I got my first tent when I was about six years old. It was a Davy Crockett teepee and it was authentic, they told me. We set it up in our wooded backyard in my boyhood home in Leominster, Massachusetts. We played Cowboys and Indians in those days. I’m not sure if I should admit that now. We ran through the woods, sometimes sneaking quietly, sometimes whoopin and hollerin. I had cap guns, I had bows and arrows with suction cups and even sling shots. We changed roles often. I’m not sure who won the war each day; there were many battles all summer long after all.
I got you…not you didn’t…yes I did…I dodged that bullet…You’re dead…No I’m not…I was diving behind that rock. (Not a picture of me, but my teepee looked just like this)
Said Every kid
The battles ended when our mothers called us in for dinner, made us wash our hands, and eat what was placed in front of us. It was hot dogs and beans with brown bread. I remember that meal; I’ll tell you later. And at that table, I told my parents that I wanted to sleep outside in my teepee, just like the cowboys and Indians did. I was brave. So my older sister, Vickie, volunteered to sleep out there with me. She was eight. She would protect me from the bears, wolves, racoons, snakes, and skunks that lurked in these woods. I agreed. It would probably be comforting.
I never fell asleep. I heard every noise in those woods, both real and imagined I’m sure. And Vickie? She was sound asleep. Then I heard it…bells. Bells coming closer. Some ghost like hoooos coming closer. Vickie wasn’t moving. I was shaking. Hooooo. Closer. I woke her up. She opened the tent flap and there dancing around my teepee was a ghost with bells. My heart was about to explode, and so was my bladder. She screamed. I screamed. That’s what brave kids in coonskin hats do. Scream.
I had to get out. I had to get into the house. I had to escape this nightmare. Vickie agreed to run with me. But first, the ghost stopped right in front of me. Off came the white sheet and the bells on her wrist. Then started the laughter. Not mine. It was a neighborhood friend of hers. They concocted this ugly scheme. I was still a shaking mess of a brave boy. I ran into the house, laughter continuing out back.
Holy shit. I’ll never sleep outside again. Never again, never again, I told myself as I knelt at the toilet. Yes, I still remember seeing those hot dogs and beans in that toilet. I still remember promising myself that I would never sleep outdoors again.
She’s still my sister. I can’t recall if she got in trouble, but I hope so. We became friends again. I still love her.
And I did sleep outdoors again…many times.
And I grew to love hot dogs and beans with brown bread again…after a few years.
This is looking good, I’ll test the response field. By the way your actual briefs are just wilder than mine.
I have moved beyond whitey tightys though. We did play cowboys and Indians, WAR games WW2 or last stand at the Alamo, It seemed to relate to what was on a TV at the time. Toy departments always had realistic guns and we even made a small 8mm movie based on a Civil War skit done on the Wallace and Ladmo show!
We practiced making gun sounds with our voices. sang along with the battle of New Orleans 45 record and we sank the Bismark. we met the bloody British in the town of New Orleans, fired our guns… they began to run down the Mississippi to the gulf of Mexico. The other 45s we had tended to be dads Johnny Cash.