This was followed by an extended nature hike. We set up our tent and our sleeping bags. A smile beamed across my 9 year old face the entire way there. I convinced my father to join me and spent the next three weeks up all night with anticipation coursing through me. I had never been camping before and had always wanted to go. To say I was excited would be a gross understatement.
It seemed like I had joined at a very opportune time since the big overnight camping trip to Bong Recreation Area (feel free to make jokes, God knows we did) in Kenosha, WI was only three weeks away. I quickly made friends with everyone there. I liked attending meetings for the Cadets. I agreed, and he registered me the next day. This is an organization that is like the Boy Scouts but with a more explicitly Christian bend to it. My dad in turn suggested I join the Cadets. My father was a pastor, and when I developed an interest in doing outdoorsy type stuff, I asked if I could join the Boy Scouts. I attended Christian school and went to church three days a week, sometimes even more. However, I feel by writing this incident down I can put that night behind me and finally put this harrowing encounter to bed. This event is the source of such fear and dread that thinking about it even twenty years later is sending shivers up and down my spine. Lately, my mind has been wandering back to my first camping experience.
