School camping trips were excellent. I remember in grade 6 or so we went tent camping. It was great except for almost losing a finger. The other kids were cutting wood for a massive campfire and I wanted to join in. I taught the teachers a valuable lesson that day – don’t let the fat geek touch a hatchet. Only upside was getting escorted to medical assistance by the blonde whore who I presume was the fuck buddy of one of our grizzled teachers.
That was also the year that one of the kids tried to power eat a slab of steak and had it lodge in his throat and choke him. At that turning point in my life I figured it best to stand back and let others look after it. I’ve never really been one to jump into messy situations.
Then there were the Grade 7 and 8 camping trips to Wahanowin. I learned how to kayak and how to fall out of the top of a bunk bed while deep asleep. I learned how fire extinguishers work and how the people who misuse them disappear for two days. I learned that a kick to the kidneys will drop a kid to his knees and witnessed the camaraderie of guys working together to get a peek into the girls’ shower.
Fast forward to a high school graduation full of teen-aged retardation: Money-fueled turtle swallowing, alcohol-inspired tent-creaming, rage-fueled car burying and a side dish of hilarity. That was a messed up outing that several FED readers can’t, but would like to forget.