Xavier Walton’s First Kiss
Phil Wohl
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2005 Phil Wohl
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CONTENTS
Hello
Early
Schools In
Third Grade Marriage
Girls Are Weird
Summer Leavin’ I
Summer Leavin’ II
Bunk 12 Rules!
Blue Team
Sharin’ Shari
Punch in the Dark
Holding Hands
Eyes Closed
Goodbye
Hello
Kids don’t have it easy. It’s hard enough having parents and teachers looking over your shoulder every day, but life becomes even more difficult when your age jumps up into double-digits.
If you told me a year ago that I would kiss a girl when I was 12, then I would have either laughed at you or started to sweat. Girls have always been a puzzle of which I have failed to connect the pieces. They are so complicated and emotional that the average dude has absolutely no chance to get within shouting range.
Going to away to camp seemed to make things a bit easier for me. The pressure of school and home life seemed to calm down and socializing seemed to become a way of life.
My name is Xavier Walton and this is the story of my first kiss.
Early
I don’t remember much about being born but I hear it’s quite a traumatic experience. We learn a lot about ourselves during the first few years, although I’m not sure how screaming and crying enters into that equation.
The babies that I have observed scream and cry all of the time, between being cute and trying to find any sense of balance. Life has come a long way from wanting a fresh diaper or warm bottle, to toasting my own Pop Tarts and managing bathroom trips.
I remember the first time I got on a bicycle and pedaled my way to freedom. It took my older sister months to wean herself off training wheels but I wanted to make my mark on the world. Lucky for me, my vision didn’t include wobbling and falling on my head; that definitely wasn’t the impression I was trying to make on the kids in the neighborhood.
My dad was a bit skittish when he put me on top of the bike. I had watched my sister, Gail, fall at least a dozen times and the last fall was really sticking in my mind. She was heading down the driveway and I was near the garage throwing a pink rubber ball to myself.
Gail looked back at me like she knew something was going to happen. My dad told her that she is “about as smooth as dried concrete.” I have never even seen wet concrete -- that stuff is probably all gooey and grainy and the dust clogs your nose and make your mouth feel like you ate chalk.
I once new a little kid in pre-school that ate chalk one day. I’m not really sure why we had chalk at the day car center anyway, because the adults were just looking after us, not teaching anything. The teacher asked the four year-old, “Why did you eat the chalk?” The kid replied, “I like yellow.” Couldn’t argue with that.
Getting back to my sister and her huge daredevil bike accident… Gail seemed to be suspended in mid-air like wires were attached to her sweatshirt from the white, puffy clouds. Clouds weren’t made to be sturdy and Gail seemed to drop like she had fallen into a pool. Even though she seemed to be falling in slow motion, I was way too far away and small to stop her from crashing to the ground.
I almost started laughing at the awkwardness of the fall, but I sprinted over to Gail once that I saw she was in pain. Two hours later she came home with a cast on her left arm and a doctor-ordered break from letting the bike ride her.
School’s In
I still remember my first day of school like it was yesterday. Actually, it was only about six years ago. The 23 kids in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class were much more concerned with charging out to the playground than wondering about what girl liked what boy.
The whole thing was pretty overwhelming at first but we got the hang of the routine after a while. School seemed to be a lot more organized than things were at home. My mom seemed to be juggling so many different tasks that she probably should have painted her face white and wore a red nose for the amusement.
Every kid had an issue that he or she had to deal with during the day. Melvin Garrett had trouble unbuttoning his pants and thus created a danger every time he went to the bathroom. Once he realized that he could use his zipper to go number one, much of the drama and clean up of the event was calmed. Now that I think about it his aim was pretty shoddy and he had to be told repeatedly to pick the sit up and then put it back down after each use.
Julia Sanderson was the Princess of Glue back in the first grade. She found more things to glue herself than Jelly Belly has jellybean flavors. We were outside participating in a fire drill one spring day and were waiting for the bell to signal us we could come back inside.
Mrs. O’Donnell was an older lady that knew how to control her class. We were stacked together in two straight lines and every kid had a pair; but, with 23 kids in the class and no one absent, the even-numbered structure gave our teacher cause for pause.
We looked around and saw Julia leaning against the side of the building. It was obvious by the smile on her face that she didn’t have any attachment issues. Her skin must have been as sticky as a flytrap by the time she moved on to second grade.
Brad Charlton picked his nose about as often as the rest of us added numbers together. The simple math for Brad was that he had entirely too much mucus collecting in his nostrils and it was his sole duty to excavate the green gook. Mrs. O’Donnell even gave him his own box of Kleenex after repeated attempts to keep his fingers away from the middle of his face failed miserably.
The last character in my first grade class was Kimberly Carter. While most kids in our class would park themselves at the lunch table and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with milk, Kim often dined on her hair. She must have used strawberry-scented shampoo or even dipped her hair on a vat of chocolate, because her hair apparently tasted much better than it looked. Maybe she confused her locks for a steaming bowl of spaghetti -- or maybe, just maybe, she was a few trading cards short of a full set – if you know what I mean.
When I first went to Twin Lakes Elementary School, it was very common for boys and girls to get together and play after school. I had this one friend named Robin Diamond that lived around the corner from me and was in Mrs. Handley’s class.
