My Pine Forest

I grew up in a small town in southeastern New Hampshire. That is where I developed my love for the outdoors. As there was not much to do, I (with my brothers and sisters…and friends) spent a lot of time exploring. I loved running around in the woods, playing in fields, climbing trees and just sitting and watching animals ‘doing their thing’ in the forest.

When I look back at my past, I will say that my fondest memory would be at the age of 9, at my grandmother’s house in Newcastle, ME.

She had a large house on a private road. The house sat on a cliff, overlooking the Atlantic and bordered on two sides by a forest of large pine trees. I did love sitting out in the yard, looking out over the beautiful beach and watching the waves crash on the rocks below. My siblings and I had a great time climbing up and down the 50 foot cliff and playing at ‘our beach.’ But most of all…when thinking about this time…I can…still to this day, close my eyes and transport myself back to the pine forest surrounding the house.
I inhale and can smell the soothing aroma of pine. I walk barefoot on the ‘featherbed’ of pine needles that line the floor of the forest. The gentle crackling of the dried needles beneath my bare feet send tingles up my spine. I lie down, feeling the softness of the forest floor. Looking up, the tall pines shelter me on all sides. Large pine cones are scattered, as if sprinkles on a cupcake. I could sit there for days, walking, sitting and staring at the glimpses of sky through the tall bushy trees, rolling around…getting the needles stuck in my clothing and in my big head of hair. It is pure delight.

My love for that little forest of mine was enhanced by the constant smell of salt in the gentle ocean breeze, along with the feeling of being completely safe and secure in ‘My Pine Forest.’

Let "ME" The F Out!!

Dear (10 year old) TentCamper,

I am writing to you today to tell you that no matter how you might feel right now…things WILL change. I know that you are only in fourth grade and that people pick on you, call you names and beat you up, only because your skin is darker than theirs. You need to trust me, I have been exactly where you are right now and if you stay strong and show everyone that you are a nice, likeable boy, you will be fine.

When I was your age the same thing happened to me. I was scared to go to school most days and knew that I was going to be beat up by groups of bigger kids. The butterflies in my stomach were so bad most of the time that I threw up or just went straight into the nurse’s office to hide. I used to fight back, the best I could, but for the most part…I tried to be invisible. I did not want anyone to notice me. I stayed to myself, did not make waves and ALWAYS wanted to be alone. I was very lonely and wanted the other kids to like me…but I was too scared to take any chances.

Do you feel ‘hollow’ like I did? I hope not. It is a horrible way to feel. If you can, take only this advice; be yourself. Let everyone know just how funny, nice, cool and smart you really are. Tear down that wall that you have put up around you. Crawl out of that hole. Open your heart to others…even if you think that they won’t care. There will be no way that they won’t like you. I will tell you - that worked for me.

I was always a very kind, gentle, caring, funny, personable and sensitive child, but I never let other people know …only because I was scared of them. They never saw who I really was. Not until I was in 5th grade…that is when I let ‘ME’ out. And from that point on…not even my skin color could drag away some of the great friends that I’d made.

The last thing that I’d like to say to you…and you can believe me or not…You are going to have a great life. You are going to be important in the lives of many people and the happiness that you are going to bring them will change them forever.

My heart is with you.

TentCamper Sr.

For more great stories , check out Mama's Losin It

my imaginary life

30 years ago, I knew my destiny. Well… I guess that no 10 year old boy…in the 70s…really knew how his life would pan out.

10 year old TentCamper was (besides all of the shenanigans and altercations at school) quite a happy, fun and outgoing kid. In my neighborhood, I had some very good friends and we (and my 2 brothers and 3 sisters) spent every daylight hour playing games in the woods and out in the neighboring fields.

Besides the normal…get on your BMX bike (or in my case, the yellow Schwin with the big yellow banana seat) and ride over the unstable, plywood, unrealistically angled, ramp secured only by the pile of cut firewood strewn beneath it. Or the use the whole neighborhood for a game of capture the flag…we had our favorite - Vietnam


Vietnam (the rural New Hampshire game) had several differing versions. It really depended on our mood and who was playing. We had the POW version…(the sisters were involved there), where we would capture them, drag them out into the woods, tie them to trees or make cages out of tree branches and twine. The girls really did not like this version too much. Then there was the sniper version, during which we would split into two teams…the snipers and the ‘enemies’. The enemies would be sent to the field across the street and would have to wait 5 minutes to let the snipers get into position in the woods. Please note that the snipers all carried Rural NH versions of M-16s …I think they were called Daisy Pump-Action Pellet Guns. Then the ‘enemies would have to make it through the woods…any way they could…to the clearing on the other side. We also had Booby-Trap Vietnam. You can imagine what this game involved. Watching movies like Rambo, Hamburger Hill, Apocalypse Now, Force 10, etc…we were good. I hated being one of the enemies during this version…kids got HURT. We once, completely by accident, caught my little sister in a snare that hoisted her into the air . she was dangling by one foot about 4 feet in the air for about 2 hours. I got the “wooden Spoon” for that one…My mom did not believe in “The Belt.”

