The Camp

Love Shak Baby! The camp: swimming, frolicking, eating Maryland crabs on the pontoon boats while anchored in the shallow waters, corn on the cob, listening to 8-track tapes. All the kids, teenagers, adults, boating, water skiing, boyfriends, girlfriends, fishing, sunning, funning in general. This was the camp that my father built on the Tygart River long ago, where our family and friends spent every summer of the every year of my remembered childhood.

My brother and I learned to swim practically before walking. We learned to ride an innertube before skiing, but once we learned how to ski, we exhausted our little yellow motorboat and the skies and ski ropes. We skied all day long until there was no gas money for the boat.

Years and years of fun. Love shak, baby!

One day I finally mustered up the courage to slalom ski (ski on one ski). My dad drove the yellowbird and was so patient while I continually sank down into the water when my knees buckled at the tug of the boat. I finally got up on one ski when the top to my green-and-white polka dot bikini broke. I fell to the water, cursing and smacking the surface of the gentle river with my fists. My dad was sad for me but it was funny for all viewers of course.

That night while we were all in bed at the our new house that my dad had just finished, I heard my mom knock at the door and I knew. I don't know how but I knew. I knew that my dad was dying. He had a pacemaker and was doing so well with it for so many years that I had forgotten how vulnerable he was. We went into his room while he lay dying. We could not get in touch with the doctor, the ambulance had a power failure down the road...seemed like hours while he lay there, winking at me ever so often when I asked him if he was in pain. He told the three of us that he loved us and he said to me, "I'm worried about you"....little did he know or maybe he did know what a tumultuous journey I would have. Finally we could hear the paramedics shouting "Erdies!" down the road and they were on foot with the cot. Mom rode with dad in the ambulance and my brother and I rode in his car. He was almost out of gas and I wanted to scream at the gas station attendant (they had those back then), "You stupid moron! My father's dying! Move your fat ass!" Everything was in slow motion. Dad was gone when we got to the hospital, I guess, but it was so traumatic (he was only 51 years old) that I always get that part wrong.

When he died, I lost all my marbles for many decades (I was 19 going on 15 emotionally) but somehow managed to do a lot of interesting stuff. My life would never be the same...you know how the story goes...

But after all these years, I always hold the fondest memories of the camp.

Love shak, baby!