At six years old, we didn’t have boy/girl thoughts in our heads. I think we were just happy to be able to ride out bikes around the corner by ourselves and play together. Our time together consisted of playing on the swing and slide in her backyard and talking about nothing more than TV shows, candy, and cookies. Not once did I ever think about kissing Robin Diamond, although she was quite sparkly and had shiny hair.
By the beginning of second grade the division between boys and girls was starting to form. I’m not sure if the parents were nervous about their own issues, but Robin was rarely in her backyard waiting for me after the summer of first grade.
After I rode by her house a few times with no luck, I saw Robin looking at me from her window. She waived at me to come so she could talk to me, so I dropped my book on the grass near the sidewalk and ran toward the window. I walked into the dirt of the planting bed and she said, “My mother wants me to play with girls. I replied, “Why?” She countered, “I’m not sure but I can’t play with you anymore.”
With that her mother called her from the other room and she closed the window and disappeared from sight. I tried to approach her on the playground a few times after that but her girlfriends seemed to create a barrier so I couldn’t get near her. One girl, Sally Hickman, even said to me once, “No boys allowed, Xavier.”
“No boys allowed in what?” I thought. No boys allowed in that patch of grass? No boys allowed in your toxic air? No boys allowed in your stupid girls club? What did I do to deserve such treatment? What was all of the commotion about, anyway? Why are boys and girls so different? I am still not so sure of the answers to these questions. I’ll get back to you if I ever get a good answer.
Third Grade Marriage
Even though there are a few divorced couples in our town, the majority of kids have two married parents in the house. This gives most kids an idea of what it for male and females to be together.
My parents get along pretty well, so my thoughts about going out with girls are pretty good. Third grade seemed to be a relationship starting point for a few of my classmates. I was so far from really growing up that I was pretty embarrassed by many of the things that I saw that year.
My best friend at school was Gary Brown. Gary and I had been in the same class for all three years at Twin Lakes Elementary and we were best friends. All of the girls loved Gary and his cool shiny hair and suave personality. Girls used to talk to me just to get a shot at Gary. It was my first experience with being used and I stopped being Gary’s fan mail slot real quick.
Gary could have had his pick of all of the girls in Ms. Washington’s class. In fact, he could have asked any girl out in the third grade and she would have said, “yes” after she was revived.
I think that Gary even had Ms. Washington under his perfect boy spell. Jealousy was the furthest thing from my mind; I just didn’t understand what all the commotion was about. Maybe I didn’t see it because I’m a guy, but Gary was just another dude with excellent penmanship to me.
I was in no hurry to grow up and neither were most of my friends. We were content with playing sports and riding our bikes after school. Girls were the furthest things from our minds and had no real place in our lives. That was until Gary decided to mess with all of our heads and get married.
It’s amazing what a wedding will do to your head when you’re nine years old. When your best friend decides to get hitched and he’s not old enough to go to even work in McDonald’s, problems arise. Where will the wedding be held? Who will be catering the affair? Where will the company go on the honeymoon? Chucky Cheese’s?
Like any best friend, Gary asked me to be his best man. The stupid girls spent a week making the ring out of gold pipe cleaners and paper in art class. They were so tuned into the event, like they had some sort of wedding radar or something. A group of about six girls scouted out locations around the school to have the wedding. Once they picked the location, the date and time were quickly set. The wedding of Jessica Winters and Gary Brown would take place on Friday at 12:30 p.m.
I was dreading all week having to stand up in front of everyone as Gary’s Best Man. First of all, I wasn’t a man. Secondly, the only thing I was “best” at was eating Devil Dogs – and even then, this kid named Dominique Vaspucci was a Devil Dog eating machine. His mother would pack at least four of the chocolate cake with creamy filling delicacies in his lunch box every day. My mom went a bit conservative with one “dog” and a bag of Fritos.
I thought for a minute of changing my title to “Average Kid” but (a) it would have taken away from my friend’s day; and (b) nobody would have really cared. It was incredible how organized these girls were. Like ants carrying out a perfectly choreographed task, the females were in all of their glory.
Friday morning came and I was a bit slow to get out of bed. Although it was spring and love was in the air, I felt like staying home all day under the covers. I hadn’t missed a day of school all year, but I would be more than willing to end my pursuit of perfect attendance in favor of avoiding the wedding.
My mom would have let me stay home, but she had an appointment she couldn’t miss. She told me she would cancel her plan if I were “really sick.” Wasting that kind of manipulation to avoid the wedding seemed stupid. All I had to do is stand next to Gary for a few minutes and then my life would return back to normal again.
Gary seemed to love all of the attention he was receiving at school that Friday. All of the guys were unusually quiet, except Marvin Howard. The math wiz was so excited that he was spitting out answers faster than a mega-computer. It got so bad that Ms. Washington had to send him out of the room to calm down. Marvin’s circuits must have been overloaded.
It was 11:15 a.m., and I was staring at the big white clock on the wall, hoping that time would stand as still as a camper standing in front of a huge grizzly bear. I felt like running as far as my legs would take me away from this mind-melting wedding experience.
In third grade, we ate lunch first and then had recess. Even if we had eaten lunch after recess, my lunch would surely not rest comfortably. I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich unusually slowly and nursed the last drops of my pint of milk. Half a bag of Fritos and two bites of a Devil Dog later, and my class was being ushered by the aides to the playground.
