I never liked camps anyway. You have six to eight weeks to get used to the other kids, show them what kind of kid you are, and choose friends and foes. With some of them you play, with others you exchange dirty looks, so later you can point at them and laugh behind their backs.
That’s why when I was nine, I refused to go to camp. What was I supposed to say when my mom asked me why? “Because all the kids are assholes, mom,” and I’d be grounded for life or maybe sent to reform school for using inappropriate language. My parents looked at several different camps and tried to talk me into going, but I was as firm as a rock: I was not going. My parents were annoyed to high heaven, but in the end they gave up. They would still be working during summer, so I would stay at home alone all day. They talked to the neighbors, arranged for the old hag living two floors above us to visit me every three hours, and in return, my dad would fix her stove (not that my dad was an established electrician, but he loved to say he had a good hand for machines; in the end, saying so often must have done the trick).
I stayed at home, played, read, ate. My parents unplugged the TV and hid the cable every morning, so I wouldn’t watch “programs that do not help children flourish,” but after less than a week, I found the cable, looked at all the possible ways to plug it in, went round in circles like a dog chasing its tail in both directions, and finally found the right way. I put one end of the cable in a little hole in the back of the TV and the other end in the outlet, and then pushed the big, round button that says ON/OFF. The screen came to life; I was victorious. I watched boring adults sit with their backs straight and discuss and discuss. Their voices kept on jabbed my chest until I found the NEXT button, which changed the program. I found a cartoons channel and stayed there. More than an hour or two must have passed because the old hag entered the hall. Damn you, all you devils in hell, couldn’t you poke me in the ribs right before she came in and tell me to switch off the damn TV?
“Oooh, Daniel, I see you are watching TV. I am an old woman, so my memory might be deceiving me, but I have this gut feeling… oh yes, a feeling that your mother told me to immediately report to her if you find any way to watching TV. What should we do now, boy, what should we do? You are such a sweet kid, I wouldn’t want to cause trouble for you, but, you know, I made a promise to your mother…”
She sounded like a corrupted policeman trying to hint that you should give him money, yes, a small bribe, yes, right now. You are surprised, what, are you stupid? Okay, if you are such an honest man, here is your ticket. Have a nice day, mister, and think more quickly next time.
I bribed the old hag. I would put a spoonful of sugar in a matchbox each morning (my mom gave me sugar for my morning tea), and when the old hag came over for the first time that day, she would bring a tall jar. I would pour the spoonful of sugar from the matchbox to the hag’s jar. In this way, she would steal, almost invisibly, but still steal, from our household every workday. I am quite certain this made her day, which perfectly explains why weekends were always rainy for her.
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