Senseful ramblings of an incoherent nature from a delusional schizophrenic (or my views on current events)

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Below the Belt

I went to camp Arrowhead for a number of years, either 10 or 11. Most of those years were spent as a camper, however I was a junior counselor for 2 years, getting paid a whopping $50 for the entire summer, plus whatever tips a generous parent might give me. But that isnt the point.

Earlier, when I was a camper, much earlier in fact, my best friend forever (bff, honey) Seth, and his younger brother Josh also attended the same camp. Hell, we even road the same bus since we lived fairly close to each other. But again, that isnt the point either.

Seth used to be called 6.5, but I am not really sure why? That isnt the point though.

Josh is at least 6 years younger than Seth. That is part of the story, but not the point. He shares the same name as me, that's important and cool, but...

Seth and I sat in the back of the big yellow school bus that took us to and from camp every day, which was driven by Uncle John, who was neither my uncle, or Seth and Josh's uncle. Every adult that worked at Camp Arrowhead was referred to as an Uncle or an Aunt. When I first started going to Camp Arrowhead, Uncle Al ran the place, and chomped on his cigar as he walked around the camp grounds. Later, his son, Uncle Howie, who had a rabid temper, took over. Uncle Howie was married to Aunt Jan, who ran the swimming program. Aunt Jan had a smoking body, except those summers that she was pregnant, but she always bounced back. Uncle Dick used to run the mess hall, and always seemed to have a bull horn with him, although I never figured out why.

Uncle John would later be my counselor for my last two years of camp. He was a teacher during the school year. Most camp counselors are teachers because their schedule permits that. The other's that arent teachers are probably child molesters, although I dont have any information or proof to back that up.

In the back of the bus Seth and I would sit and joke and pick on his younger brother, the same younger brother who shares my name. Seth doesnt have any other younger brothers. He also doesnt have any sisters.

Siblings aside, his parents, although they are the nicest people, are very intimidating, his mom especially. When I first met her, at the age of 7 or so, she said that I should call her Phyllis, and her husband was (and still is) Ken. To this day I still want to call them Mr. and Mrs. Aaron.

One day in the back of the bus I punched the little fella who shares my name right in his little peepee. Hopefully it isnt little anymore since this story happened 17 years ago, but that really isnt my business. I didnt actually mean to punch him there, it just happened that his area was where my fist landed.

Mrs. Aaron, I mean Phyllis, is probably no taller than 5 foot 1, if that. But she has the booming voice of a BBW at an all you can eat buffet. And she can stare down a lion if need be. While she can be scary, you couldnt ask for a better best friend's mom. Her cooking is out of this world. She curses. And she generally let us do what we wanted as long as we were reasonable. She also had a conversation with my father once about how much I did, and did not know about sex. Later that night my father asked me if I knew what a blow job was. I told him that it was something a woman got at a hair salon. That was the only conversation I ever had with my father about sex. It happened in the third grade.

After I punched Josh in the balls he cried in pain a little bit and looked at me all crooked eyed while yelling at me that he was going to tell his mother. I quickly sat down, shut up and had fear creeping through my bones.

Phyllis would always wait for Seth and Josh at the corner where the bus let them off. Usually the bus would stop at every child's house, but since so many children from Seth's cul-de-sac went to Camp Arrowhead the bus just picked them up at the corner.

As the bus neared the corner where Seth and Josh would get off, I quickly ducked down so I couldnt be seen from the window. I heard the doors open and all the kids run off and for a split second I thought that those scampering feet would be followed by the adultish walk of Mrs. Aaron coming to let me have it, but thankfully the doors closed and I was safe.

I continued to duck down below the window line for at least the next two weeks in fear for my life!

I havent punched someone in the balls since.


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