Summer "Camp"

Summer "Camp"

Our two oldest children went to camp today. Sleep away camp for 6 nights. Lizzie (our 7 year old) will join them mid-week. I am so excited for them for many reasons; they will participate in games, rock wall climbing, swimming, crafts, hiking, and other fun group activities. Both of them were very happy to leave this afternoon as they bounced into our friend’s van, said their farewells, and headed north to Prescott.

I can imagine that they will make new friends and strengthen existing relationships. I picture them laughing during the games, feeling exhilarated on the rock wall and perhaps being dejected during a round of dodge ball. I can only really pretend that I know these feelings as a child. My own childhood did not include child-centered activities and it most certainly did not include camp. I spent every summer vacation in Las Vegas.

Our "family" car.

My parents were insistent on traveling to sin city annually to, “check out the acts.” Recreation and hobbies were not a part of my parent’s lives, at least not overtly. All events and trips had to be linked to professional pursuits. My father would say, “We need to see the competition but we will let you kids go to Circus Circus and that will be fun for you.” So, into our Renault Le Car we would pile. The 5-hour drive was often broken up with rattlesnake pie in Wikeup. Limited air-conditioning and cramped space made for a trip that consisted of discomfort and short tempers. 

In Vegas my brother and I were always happy to get to the over-sized hotel pool. We would stay at the Landmark but never in the large tower, much to my chagrin. My brother was tasked with watching me while my mom and dad reposed in the room and watched episodes of, “Kung Fu” and “The Big Valley.” When the pool attendant would ask me where my parents were, I would point in the direction of the decorative waterfall and scan the pool for my missing brother. Several times I was asked to leave the pool area if I could not produce an adequate chaperone. My inability to beat the system always landed me in trouble with my parents who were busy luxuriating in their room and saving energy for the 10:30 Burlesque show.

My Mother was and probably still is proud of the fact that she exposed me and my brother to a classic Las Vegas show called, “Fire and Ice” at the Hacienda Hotel. My mother was so pleased with herself and her parental prowess, “I bet no other kids get taken to these kinds of shows! See how lucky you are, you get to see this and other children have to go to Disneyland. How boring and ordinary!” I also remember that someone at the entrance to the showroom informed my mom and dad that the performance might not be appropriate due to nudity. They dismissed the advice.

After watching two acts of half naked ice skaters playing out what might have been a pornographic Ice Capades version of Dante’s Inferno, our family walked The Strip.  It was at this part of my vacation that I experienced panhandling, police take downs, drunkards and X-rated leafleting. I was happy to get back to the hotel room where I slept soundly except to wake up and peer out our window to discover my mother sneaking a cigarette.

The last morning of our visit was spent in the hotel coffee shop that offered a quintessential buffet. This was always a tenuous time. An argument inevitably ensued about whether or not it was worth the money to pay for both my brother and me to eat. It usually ended with my mother claiming that, “I don’t need to eat. That’s fine; let the kids eat. I only make half of the goddamn money.” My mother would pick off my plate and teach me to play Keno. I loved the Keno runners and their glistening, pantyhose and short skirts. I thought that I would like to be one someday.

Prior to departing back to Phoenix my mother would insist on playing the slots. I accompanied her as she pulled the lever on various Skinner Boxes, waiting for the intermittent reward of change clanking on the metal catchall. She would let me put nickels and quarters in the machines until casino security asked us to leave.

I hate Las Vegas. I will not return.

I hope my kids never feel this way about Prescott.