Usually, recess was my favorite time of day. What boy doesn’t like to run around and be free? O.K., Marvin Howard – the kid with two first names. He had a real fear of bees and kid often be seen running like a girl with a bad haircut. I think he was running from his own shadow, not a phantom swarm of bees.
The girls were incredibly organized, but most of the boys were embarrassed and pretended to not be interested in the wedding. I would have run to the edge of the playground and hid behind the largest tree I could find if I wasn’t Gary’s Best man.
Jessica had worn a nice dress for the occasion and all the great Gary had to do was show up in his tuxedo t-shirt and blue jeans. As if life wasn’t embarrassing enough, one of the girls said that I had to hold hands with Mandy Morrison. She looked me over and said, “No thank you.” I just stood their unable to speak; like my tongue had been tied in knots and I had no vocal chords.
Since none of the boys had experience in marrying people, Hope Charles stepped in and become an instant member of the clergy. She had the entire ceremony printed out on a piece of paper and was completely in charge of the nuptials.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered hear to witness the marriage of Jessica Alexandra Winters and Gary Aaron Brown” Hope confidently stated as she started the ceremony. You could tell that she scanned the Internet and found an official sounding ceremony.
Hope continued, “Do you, Jessica Alexandra Winters take Gary Aaron Brown as your lawfully wedded husband?” Hope looked at me and I removed the ring from my pocket and handed it to Gary. Gary then placed the gold band on Jessica’s left ring finger and she looked at Gary and proudly said, “I do.”
Hope turned to Gary and asked “Do you, Gary Aaron Brown take Jessica Alexandra Winters as your lawfully wedded husband?” Mandy handed the silver band to Jessica and she placed it on Gary’s left ring finger. Gary looked at Jessica and confidently replied, “I do.”
A few of the girls were giggling as Hope concluded the service. “By the powers vested in me by Principal Kelly of the Twin Lakes Elementary School, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” I was starting to feel a sense of relief that the nightmare was almost over until Hope turned to Gary and said, “You may kiss the bride.”
The playground grew still as the word “kiss” must have echoed off of every rock and tree. The girls picked a spot that was exactly in the middle of the playground. They must have had “Math” Marvin figure out the exact coordinates of the playground’s center. I thought that a nicer, more secluded spot under the trees would have been a better choice.
Gary smiled for a second and then moved in for the kill. He seemed to be as cool as he always was playing the lead in the play. Gary must have logged hours of mirror time practicing his pucker, because he looked like a movie star making his big move.
The kiss lasted a split second but it seemed like an eternity from where I stood. They both closed their eyes, which left me confused of how they managed to connect without seeing each other. Maybe lips had a magnet or a homing device that helped them connect between other lips.
Had Gary kissed other girls before he kissed Jessica? By the looks of its, he really knew what he was doing. Yuck! Once Jessica and Gary moved away from each other, every guy on the playground ran and screamed like someone had sprinted onto the playground flashing a gun. In contrast, the girls were all saying “Ahhh” and imagining themselves marrying and kissing Gary.
Gary and Jessica held hands for a few days and then stopped once they realized that there was a reason why third graders don’t get married. I was really happy that order had been restored and we kid all be kids again… for now.
Girls Are Weird
The next two years were relatively quiet, primarily because Gary decided not to remarry. I was as smooth with girls as nails being scraped along a chalkboard. As each year passed I was more and more awkward and confused by girls. Girls are weird – for sure.
Gary seemed to be involved in every incredibly embarrassing moment I had in grade school. That was probably the reason we stopped being best friends once we left for middle school. He started off being a good friend that looked after me, and finished as a competitive guy that was worried about his image.
Our class rolled into Mr. Martin’s art class one afternoon and sat at our assigned tables. Mr. Martin knew that if he sat boys and girls together, nothing would get done. So he made sure to assign boy- and girl-only tables and the distraction were held down a bit.
Art class was never my favorite class – I must have lacked the vision and coordination to make random lines actually look like something recognizable. My faces looked like watermelons in pain and my houses resembled Kit Kat bars. Needless to say that my doodling was not prominently displayed around the school during parent-teacher conferences.
We were coming toward the end of the year and Mr. Martin seemed to be a bit more tolerant of chatting in the class. I couldn’t remember the last time I had spoken directly to a girl. In between a lot of phrases like “Excuse me” and “Thank you,” there was a huge gap of empty space.
Girls had turned really weird since the Jessica and Gary wedding. I think it would have been less stressful if they hadn’t kissed. The bar was set so high after that event that none of guys even had a chance.
I had my eye on this one girl, Karen Chaney, all year. She was nice and pretty and was the one girl in my class that would acknowledge that I was alive on occasion. Girls are excellent at ignoring guys and rarely give them any encouragement unless your name was Gary. He had every girl in the school waiting on his every word.
Losing all hope and being a social misfit was confusing. Of course it wasn’t as confusing as figuring out the girls I saw every day. They were so concerned with their appearances that you would have thought they were getting ready for a modeling photo shoot.
Back to the art class… Mr. Martin said, “The last 20 minutes of the class will be free sketch,” which meant that we could talk quietly and draw anything. I had nothing in my mind that I could transfer to paper, so I stared at Karen and dove into a heavy daydream.
