I Was That Kid

Camping with my family can be a wild event. A motor home, two tents and three cars all packed into two spots, side by side. Thirteen people running madly about: unloading, cooking, eating and laughing. My mom calling us back to help her set up the tent, my Omi, cooking the traditional baked spaghetti on the first night, and us kids (my cousins and three brothers), trying to sneak away on our bicycles and explore.  

Oh, how we would gallivant around our loop, finding the quickest way to the bathroom, the fresh water pipe and the grounds campfire pit where shows would be put on. The best was when Granda joined us. Then we would return to report our findings. We were carefree and wild. We were best of friends.

I would love to ride so fast—so fast that my hair would be whipping in the wind behind me, feeling the breeze on my face, and breathing the fresh air so deeply. Sometimes I would ride with my eyes closed, loving the risk and that good feeling one gets when they are in nature. Even when I was small, I loved that feeling of no strings. No ropes to pull me back down to earth, but letting me flutter beautifully above the world, enjoying the view and the feeling.  Oh, to be a child.

We would hike together, yodeling loud enough to wake slumbering bears. Sometimes we would try to hike fast so that we could go back and ride bikes, or sometimes one of us just wanted to “sit down and die” right there on the trail. The humorous, childish scenes. Stopping occasionally to wait for the “slow” grown-ups, and talking sweet nothings.  When we returned, we would eat together, laughing so loudly. I felt so proud of my family—everyone must have been jealous of our group and the fun we had together. We would make a roaring fire, the young hunting around for sticks and pinecones to light on fire, and sticks to roast marshmallows. And who would make the most golden delicious marshmallow, one perfect enough to give to Omi? Never me, but I tried so hard to be patient.

The times I spent camping with my family are some of my fondest memories. When I think of these times, I feel warm and can’t help but smile. It is the feeling of pure love and joy and happiness. It is the feeling that makes life the most amazing experience. It is the feeling that makes me miss my family now when I am miles away from home, and allows my love to reach them like the strength of my arms when I give my famous hugs.