Stuff I Learned from Not Going to Summer Camp

There’s something about spending your childhood summers away at camp that just can’t be communicated to people who aren’t “camp people.” Maybe it’s the camaraderie, the friendships, or the singular experience of being away from your parents for an extended period of time.

I wouldn’t know, since I never went to camp. While you were learning how to make cornhusk dolls from a socially challenged teenager, I was at home complaining to my parents about being bo-ored.

This is not to say that there was no takeaway from my experience—I learned a lot during those long summers at home. Who needs to learn useless crap like archery and how to socially interact with your peers when you can learn . . .

Not from living with my own, of course—my family was boringly nuclear. I learned what it was like to provide housing to extended relatives and adult children from watching Mama’s Family. One day the time will come for me to actually take in needy relatives, and I just hope that there’s a canned laugh track for the beer-soaked insults I hurl at them.

While you were praying to the spirit of a fictional Indian chief that your bunkmate wouldn’t discover your private stash of mini Snickers bars, I was learning that the best way to keep your roommates from eating your peanut butter is to stick your dirty finger in it in their presence.

You may be able to make a log cabin out of popsicle sticks, but can you make a chaise lounge out of Styrofoam blocks, hot glue, and seven yards of tulle? I can.

Also, how to properly dance at Grateful Dead shows.

This is something that I learned through actual experience rather than from seeing it on TV. OR DID I?