About five minutes into my dream, which involved chocolate and a baseball game, Gary nudged me and said, “What are you looking at?” He knew I was staring at Karen, or at least the back of Karen’s head. I had been hooked ever since I had helped Karen off of the floor after she broke her arm. She was, by far, the nicest girl in the class. It was easy to be nice to her and want to spend time with her.
I thought this was the reason that guys and girls “went out” in the first place. Boy sees nice girl, nice girl smiles, and then boy asks her out. It seemed like a pretty simple process to me, at least at first.
Gary kept probing, “Hey X, do you like Karen?” My friends called me “X” because we all needed nicknames over our own boring names. Other guys had nicknames like “Hawk”, “D-Train”, “B-Rod”, and Gary’s nickname was “G Smooth.” It was cool to have nicknames but it wasn’t cool of Gary to call me out in the middle of class.
My face turned bright red as my embarrassment was just as obvious as my lack of artistic ability. I wished that Gary would have stopped the red-faced train at that point but he seemed to yell “Full Steam Ahead!” when he said to Karen, “Hey Karen” – then Karen turned around – “Xavier likes you.”
Unfortunately for me, the floor of the classroom wasn’t dirt and I had no chance to dig a huge hole to jump into. I wound up deny my feelings out of sheer humiliation, because I lacked the nerve to go public.
I’m not sure what I was supposed to do in that situation. Gary definitely put me in a no-win situation, because Karen probably wouldn’t have “gone out” with me anyway. Anyone that wasn’t named Gary has little chance with the girls of Twin Lakes Elementary.
Karen barely talked to me again after that day, which removed the one girl I could somewhat feel comfortable talking to. That afternoon also signaled the end of my relationship with the kissing bandit, Gary Brown. Friend’s stick together they don’t pull each other apart.
Summer Leavin’ I
I had spent much of my summer life in day camp and had become sort of used to the idea of playing during the day and going home to sleep at night. This reliance on home as a base gave me a security blanket and my parents in my daily life.
When my parents came to me with the idea to go to sleep-away camp, I did what any soft guy would do: I said “No.” My mom seemed pleased by my decision, which made me feel like I was 11 going on five. My lack of social progress was starting to get on my nerves and it was time to do something about it.
Saying that I was brave those first few days of camp would be like looking at a giraffe and exclaiming, “Your neck isn’t that long!” I’m not really sure why I cried my eyes out like a little baby with a dirty diaper. Maybe it was separation anxiety, or maybe I was just scared to be out on my own.
There’s a difference between being independent and lonely – independence means that you are able to do you own thing whether loved one’s are around, or not – independent people might get the job done but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t lonely. I was trying to live without my parents but I was far from lonely being around all those kids my age at camp.
After three days of moping around and missing being home, I started to focus more on where I was than where I thought I should be. I had ten guys in my bunk and only Ralph Peters and me were first time campers. Ralphie was a walking allergy and I was constantly planning his day around his vast collection of pills, tissues, and inhalers. The guy had an excuse for sitting out of almost every activity. The one thing he did like was archery – he loved to shoot arrows into the middle of targets, which made us all back of him a bit out of fear that we would one day wear the dreaded bulls eye.
By the middle of the summer, I was every bit the seasoned camper. After all, being at camp wasn’t exactly roughing it – three full meals, plus frequent canteen stops, all of our clothes were cleaned every other day, and you had a built-in group of friends that you lived with.
The other thing that I had to get used to was living with other people in the same room. At home I had my own room with a door, but at camp I shared a cabin with nine other guys and two counselors. I also took the bottom of a bunk bed out of fear that my tossing and turning would send me crashing to the floor in the middle of the night.
I was definitely a follower that first summer at sleep-away camp. Most of the other guys seemed to have a handle on the whole process, but I was trying to simply tread water. The camp was constructed in a smart manner: the boy’s camp was on one side and the girl’s bunks were more than a mile away on the other side of the camp.
One night the guys in my bunk were restless and called for a raid on one of the girl’s bunks. They called it a “panty raid” and got a bunch of flashlights together for their mad dash. I’m not the kind of person that takes stupid chances and I definitely had no interest in either touching or removing a girl’s underwear.
There must have been at least five people patrolling the grounds between our bunk and the girl’s bunks. The odds were as slim as winning the lottery that a bunch of gangly 11 year-olds with flashlights wouldn’t get caught. Besides, once I lie down in bed, I’m about as active as kids watching SpongeBob Squarepants.
I went to sleep the minute those guys left the bunk and never gave it another thought. In fact, I wasn’t the only guy that decided to stay back. Out of the seven of us who chickened out, I was the wise guy who said, “You guys go ahead. I’ll stay here and watch the bunk.” I must have been watching the bunk from the inside of my eyelids because I was dreaming way before those guys were caught by the second wave of guards.
There was no raid at all that night; the five guys were caught and had to empty all of the garbage cans that night – yeah, all of the garbage cans on the boy’s side of camp.
The guys who went on the “panty raid” that night were the same bunch that was really interested in girls. They obviously matured faster than the rest of us and had become about as crazy as the girls. What a giggling, voice-changing, secret-telling, sweaty mess life was becoming!
I came as close to the girls that summer than I did to eating a piece of broccoli. Not really fond of the green stalks of nausea, and I felt the same way about the girls. Life was so much simpler because there was no chance that I would dance or speak to a girl.
