it
noiselessly on its side. Behind this barrier, I armed myself with the weapons at
hand: Right-Guard Deodorant spray in left hand, Bristol-Meyers Foamy Shaving Cream in the right. The battle itself was acute and decisive. When blind contact with the reoriented cot evoked a murmur
of surprise, I opened fire. Holding off the left flank with Right-Guard, I aimed
Shaving Cream for the head area. It spurted forth valiantly, volley after volley, mound upon
foamy mound. “That’s enough,” I heard a voice say in surrender. “I give
up.” The face, not yet seen, was obscured by drippy white sheets
of lather. I connected the body hulk and voice to one of the Hartland
Boys. His slim friend stooped quietly nearby, looking humble. The hulky guy, by coincidence, had the same name as my
brother, Bill. He and his quiet friend, Ray, turned out to be pretty
sincere and gentle fellows. I cannot remember if we shared the sailboat for the rest of
the summer. It just no longer mattered. |
