When I was a young pup, my father used to take us on these quasi-camping trips. I say “quasi” because it wasn’t as if we lived off the land for three days, eating questionable berries and letting our bowels sort them out. If there was a provision that was in any way portable, we had it. I think one year we bought an honest-to-God television set. Yes, my family “camped” in the same way Nickelback “rocks.” So then, why go camping at all? Is it possible that we wanted to take an excursion into a foreign and uncharted territory but needed to retain some semblance of the life we were leaving behind in order to make the transition less scary? Is this why we camped four feet or less from our Dodge Caravan, so that when things got a little weird we could bask in the comforting shadow of the minivan and know that if we really wanted to, we could hightail it to a Holiday Inn before the fire even died down?“Where is this going?”
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