Anyway…I was GOOD! Rarely got snare, never got captured as a POW (mini TentCamper could run like the wind) and only had to have lead pellets removed by mom – and a pair of tweezers on a few occasions. I was convinced that I was going to be in the military. I would have made an exceptional sniper, spy, trap setter, demolition expert (ask my mom about our TV) and I could spot the enemy “miles” away. My cat-like, stealthy, movements and reflexes would make Jason Bourne, Rambo and Jack Bauer collectively cry out of jealousy.

My mother did not allow me to join the Army…she said that the Army would not allow a boy my age…but she would still use it as a threat when we were bad (which for me I’d smile at.) She said that when I turned 18…I could if I still wanted. That was the plan…skate through school til I was 18 and then get on a copter to wherever our military needed me.

After all was said and done…it never happened. By the time I was 18…I was on…”a different” track. Leading to places more like the ‘grey bar motel.’ Every time I started thinking about it…and wanting to join…something would happen in my life that would prohibit my enlisting.

I still think about it to date. Last year I called and emailed our local Marine and Army Recruiters and Reserves to let them know of my dreams…I could hear the chuckle (even through email) when they replied that a 40 year old guy with no training…other than the self taught, rural New Hampshire business…was probably not going to make the cut.

So these days, I would like to give a big shout out to, Jack Bauer, Jason Bourne, Ethan Hawke, Michael Schofield and all of the members of The Unit for bringing my imaginary life to the forefront of my head. I am living my dreams through you!!!!

Meeting The 12 Year Old Me - a look back in time

The 12 Year Old Me

As I approached the young boy who was standing in the hall, at first glance he looked like a happy, outgoing, typical 6th grader. When I stopped to watch how he interacted with the kids around him, I noticed his uncomfortable posture. It was easy to see that he felt out of place. I could plainly see the internal struggle behind his cleverly constructed façade.

After watching him for a few minutes, I decided to go up and talk to him. As I got closer, I knew that he would be dismissive. He saw me approaching and quickly looked away, as to not invite any conversation. I leaned up against the wall where he stood and plainly said, “Hello.” He looked at me briefly and responded with an unenthusiastic, “Hey.” Noticing several scars on his face and arms, I knew that he had been through quite a lot for a 12 year old boy.

After trying to strike up a conversation a few times and being brushed off by him, with his one word responses, I knew that I would need to try a new approach.

Not wanting him to leave, I invitingly said, “I grew up in a town…exactly like this one…and DAMN it was hard. How do you do it?” I felt that putting him in the power position or position of giving the advice might be the way to go. He told me that it was easy…”all about making friends. When everyone likes you…life is smooth.”

I could not help but to chuckle a bit and say, “I used to think that way too. It wasn’t until I grew up and left my childhood friends behind that I realized that I was not sure who I really was…as a man.” I looked at him, hoping for an inquisitive response. He, partially, turned to me and said, “Yeah, well…I gotta do what I gotta do to get through.”

I completely understood that attitude…as I still feel that way sometimes myself. I felt kind of frustrated that he wouldn’t really talk to me…and didn’t seem to be listening.. But then again, the things that I wanted to say to him…(level with people, stop and think, cry, be honest with yourself) are all things that I don’t even do all of the time. Do as I say…not as I do.

I looked back at him and uttered, “Well…I live here now and will always be her if you ever need someone to talk to. You can come to me with anything…questions about sex, girls, friendships, school, parents, siblings…anything…I’ve been through it all.” He just looked at me, with an enough already look on his face and said, “I can deal with it. Things are fine.”

I told him that I would still be there for him…day or night. Then I reiterated to him that I grew up in a situation just like his and that it all seemed good, but that I had no feeling of independence and that everything that I did was a direct effort to blend in, become a leader among my peers and increase the number of friends that I had…inside I felt very alone. At that point, he turned to me, looked me squarely in the eyes (wanting to end the conversation) and said, “Yeah…OK If I need anything, I’ll let you know. Then he started down the hall towards a small group of girls. I could almost make out his snide remarks ...which made the girls giggle and look down the hall in my direction.

Watching him go, I could not help but to realize that he would not come to me. That made me sad…and angry. Sad because I wanted that boy to fix what is wrong and to find some inner peace…Angry because I knew what the future held for him and I was not strong or pushy enough to get through to him.

