Dear Wally #49 Summer Camp

Summer Camp

Dear Wally:
My 13 year old nephew Gardiner is going off to summer camp (Camp Flying Cloud) for first time. It’s a ‘wilderness camp’ in Vermont and he’s never really spent much time outside. He’s more of a gameboy-and-ice cream kind of kid. (No matches allowed, the mail comes in once a day in a garbage can and they have to forage for food and non-poisonous berries, miles from the nearest road, etc.). Any advice on how I might write a letter to console him? I’m really fond of the kid. I don’t want him to get jungle rot, or dysentery, or malaria or get mauled by a wild animal. Help!
-Uncle Charlie

Dear Uncle Charlie:
This camp business sounds like the classic bait and switch-- they sell the underage kid on a ‘wilderness retreat,’ then make him and his friends hunt and trap on their Vermont woods so THEY can survive the winter. And then charge the parents for the experience! They avoid providing food or shelter or wifi by spinning it as ‘green.’ Wow. What a scam! It’s called an underage labor camp and the International Labor Organization has strict regulations on such things. There should be laws against summer sleep away camp.
But seriously, rest easy. This will be an experience he will remember for the rest of his life. He will draw on this well of resourcefulness for many years and bond with the other inmates, creating lasting friendships (Bloods? Cripts?). You are the only one worried here. Let it go. Fire off a volley of support that touches on the things 13 year old boys care about, to wit: Bathroom humor, fear, and your own experiences at summer camp on the way to manhood.
Anyhoo, here’s a letter template for you! Change it as you see fit.
--Wally
July 10, 2009
Dear Gardner:
Welcome to summer camp . I was going to send you a jack knife so you could kill something wild but your mom said no knives were allowed. Are you supposed to use your fingernails to scratch out the eyes of a charging grizzly bear? Ummm, good luck with that. I suggest screaming like a girl and shoving the kid next to you, the chubby foreign kid who doesn’t speak English too good, in its path. So if you get mauled, don’t blame me, blame your mom who wouldn’t let me help you defend yourself.
She also said you don’t have any matches to start the fires you need to cook.
What the…?
How much is this camp, anyway? Do you get a hot pot and a generator or are you rubbing two sticks together like a hobo under the interstate bridge? Fire by stick, as a business model, didn’t work for the Neanderthals—look what happened to them—they went extinct and their women were extremely hairy. Lesson learned (finally). I’ve enclosed a lighter. Don’t let the guard see it.
You are welcome.
Do you get water, or do you have to make that too? If so, remember the formula: 2 parts hydrogen, 1 part oxygen. Don't screw this up or you will burn off your eyebrows.
What about a solar powered soft-serve ice cream machine? Should I try to mail you one of those or wont it fit in the daily mail garbage can?
Do they put mints on the rock you use for a pillow when room service turns down your bed of moose urine soaked twigs at night?
Your little sister Whitney says she misses you.
NOT.
I bet the feeling is mutual. She has taken your room and is living in it. I heard she painted it pink and put your Gameboys on Ebay. Don’t tell the other campers you will return to a pink bedroom with a Jonas’ Brothers poster on the wall or you may well be hung up by your underwear on a branch in the pine forest and left to rot (at least that’s what happened to me).
Look out for wolverines. They are rare in Vermont but if one escaped from a Russian zoo, it would probably head straight for camp Flying Cloud. It’s only 6,000 miles—an easy trot. (I understand you are 1 mile or more from the nearest road. That’s a long way to have your shrieks heard but maybe if the wind is right, some passerby by might hear you. Maybe. If not, and a wolverine gets you, can I have your bike?) I hear wolverines seek out small boys sleeping in tents and eat them from the inside out. Sweet dreams.
When I was a kid I went to Camp Itchybutt. It was fun. Until I got kicked out for mooning the girl’s camp. (And stealing the motorboat) (And sneaking into the kitchen and eating the Captain Crunch) (And lighting my farts) (And lighting my councilor’s farts when they slept).
I’m sure your experience will be much richer. Plus you probably wont get dragged down to the lake and beaten with the oars by the older campers. That part of my camp experience wasn’t in the brochure...
This will be a unique , life forming experience. At the end of your 3 weeks you will probably realize that a desk job after college maybe isn’t all that bad. Versus being out in the wild eating poisonous berries and getting crippling diarrhea.
Well, I hope you make it out alive. I’m rather fond of you.
Hey--if you scout a good place out there in the wilderness to slam up a Walmart, let me know so I can buy the property and clear cut it!
Like I always say, “What good is nature if there isn’t a nearby parking lot to view it from?
Love,
Uncle Charlie.

Got a question for our advice columnist or just want a pep talk for your camp-bound kid? Contact him at cwn4@aol.com