We had at least one dance or social a week at camp. You would have thought the room was separated by a line of fire the way we avoided the girls. Even the cooler guys stayed on the boy’s side, waiting for the counselors to break the ice. By the end of the summer a few of our guys had broken free and were dancing and talking to a few of the girls. For me, it was still the longest two hours of any day.
I must admit that I was ready to go home when my parents came to pick me up. Seven weeks were a long time for a kid that had never been away from home before. There were days and nights I could have used a break from the camp grind, but I was glad to stick it out until the end. Next year would be even better!
Summer Leavin’ II
A year made a huge difference in my life. Being in middle school pushed me to grow up about as quickly as going away for camp the previous summer. Seeing teenagers around me smoking, holding hands, and kissing definitely made me stand up a notice that I wasn’t a kid anymore.
I made a few attempts at communicating with girls in sixth grade but I was still feeling about as uneasy as a mouse at a cat show. Passing notes was my method and many girls appreciated my effort. Maybe they also weren’t ready to take the big leap toward face-to-face conversation? All I know is that it was still hard to find the words to start a conversation.
I asked a few girls out and one girl, Kathy Aston, actually said yes. Of course, asking her out by talking was not going to happen, so I reverted to the pen and a piece of loose-leaf paper. Simply written, “Will you go out with me?” was countered with an even simpler, “Yes.” I was pretty happy when I read the nicely adorned word “Yes” but then became instantly confused. What does “going out” really mean? Why are we expected to go? I realize that “out” is the targeted destination, but where is that specifically?
Kathy was a nice girl but she was developing a lot faster than most of the girls. She needed a more mature boy than me – I had absolutely no idea what I was doing or should have been doing. A few of my friends told me that the relationship wouldn’t even last a week. I folded under the pressure and broke up with her after six days of sweaty confusion.
The day after I let Kathy go, I felt bad for her and we were a couple again. I saw the sad look on her face and caught up with her in the hall after our math class:
“I don’t know why I did that yesterday. I’m sorry,” I said to start the conversation.
She replied, “Oh, that’s all right. Was it something I did?”
I looked up at the ceiling, hoping the answer to her question would come to me, “My friends…
I must have been mumbling because she said, What?”
I quickly moved off the friends excuse and said, “I just made a stupid mistake.”
“Does this mean we’re going out again? She inquired.
“Yeah, sure” I said with a smile.
She hugged me and then walked away. I felt good about it for a split second and then wondered why I decided to dive back into the deep end of the pool? Did I need to worry more about my life? Now that we were going out again, what would I be expected to do? I was in the clear… what a complete and total dunce!
Yeah, I wasn’t happy with myself back then. My relationship with Kathy didn’t get any easier as time marched on. A month later she broke up with me, seemingly just to get even, and then she took me back the next day. When I saw Kathy walking down the hallway with new friend Claudia Borelli, I knew my days with her were coming to an end.
Claudia Borelli was a notorious boy hater – she could often be seen chasing and beating any guy who got in her way on the playground. Kathy came up to me on the playground with Claudia by her side – the sight of Claudia standing so close to me almost caused me to start running, but I knew my lack of speed and her boiling anger was a bad combination. Kathy had a snotty look on her face as she said, “You’re dismissed, Walton.” They laughed, walked away, and Claudia looked back and said, “X marks the spot, loser!”
That was brutal but I was glad to have my first relationship over, even though I was a loser for not trusting my instincts. I stayed pretty quite on the “going out” for the remainder of the year, preferring to observe others instead of embarrassing myself any further.
My mother had signed me up for camp again, but this time I had asked her “Can I go back to Birch Lake?” I thought that “Last summer I didn’t really know what to expect, but this summer I would go back and take more chances and be more confident around girls.” It sounded pretty good in my head. It’s a lot easier to be brave before you actually are in the middle of something. Confident thoughts often turn into bowls of much once the real action begins.
When we arrived at camp that summer, I was with my friends and walking away from my parents within a few minutes of our arrival. I’m sure my mom felt a bit slighted by my lack of clinging, but it all felt much more comfortable and natural at camp this time around.
There were three guys from my previous summer’s bunk and I knew another five guys. What a difference a year had made. My parents went to the bathroom and then made a quick exit. At first I thought they were upset, but seeing their smiling faces jet out of the parking lot told me that they were excited to have the house to themselves for a change.
12 year-old boys are a lot different than 11 year-old boys if you haven’t noticed. On the flip side, 12 year-old girls are also an improvement over the previous year’s model.
That first night at dinner set the tone for the whole summer. I was confident that I had learned from my mistakes over the past year and was ready to take the next step. What that next step was, I wasn’t really sure but I was going to take it!
The boy’s tables in the mess hall were on the right side and the girl’s tables were on the left. We had a good view of the 12 year-old girls and were struck by how different they looked from the previous year. Roughly translated: we were all scared of the terror that awaited us.
The bunk was really quiet that first night until our counselor, Paul Terry, gave new kid Adam Feldman, an atomic wedgie. The sound of that kid’s underwear ripping was music to everyone’s ears and even gave Feldman an immediate nickname. While Paul had Adam off of the ground, he laughed and put his arms out like a flying Superman. “Superman” it was -- good fortune for Feldman.
Bunk 12 Rules!
