early grammar school, our 'street' gang gets the word. 'mr rodrigues sez ask your folks if you can go on a camping trip to Kettletown Park.'
'hey pops! mr rodrigues wants to know if i can go.....'
'sure, have a good time. are you leaving now?'
aboot a week later, so our special group is filled with camping chat as we pass the time in the penitentiary, and everyone is asking me questions cuz i was a day camp attendee, and they all thought i was daniel boone.
'where is Kettles Town?'
'canada. its got bears, wolves, an everything. bring a machete and a shotgun. could get sketchy.'
'what's the melonhead 411 there?'
'bad. i think a whole van of kids got eaten there recently, and we got to watch out for that guy with the hook hand they always tell me aboot at camp itchy.'
we decided to visit keith's gramma, en masse, and put the arm on her cuz she was all churchy, and it took an act of congress to get that kid free on a sunday morning. 'but we'll learn stuff!' 'he needs to learn manners, not marshmellows...' his pops puts his foot down 'he's going, anywhere far from here!' sounded like my dad. i think they had a union.
we get there, 'are we in jellystone? where are the bathrooms? im not going near that thing, it smells really, really bad... where do i plug in my....'
a fine time was had by all, except, i think, by mr rodriguez. last we heard, they sent him to Gaylord, or one of those rehab places, after that. nice man, knew a lot of cool stuff like skinning bears and catching fish with his teeth, or so it seemed.
come to think of it, i had a lot of conversations with the rents that went like this,
'can i go....'
'do i have to do anything, like drive, or.... no? have a nice time, don't hurry back.'
subtle as a brick to the noggin, those two.