It's Fun To Stay At The YMCA

All this talk about science camp got me to thinking: Where did I ever go off to camp? To be perfectly candid, I was more of a homebody than my son. I spent the summers in the mountains, but in the home away from home that was our cabin. When my older brother got a job as a counselor at the local Y Day Camp, I was initially very intrigued. A camp that allowed its patrons to sleep in the safety and comfort of their own beds. But then I found out that the week culminated with a sleepover on Thursday night. On second thought, maybe I'll just stay here in my own cabin and read comics, thank you.
The Y continued to play a big part in my trepidation about spending the night away from home. The idea of having a "lock-in" at the YMCA sounded very interesting to me too. We would have the run of the place: swimming, ping-pong, handball, pool, and even the weight-lifting machines. This was all very enticing, until I found out that we would be locked in until the following morning. I'll be home reading comics, thanks.
Then there were the times that staying home reading comics wasn't an option. When I got to high school, band camp was required, if you were in band anyway. That meant a three-day excursion to the YMCA of the Rockies for a little hard-core indoctrination and rehearsal before the beginning of each school year. I slept in the bunk beds and waited for the last day to come, but enjoyed the time I spent with my buddies. Then I went back to my room and read comics.
Somewhere along the line, the comics turned into Rolling Stone magazine, and now anytime I'm getting on a plane to go somewhere, I stop and pick up a Rolling Stone. It's my coping mechanism. If I'm going to be away longer than it takes to read the entire magazine, all the way through the album reviews and the classified ads, then it's time to be heading home. If only I would have had a Rolling Stone when I was ten.