That’s right, we bad! Our camp bunk, which was in line with most of our ages, was number 12. We totally ruled the boy’s side of camp because we were the oldest all-summer bunch. There were some older kids but they traveled most of the summer and camped out more than they slept inside.
By the time you hit 14 or 15 year-old the CIT, or Counselor in Training, program kicks in. The pay was slightly more than a few dollars but the benefit of being at camp and not paying was great.
My best friends in the bunk were Bruce Simon and Mark Preston. Bruce, or Bruiser as he was called, was anything but a physical specimen. The guy was about 90 pounds with a wet set of clothes but he was the smartest kid I had ever met. Mark, on the other hand, was definitely the muscle part of our trio. His nickname was Press and you would have been hard pressed to find a more forceful 12 year-old.
How did I fit in with Bruiser and Press? In between brains and brawn was a large region of stuff. I was the idea man that needed brains to further execute my plans – having a strong guy around kept other kids from teasing me all of the time. Kids tease and test each other so much that it’s a wonder that we make it through puberty. My dad tells me that adults do the same thing to each other, so that gives me a lot to like forward to.
I’m a decent looking guy by most middle school standards. Of course, I’m no Gary Brown but who really is? My hair is brown and my eyes are brown – no blonde-haired, blue-eyed surfer dude here. I am definitely one of the taller guys in my age group, although there is a guy named Maurice Albert that casts a shadow over most of the students and teachers. As nicknames go, seeing the 200-pound Maurice rumble through the hallway made “Fat Albert” an easy call.
While there were no “Fat Albert’s” in camp, we had a few kids that liked to snack a little more than normal. This one kid in our bunk named Jake Norman used to get boxes full of candy and cookies from his mom each week. There were weeks when the junk food would arrive a few times, but the counselors were quick to spread the wealth around to the rest of us starving children.
Jake was a chubby kid by most standards, but it was his lack of hygiene that made him so offensive to be around. The guy smelled like onions and garlic even though we rarely ate any of that stuff. His mother must have packed some garlic deodorant and onion soap because, dude, the kid really smelled. We tried giving him subtle hints, like putting bars of soap in his cubby and hanging air freshener near his bed. He was like that kid in Peanuts with the dirt cloud surrounding him wherever he walked, so we nicknamed him “Pig Pen.”
Bunk 12 was so strong because every guy had a role and a purpose. With Bruiser, me, and Press steering the ship, it was up to guys like 360, Blinky, Specs, Roo, and Bug to complete our master plans.
James Hawk was the cousin of skateboard legend Tony Hawk, and it was obvious that the talent was passed through the family. Hawk could spin and spin on his skateboard and he never got dizzy. I think watching him made people dizzier than 360 felt while circling around.
We had one kid in the bunk that would get a little freaky when he felt pressure. After seeing his parents yell at each other and their only kid, Bryce Thomas, for the entire Parents Weekend, it was no small wonder that Blinky would freeze under pressure. If you needed a stalling tactic then the Blinkmeister was your guy.
Chester Young wore girl’s glasses – there I said it. His mother must have taken him to get glasses because she wore these thick, magnifying kind-of-glasses. I’m sure the person behind the counter must have been confused when they slid the red frames on Chester’s nose. Specs was always an obvious choice to burn holes with his glasses and request help by telling onlookers that he “misplaced his glasses.”
The athlete of our bunk was none other than Eddie Salinger. Eddie was like a human pogo stick; he could jump higher than any other kid I had ever seen, and we all thought that he bounced like a kangaroo. It was helpful to have Roo around because he helped us win many games and could hide things in extremely high places.
There is always a Dr, Doolitle in every group, and Andrew Yelland was no exception. Instead of “talking to the animals,” Andrew had a special relationship with our bug friends. By special, I mean special! The guy never had a mosquito or bee bite, but could direct a swarm of bugs in any direction. Believe me, I made sure my bed was on the other side of the bunk from Bug.
Add in Adam Feldman, alias Superman, who was able to withstand atomic wedgies at a single bound, and we had quite the Terrific 10. Powers like these would have mild if separated, but once these special talents were united there was no stopping Bunk 10!
I remember this one hot afternoon when the camp was just a bit too quiet. Quiet is the kind of sound that is deafening to the ears of kids looking for action. This one girl had provoked us for the better part of a week.
Sandra Heart was the ringleader for Bunk 11 on the girl’s side of camp. She was always flaunting her “cool” stuff in our face and we had seen enough of her parade of coolness. We let it slide when she paraded the newest Gameboy in our faces, but when she crossed the line and lit us up with her huge Super Soaker it was all-out war.
Albert had received his latest shipment of sweets, and for some reason his mother put a bag of balloons in the box. He opened the box and we examined the contents and said, “Dude, what’s with the balloons?”
He gushed and replied, “It’s my birthday tomorrow.” Not only had Mrs. Albert crossed the line by sending a 12 year-old balloons, she also had a special message attached to each inflatable device. We blew up a few balloons and were dying of laughter by the time we saw “It’s Your Big Day”, “Mo’ candles”, “Make A Wish”, and “12 Rules!”
Once I saw “12 Rules!” I knew that Sandra “Cruella” Heart would be feeling our wrath that day. The camp was eerily quiet that afternoon; the temperature was in the mid-90’s and campers were sent to their bunks to avoid heat stroke. There was a clear path from the boy’s camp to the girl’s camp for one of the rare moments in camp history.
