This One Time at Horse Camp

Yeah, you heard me right; this is going to be a story about my time at horse camp. You may be wondering what horse camp is. Well, it’s a magical getaway for youngsters that love horses, of course! Not only are campers assigned a horse to groom, feed, and ride in competitions, they also take part in more traditional camp activities. So, yeah, I got to ride horses and later tell ghost stories at the campfire. It was sick!

I’ve always loved horses. As a wee lad, I called them Wah-Wahs. You think that seems weird? Fuck you, I was cute. My father suspects that this strange pet name originated when he played George Harrison’s “Wah Wah” while I bounced on my Hobby Horse. This is a fairly sound hypothesis. Either way, when my mother offered me the opportunity to attend horse camp, I was so amped! I knew my summer leading up to 5th grade was going to be life-changing.

I really believed that something major was going to happen to me while spending a week away from my home/family. Since camp was co-ed, I was hoping to land my first kiss there. Well, needless to say, that didn’t happen. I do remember desperately trying to impress a much older female counselor by removing crab grass from a pathway with my bare hands. She was definitely impressed that the prickers didn’t hurt my hand. Truth be told, it was excruciating. What camp did change in my life was unexpected; I acquired an unhealthy addiction that would haunt me for years.

I remember the night I took my first sip. Everybody was still up at an outlandish hour–something like 10:30 pm. We were engaged in a heated debate about the origins of the mysterious ghostly boy in the movie Three Men and a Baby. The scene was paused on the television as campers discussed theories–the most popular of which suggested a boy had committed suicide after being denied a role in the film and his spirit lingered to fulfill his acting dreams. Later in life, I was told this was merely a cardboard cutout of Ted Danson in the background. I’m not sure there is enough evidence for me to buy into the cardboard theory. It remains a mystery in my book. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with this particular scene. Here is a still from the movie:

It’s rather haunting, no? Either way, nearly everyone was completely engrossed in this discussion–nearly everyone. A camper named Peter nudged me and motioned for me to follow him. The others were completely oblivious to Peter’s and my departure. As I followed him, I realized Peter was going to lead me outside. This was obviously against camp rules, but I wanted my fellow campers to think I was cool. We stopped behind the barn (which was also off limits) and Peter showed me the reason for our rebellious trek; he retrieved a bottle and waved it in my face with a smile. After taking an overzealous swig of the liquid, Peter handed me the bottle. My stomach turned. Up to this point, I had never tried this beverage. Sure, I had seen advertisements that ensured that drinking it would lead to fun, but I was still nervous. Like I said, I knew camp was going to change me somehow. So, I went for it.

The first sip had a bite that seemed very abrasive to my virgin tongue. But at the same time, I recognized the undeniable sweetness of this nectar. Peter and I passed the bottle back and forth several times until we started to feel something. My head got cloudy and I couldn’t quite think straight. I was slightly dizzy, but in a good way. I wanted to drink more, but realized we needed to get back to the bunks before we were noticed to be missing. Peter agreed and we sneaked back to camp. When we entered the back door, the rest of our peers were still chatting, but with less fervor. What a relief! Our timing seemed impeccable as the conversation was beginning to wind down. I figured we could just slip back unnoticed, but this was not the case. My relief was short-lived as suddenly a camper vocalized Peter and my absence. A counselor cursed and audibly rose to his feet to begin a search. Peter glared at me fearfully. If we were confronted and forced to explain where we had been, even the craftiest of lies would be thwarted by the smell of our breath. I still wasn’t thinking straight, but I had to act fast. I scrambled into my bunk and began to fake snore. Peter’s eyes widened as he understood my exit strategy. He hopped into his bunk to follow my example. We were just in time because soon I heard a counselor stop in front of our cabin door. He lingered there for a while to presumably identify the sleeping campers before returning to the group. The counselors must have decided that it was time to turn in because my fellow campers started to fill the remaining beds in the cabin. I heard a few mumbles suggesting that Peter and I were pussies for falling asleep so early. Little did they know…

I awoke a few hours later feeling a little ill. I couldn’t get the thought of another sip out of my head. This was my first craving for anything other than cheesecake or pizza. I had to have it and I couldn’t wait. So, I quietly climbed out of my top bunk and crept out the back door. When I got to the barn, I retrieved the bottle and quenched my thirst. It felt fantastic to fulfill that craving, but I knew I shouldn’t drink all of the treasure that Peter had discovered. That is, until I noticed that there were more bottles within my grasp. I figured the counselors probably came to that spot to indulge as well. With that knowledge, I knew I had to be more careful in the future. I also knew I had to tell Peter of this information. I took a few more sips and returned to the cabin with a warmth brewing in my belly.

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The last day of camp was reserved to showcase the skills we all had learned. Our parents were coming that day to pick us up, but also to make sure they got their money’s worth. We had been training all week to compete in various horse-related activities. When my turn came to ride Socks (oh yeah, did I forget to mention my horse’s name was Socks?) to victory, I was confident. I had had a few sips with Peter prior to our parents’ arrival and was feeling optimistic. My competition was the Phone Book Run. I was given a page number to retrieve from a phone book at the end of the corral. I just needed to get a better time than my competitors. Socks and I raced down the dry earth in a cloud of dust. I reached the book and opened it within a couple pages of the desired area. I knew this was luck, but my time was incredible! As I signaled for Socks to return me to the counselor, she jammed up. I got flustered and began giving her mixed signals. She just stood there like a sack of potatoes. My record time was lost! I began to cry like a little baby as a counselor had to lead Socks and me back to the stable. I was embarrassed with both my performance and my lost composure. My solution to this: another drink.

I ran off to the barn to drown my sorrows, but didn’t realize that my mother was following after to comfort me. When I reached the bottle, I began to chug its contents like water. I lay down in a pile of hay and closed my eyes. This must have been quite the sight for my mother. I’m sure I even had some of the hooch spilled on my shirt. I was a wreck. I really didn’t want her to see me like this. She wouldn’t understand. I could give it up whenever I wanted.

My mother’s gasp startled me out of my daze. She was furious as she grabbed the bottle from my hand. I was then interrogated as to whether the beverage was responsible for my strange behavior at camp. Apparently the counselors had taken note of my actions and relayed this info to my mother. I couldn’t deny it; the facts were all there in the open. I was ashamed. My mother was so disappointed and forbade me from drinking Mountain Dew ever again.

Let me tell you: it was rather embarrassing to decline a Dew while attending the occasional party or school function. I mean, everybody else was doing it and they couldn’t understand my reservations. I just knew I shouldn’t drink with that many witnesses. My mom might find out! Unbeknownst to her, my father would let me drink when we dined out. The folks were divorced a few years by the time my rehab plan had been established, so my father was likely just questioning my mother’s judgement. Or he just wanted to be the cool parent–either way.

I drank the stuff here and there for a number of years before I fully relapsed in high school. I couldn’t leave home for my classes without chugging a can or two. By this point, my mom had given up on preventing me from drinking it. In fact, she had begun to buy it in bulk because my siblings were now hooked as well. It’s truly a nasty habit. I’m not even sure how I kicked it. I just woke up one day and didn’t need it anymore.

In retrospect, I don’t blame camp or Peter for my struggles with the Dew. I was bound to be exposed to the junk one way or another. I guess I’m just glad I got out of the game early on. Plenty of my acquaintances are still using regularly and I can’t talk them out of it. I just hope my story will educate parents on the signs of Dew-buse. It’s the least I can do.