”Please, Dad,” Patrick said.
I put my duffle bag on the floor. I had just returned from annual training with the Air National Guard and I hadn’t had a chance to change from my uniform.
During the summer, my parents frequently took their motor home to the lake, but they never went alone. My brothers and sisters packed up their kids and went with them. Numbering almost 25 with my siblings, my mom and dad and 14 kids, we didn’t just occupy a campsite. We invaded it, and my brood wanted to go, too.
“Patrick, I’ve been camping for the last two weeks.” I had spent the last 14 days in the desert of eastern Colorado. I wanted sheets, air conditioning and, above all, plumbing with showers and cool running water to slake my thirst.
“Please, Dad,” Stacy said.
I thought of my refrigerator with all the treasures inside. No more military chow. I almost licked my lips.
“Please, Dad,” Laura said, wearing her swimsuit when she ran into the living room.
I cast a wistful glance toward my shower, feeling its siren song, but my resolve melted like a sand castle in the rain.
“OK, but if one person misbehaves, we’re coming home.”
That night, I tucked Stacy and Laura into their sleeping bags while Patrick went night fishing with his cousins and my brother. “What did you two do today that you liked best?”
“I liked swimming the best,” Stacy said after a big yawn that made Laura yawn too.
“How about you, Little Bit?” I asked Laura.
“I went swimming, threw rocks in the lake, played on the playground and toasted marshmallows. I like camping the best.” She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. “Thanks, Dad.”
This is what camping should be.
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.