The plan was quick and decisive – no one would be left behind. Every available resource and skill would be exhausted in this all-or-nothing mission. Everyone had a role in the bunk but I was the X-factor, or the “X Man” as they called me. I was the one that always got everyone exciting about an idea. If someone needed convincing, I was the man to call for instant focus.
I passed the idea over to Bruiser, who never needed a piece of paper to lay out the master plan. He thought for a few seconds and then gathered the guys for a brief meeting.
“OK guys, here’s the plan. Albert you fill your balloons with water and then stuff them in your shirt. Superman, get your cape on and an extra pair of underwear on and get ready to fly. Bug, rally the troupes and get ready to release them on the girls. Roo, get your Air Jordan’s on and get ready to sky. Blinky, your mom’s coming to camp tomorrow and you need to discuss the stressful details with the camp director. Specs, get those real big classes out and get ready to turn up the heat. 360, it’s spin and fling time. Press, you hold down the girl’s camp head until the cost is clear. When we’re ready, X Man lead us out” Bruiser concluded.
I chimed in, “Let’s get it in her boys! On three… One, two, three… BUNK 12 RULES!”
Within a few minutes, “Operation Get Cruella” was underway. The ten of us casually began strolling toward the girl’s camp and then Blinky branched off and headed left for Mike Ivy’s, the Boy’s Camp Director’s, cabin. I could hear a knock behind us and Blinky say, “Mmmmmmike. Youuuuuu have a mmmmmminute?” More like 20 minutes at least of trying to calm Blinky down. His mom was not only a constant source of irritation and stress, she was also a wealthy glue heiress. It was Mike’s job to make her comfortable whenever she came to camp, and he often gave up his own cabin for the woman that personally financed the camp’s new gymnasium.
We couldn’t just stroll in once we got to the girl’s side of camp, so I dispatched Press and Superman to create a diversion. There were 12 girl’s cabins and out target, Bunk 11, was situated on the extreme right side of the grounds. The two guys ran over to Bunk 1 and Press picked up the man of steel and wedgied him to a large nail about six feet off the ground and firmly attached to the bunk.
The guys gave us the thumbs up as we had moved into position on the side of Bunk 11. There wasn’t a soul to be seen outside of the bunks and I signaled to Roo to hop on up and make sure the girls were inside. A few leaps and bounds later, Roo gave me the thumbs up. I looked over at Bug and nodded – he went to the back of the cabin and released his little friends. Once I heard the first squeamish sound, I held a fist up at the wedgie crew and the fun began.
“Oh, my god!” Superman yelled as he pretended to be in excruciating pain. He was wearing a cape and a Superman t-shirt, only this time he refrained from flying. Within moments, girls were streaming out of their bunks to see what the commotion was. There was so much noise that no one heard the high-pitch shrill of the girls of Bunk 11 screaming for their lives and running from the bugs.
Clawing and pushing her way out of the bunk was no other than Sandra Heart. She had to be first at everything; once she cleared the doorway, Albert loaded and 360 started to unleash wet terror. Sandra got hit it in the head with the first balloon and then turned around to get back in the bunk – the middle of the door was glass and it was pretty hot by the time Specs used the son to heat it with his glasses.
Heartless screamed as her eyebrows were instantly singed off. She bounced off the glass and got hit with a few more balloons before her bunkmates made it outside in time to get wet. I told the guys “Let’s go” and signaled to Press to give us a few minutes. He took the broom handle away from the Girl’s Camp Head’s door and ran to save Superman.
We heard the girl’s laughing at both Superman’s predicament and then Sandra’s wet hair and lack of eyebrows. The cool of the water instantly shut down any pain she had from the glass heat. No one was physically hurt, which is the mark of a real prank. It’s the mental anguish we were after.
Press came running through and was screaming, “What have they done to you! Are you all right, Adam?” Nobody had called him by his real name all summer but it seemed to work this one time. He continued, “Can someone get me a chair here! This man needs some relief!” A few girls scurried into a bunk and ran to Press with a chair. He looked at them and smiled, “Thanks ladies.” He almost blew it by trying to talk to them while Superman was supposedly hanging on for his life.
Press was so strong that he could have unhooked Adam with one arm. He struggled for a few seconds like he was lifting the entire bunk off the ground. He unhinged Adam’s underwear from the nail and the crowd of girls applauded. Superman was a superhero because he limped and grimaced for a good 100 yards before they walked out of sight. Press was quite popular at the social the next night.
We all made it back to our bunk and saw Blinky walk out of Poison Ivy’s cabin and say, “Thhhhhanks, Mr. Iiiiiiivey.” Ivy slammed the door shut and Blinky came running at us yelling, “Yes!” Not only was his mother not coming up any time soon, he also wasn’t had no speech impediment, just those blinking eyes when he got nervous.
Blue Team
I loved Color War from the moment it was dramatically announced one night at dinner. The summer started to drag a bit after the Cruella prank and being a part of the blue team was the spark the summer needed.
The camp was divided into four teams – blue, red, yellow, and green – in a point-based competition in a variety of events. With everything from song to athletics, to cleanliness and quiet being contested, the five-day event was the highlight of every summer.