Blast From The Past

I just got back from a day out with the kids and decided to check my email. Among the spam and other miscellaneous emails, I had one from someone that I did not know. I almost deleted it but decided to see what it said. When I opened it, all it said was the name of my high school and the town I grew up in with a question mark.

My mind raced…who was this? I did not recognize the first name. I went to a very small school…I can usually place people…this time I could not. I replied to the email just saying, “Yes. Who is this?” About 15 minutes later I had another email from her. As it turns out that while I was in High School, we “spent some time together” one weekend. Now, am I an ass hole for this not connecting for me? I still had no idea who she was. She remembered me and her name or what she said that we did had no effect on my geriatric memory. Instantly I began to freak out…even before finishing the email. Please don’t …please don’t say something about a child. I quickly zoomed my eyes over her email for certain key words……SHIT! "Kid" is there…I thought I was going to throw up all over the keyboard. I tentatively scanned back to the beginning of that sentence and read it in full. Phew!!!!! It read, “I am not writing about a 20 year old kid.”

What a relief. I did have a few high school years when I thought that I was some sort of mini playboy in training. Still…nothing with regards to who this girl is. The other people she mentioned in her email …I remembered them…just nothing on her. Was it “selective memory deletion?”

Then I replied to her email with the first thing that came to mind…”I am sorry, but I don’t remember you.” Now I don’t know if that is something that I should have just kept to myself or not…..but shit, this was actually 25 years ago. When I told Insane Mama about the email and my response, she responded in a way that made me think that my reply …could have been phrased differently. OOOOPS!

Anyway, I asked her a bit more and about what she is doing and where she lives these days and found that she is still on the east coast, is a few years younger than me and is married with a 7 year old son.

It is always good to hear from people from the past…especially when they are not contacting you about something … unexpected… but I suppose it would have been a bit more nice if I actually knew who the heck she was.

Divorce, Birth Mothers, Hospitals...Life Is Good

With all of the things going on in my life these days, I have taken some extra time to reflect on my life. I am very comforted by the fact that things could be much, much worse. About 20 years ago, I was in a very …. rough spot in my life. I was mixed up with the wrong people, into a lot of things that I should not have been and had the misfortune of landing myself in situations that would forever change my life. I wrote the following story a few years ago, when I was trying to get through some undealt with emotions. I am not sure why I am posting this other than keeping my current situation in check…things are not THAT bad.

From early in the day, the cellblock was busier but quieter than usual. This always happens when something big is coming. The quiet before the storm. The Black and Latino gangs seemed to have more distance between them than usual. As the day drifted on there was a lot of quick meetings and whispering happening within the gangs. The rec yard and mess hall were tense, yet uneventful, which was far from typical. Looking down from the third floor balcony, the common room looked like a pair of hypnotic eyeglasses, swirling groups of people on either side and a few misplaced guards in between.

Gangs in lock up are simple yet complex. They can be quite large but only the top three have any say on what happens that day. Many have no interest in being in a gang, or taking part in the insane schemes, yet protection…a family is an unavoidable need.

It was about 8PM when there seemed to be a lot more scampering around. The volume on the TV was turned up as the Latino leader and his 2 under-bosses emerged from their “office.” Simple gestures by him sent the Latino soldiers on their missions. As a group of about 15 men all converged on the level one balcony, the lookouts began signaling. There seemed to instantly be 2 dozen Black soldiers surrounding the Latinos. At first there was just a lot of tough looks, talk and pushing going on. The tension was high, it felt as if it were 100 degrees on the block. The looks on everyone’s faces were looks of fear and confusion mix with honor and duty – reminiscent of soldiers on a battlefield. With another nod from the leader everything seemed to start moving in slow motion. 3 men entered a cell. Outside it was like a scrimmage line on a football field. Hitting and pushing with nobody gaining ground. Moving nearer, There were glimpses of a fellow block-mate backing into the corner of his cell, with his comrades unable to help him. The sight was frightening, even though he was the enemy.

As the muffled calls for help emerged from the cell, it was clear to everyone that his time had come. There seemed to be a slight pause before the view of stabbing motions filled the cell. All watched quietly as the victors emerged from the cell with blood-soaked hands. Quickly, with tear-glazed eyes, the sight of people running, weapons disappearing and smiles from the balcony were seen. It was clear that many involved were filled with hidden emotions. Beneath the smiles and cheers, it was easy to see the fear and sadness. Returning to the cells, hearing the jingling of keys on the guards’ belts as they ran into the block, everyone laid in their bunks, closed their eyes…all this for a carton of smokes.