Exploring My Tent-phobia

Every summer of my childhood, my parents took our family camping. We’d trek up to Cranberry Lake in the Adirondack Mountains of Northern New York. The trusty family station wagon would be loaded up with gear and we’d spend a week together-all under the same tent. My memories of sleeping in that nylon palace are unpleasant at best. First and foremost was being startled awake by my father’s snoring. I would wake up in the dark, unaware of my surroundings, and wonder why a wild boar was breathing down my neck. In addition to the snoring, I had an unusual fear of coming in contact with the tent walls. A restless sleeper, I would sometimes wriggle completely out of my sleeping bag, roll against the tent wall, and wake up cold. My sleeping was so unruly my mother sewed old denim belt loops to my bag and then lashed me down to the grommets of my air mattress. Somehow I would still escape against the side of the tent; in Upstate New York I was considered the Harry Houdini of sleeping bag escapes.

I’m sure there were good times at Cranberry Lake–I look pretty happy in home movies swimming in the lake and climbing to the top of a rock while my sister couldn’t. While waiting out a rainstorm, I learned to play poker under our tent’s canopy by placing bets with shelled peanuts. But for me, the best part of camping was returning home to television, Legos, and Star Wars action figures. Overdramatic and whiny? Of course. But even if I’m exaggerating my camping misery, the fact that I avoided it for the next thirty years speaks to my vacation preferences.

So it was quite the watershed moment when friends suggested we go camping with them in the summer of 2013. I knew Jenni, who comes from a Boy Scout family and strong backpacking lineage, would absolutely want to go. Between my wife and the other couple, my caucus was badly outvoted, and it was apparent my next real estate purchase would be a tent.

If you’re trying to change someone’s opinion on camping, the Redwoods are probably the place to do it. It’s truly another world submerging yourself underneath the protection of these elders. There’s a reason everyone takes a picture with their camera pointed towards the tree tops, you’re trying to capture an image of immortality. Standing 200 feet below their latest growth, you’re overwhelmed by the fact that these trees were here before you and they’ll be here long after you. Charred pockets burned out by fires are testaments to the Redwoods longevity. Feel free to take a picture of you standing inside their fire scars; they’ve shrugged off that injury years ago. The Redwoods are humbling, deafening, and spiritual–one of nature’s cathedrals that everyone should visit.

But…does this pilgrimage require sleeping with my family in a 10×12 confined space? While the Redwoods need to be experienced by during the day and night; couldn’t we retire from the campfire to a structure with walls and plumbing? The side of the tent seemed less scary than forty years ago and I managed to stay inside my sleeping bag, but lying awake at 2am, the immortality of trees was now a lot less spiritual. Alone with my thoughts, I counted the hours until the sun would come up. In the morning, I emerged from the tent hunched over and exhausted. I looked like Yoda as I hobbled around the campsite in search of coffee.

Chase, on the other hand, slept remarkably well. He had no trouble falling asleep and didn’t wake up once overnight. Each night, he would burrow deep into his sleeping bag such that no part of him would be visible, earning the nickname “mole man.”

Sleeping problems aside, Big Sur trip was deemed a success and was the start of four trips to the Redwoods. On each trip, I got a chance to experience “Camping Chase,” a calmer version of his school year or suburban counterpart. Since he was a baby, we’ve considered Chase an old soul, so it would make sense that being surrounded by 2,000 year old trees would be his element. Whether reading a book or just staring into the forest with his thoughts, it was obvious Chase was home in the Great Outdoors.

It was after we had a few camping trips under our belt that Chase joined the Cub Scouts. His recruitment happened quite informally. One fall afternoon, some neighborhood scouts knocked on our front door, selling popcorn as a fundraiser. The salesmen were all Chase’s buddies, decked out in their full Class A uniform. Chase saw them all and something clicked. It was like he had found his calling; he could somehow sense the discipline and culture. As the Cub Scouts walked away with their wagon full of wares, Chase started following them down the driveway, as if we was supposed to follow them. Shortly after, he had joined their Wolf den.

In addition to family trips, Chase now camps multiple times a year with the Scouts. These weekends are usually a “divide and conquer” parenting situation and I typically have to manage a Little League game. (As you can imagine I’m heartbroken to have to pass up an opportunity to sleep in a tent.) Jenni typically reports that Chase has a great time on these outings and works well with his fellow scouts and leaders. I think Chase would have found Cub Scouts even if we had not been camping, but I’m glad that he’s found a setting and group that bring out the best in him.

I like the buffet metaphor a lot in terms of parenting–it’s our job as parents to make sure our children sample from all parts of the buffet, not just from the sections that we like. You can never have your kids try too many things because you never know what they’re going to take and run with. That’s why we have a piano in our house and why Chase made a brief and perhaps ill-fated foray into wrestling. My parents did well to include Cranberry Lake in my childhood experiences, it’s just that camping (along with green bean casserole) is one of the things I did not take the baton and run with. Additionally, sometimes you have to sample something you don’t like just to give your children a chance to try it.

We just returned from our latest camping trip, this one at Big Bear Lake. After falling asleep relatively easy the first night, Ryan tapped me awake and asked, “Dad, can you please stop snoring?” Yes, I’m now the wild boar in the tent and I recognize the camping anxiety in my older chid. After asking me to stop snoring, Ryan returns the favor and keeps me awake by tossing and turning in his bag for the next hour. And was luck would have it, I was fresh out old denim belt loops. Yet, two bags over, Chase was sleeping soundly. He’s the reason I was there–to participate in something he enjoys.

I’m not a good camper, but hopefully I’m a better father.