Color War was so different because the fact that our bunk totally ruled had absolutely nothing to do with the outcome. I was on the same team with Specs and Roo, Press and 360 were on the red team, Bruiser, Fat Albert, and Blinky were on the yellow team, and Bug and Superman were chosen for the green team.
It was the one time all summer that were totally focused on one goal, but were weren’t doing it together. Allegiances were torn down as quickly as they were formed. The spirit of competition was quite alive in Camp Birch Lake, and the fun of competing against my friends was that knew each other so well. There were no surprises when it came to swimming against Superman. Of course, when I tied his swim trunks to the dock, he was the one surprised when they tore off as easily as a piece of paper. I didn’t win the race but we were winning the war.
For the first time all summer my cubbies were neat and clean and you could bounce a quarter off of my bed. The inspectors actually bounced a quarter off of your bed to see if you had properly made your hospital corners and tucked in your sheets and blanket. If the quarter stuck to the bed points were taken off for your team. One guy even tried to put rubber bands under his bed, but he was found out and the green team was penalized for cheating.
I didn’t really understand Color War the first time around – everything was so much more comfortable the second summer. Being on the yellow team and coming in third place was about as exciting as watching my science teacher talk about layers of the earth’s crust.
This battle was truly a war and I participated in as many events as I could. The first few days were just a prelude of things to come – I left basketball up to Roo and the nature hunt to Bug – I chose to play softball and Camp Jeopardy and the blue team won all of those events. The girl’s side of camp was killing us, though. By the third day of the competition, it was almost a dead heat between the blue team and the red team.
We were hanging out before entering the dining hall on the third night. Poison Ivy came through with a megaphone and announced, “Tonight’s dinner will be a quiet meal. Any sounds or words will penalize your team 100 points, starting now!” Teams received 50 points for each win, so 100 points for each sound or word would be a crushing blow to the penalized team.
With events like the Crazy Relay Race, Song Competition, Dance Contest, and a few sporting events, the outcome was still very much in the air. It was hard for a bunch of immature kids to be a serious for a minute, but there was so much pressure to conform, not seek negative attention by sounding off. The temptation was so great to make a sound – the eerie quiet of the dining room definitely lessened the enjoyment of the meal. I usually enjoyed pancake night, but the tension in the room was deafening. I always loved the quiet but this silence was in no way golden.
There were a few close calls at the dining hall that night. This one nine year-old boy tripped, but managed to both hold onto his tray and keep any sounds bottled up inside of him. The entire camp gave him a silent standing ovation for that – the clapping part had to be completed with hands nearly striking each other.
It felt good to be able to talk once we cleared the Dining Hall. So much hot air trapped inside all of those bodies, sort of like a volcano erupting. The next morning I made my bed, made sure my clothes were all folded properly, passed inspection, and then headed toward the main field for the Crazy Relay Race.
With over 100 participants in this wacky race -- which called upon absolutely no average tasks -- coordination and determination would be needed to win. The combination of girls and boys working together would have been deadly if the event wasn’t so important. Being as inexperienced around girls as I was, being pared with one of them to carry a bottle of water under our chins made me nervous.
My task was to walk around a group of cones with the water bottle under my chin and then pass it off to my female team member, who would repeat the action. We had to do this three times, all the while passing the bottle back and forth to each other without using our hands.
Five guys paired off with five girls before the start of the race – it was random and completely unplanned. My partner and I were second in line, so we were able to get an idea of the right way to transfer the bottle. It was funny but we had seen each other around camp but never knew each other’s names or talked to one another.
I started to sweat a bit as the running part of the relay concluded and the bottle pass began. The four teams were pretty close until Miriam Gross of the yellow team had trouble passing the bottle to her teammate, Billy Hollins. Billy probably should have showered that morning, or one of the few days leading up to the event, in order to allow Miriam to get closer to him. It took the a few minutes on each pass and Miriam even tossed the bottle with her neck at Billy and he caught the thing.
The other three teams, blue, red, and yellow, were pretty much – excuse the expression – neck and neck. Our bottle was passed to the girl across from me and she went up and back around the small orange cones. As she approached me that action slowed through my mind.
She looked me straight in the eye and we instantly understood each other. We bended and twisted until I secured the bottle between my neck and my chin. I ran back and forth and then quickly exchanged the bottle with my partner. A few more quick times and I passed the bottle on to our next set of teammates. We had opened up a slight lead and it was up to the last four blue people to finish strong.
We were standing across from each other and I looked straight at my partner. A gentle breeze was blowing and her blonde hair was moving every so slightly. She turned her head and looked directly at me with her bright blue eyes. I can’t really remember what happened after that. I think we kept the lead but eventually lost the entire relay race to the red team.
The end of the competition was so close between the red team, and us, and it came down the last two events to decide the winner of Color War. All that remained were the Dance Contest and the Song Competition. The dancing portion of the festivities was a wild scene. I think they even took a picture from a helicopter one year of the action for the camp brochure.
Instead of picking a few of the camps best dancers to shake their grove things against each other, the entire camp got down together. Huge speakers were brought in and each dancer had to be matched up with a partner of the opposite sex. That’s probably the way they should have conducted the socials. Music would always have us bopping to the beat, but it rarely ever pushed us out on the dance floor.
If you give a kid a choice in a stressful situation, they will probably back down. Matching us up would have loosened the stress of asking a girl to dance and eliminated 99% of the initial work.
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