Are we wusses for opting out of male-bonding rituals?
The question was innocent enough.
“Are you going to join us camping this weekend?” my roommate, Ben, asked.
He caught me off-guard and I didn’t have an answer right away.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, letting my reply drift into an awkward silence. I hoped that he would forget that he brought up the topic.
“You didn’t go all summer and promised you would,” he shot back a few seconds later.
He caught me. I was stuck.
“Let me think about it,” I said.
It’s not that I’m trying to avoid my friends, as much as it may seem that way to them—I’ve been charged, half-jokingly, for making up excuses not to hang out.
I just don’t like camping.
No, I take that back: I loathe camping.
There are few things in this world for which I have such a strong dislike. I hate when my socks get wet, I hate when a date is rude to the waiter, and I hate camping.
Every other month or so, I’m invited to head north for the weekend with Ben and our friends. Our buddy Dustin has some land in Vermont, which I am told, from January through December, “is beautiful this time of year.”
Yes, I’m sure it’s lovely, but oh darn, that thing is this weekend. Maybe next time.
♦◊♦
I still have some not-so-fond memories of my last camping trip. I was a senior in college, when drinking cheap beer and updating my resume for the job search held equal priority in my schedule. My fraternity was hosting a camping get-away to a brother’s property in western Massachusetts. It will be great, the planning committee told us—an opportunity to be outside, enjoy brotherly company, and, oh yeah, get wasted.
This was in January, before the start of my spring semester, when the brown, crisp leaves that fell from the trees a few weeks earlier were being suffocated underneath a blanket of snow. Iced-over earth and sub-freezing temperatures wouldn’t stop us, though. We had beer to drink and hell to raise. We were college dudes, and we were unstoppable.
I prepared for the winter trip with an overnight bag that included three pairs of socks, two skiing caps and a dozen loose cans of Natty Light, left over from the night before. This will be great, I told friends. I haven’t been camping since I was a kid!
It wasn’t long before I remembered why it had been so long since my last trip.
It was cold enough to see my breath, even while sitting next to the fire. My fingers were numb despite wearing two pairs of gloves on each hand. Cans of beer that we left in the car, we discovered, turned into cylinders of ice when we went to get them a few hours later.
And then, of course, there was using nature’s restroom. I waited until the last possible moment to stumble through the dark and find an area of privacy, only to spend ten minutes trying to loosen up my multi-layered uniform with my double-gloved hands. I was incredibly uncomfortable by the time I finally dropped my drawers, but it was nothing compared to the cold that shot at my body as I tried to go about my business.
This, I thought, is miserable.
The next morning, I woke up with the sun and hopped in the first car that was leaving our campsite. In the end, I lasted less than 10 hours in the woods. I swore that it would be a long time before I ever tried to break that record.
When I was living in the frat house, I took on an invisible competition to out-dude the guys next to me. If they drank two beers, I drank three. If they hooked up with some girl, I coyly kept mum, letting them think I did the same. And if they were going camping in the snow, goddammit, I would be there.
On that car ride back from the trip, I admitted that joining the trip was a terrible idea. I only agreed to go because I didn’t want to be the wuss who slept in my bed and enjoyed a hot shower back at the house, while the other guys went into the woods and tapped into their primal instincts of survival and beer drinking. I wasn’t ready to suggest that instead of camping, how about we all enjoy a nice night in with some wine and a viewing of The Devil Wears Prada?
After a night of putting my fertility in jeopardy, however, it was time to do some reflecting.
♦◊♦
Ben, Dustin, and my other friends, loyal as ever, stay persistent. I have yet to join them on a trip to Vermont, but they continue to offer a spot in the car anytime I would like to join. (For the most recent trip, however, Dustin sent out an email inviting the usual campers and he did not include me. I have been demoted from being explicitly asked to being privy to an open invitation.)
I would like to think that I’ve matured a little bit since that last trip in college. I have owned up to my dislike for camping, but, more importantly, I realize that it’s foolish to fear being knocked further down the pole of masculinity if I don’t want to spend time outdoors with a bunch of dudes.
One recent, cold Thursday night, as Ben packed up his sleeping bag and whatever else they bring on these trips, I threw on an old sweatshirt and made a pot of coffee.
“Last chance to come along,” he said, before heading out the door.
I thought about it for a minute.
I pictured myself in the woods of Vermont, three layers of long johns deep, trudging along in the dark, through the blankets of snow, trying to feel my fingers.
I pictured myself marching to the campsite. Everyone huddled around the fire pit. The food that will have to last us until the end of the weekend. The bottles of beer, chilling in the snow and waiting for an opener. And in the distance, the stump. The stump that doubles as the toilet.
That’s where I stopped. I didn’t want to imagine how this story would end.
Instead, I smiled at my roommate, sat on the couch, and hit play on my DVD remote for an evening of The Devil Wears Prada.
Not to be “that guy” but my suggestion is this: try camping in the summer. I think you’d find it a much more pleasant experience, especially in Vermont where the days are warm-but-not-godawful-hot and the nights are pleasantly cool. I enjoy camping, but if the evening temperature’s going to be below 25 degrees I’ll seriously reconsider whether I want to put myself through it. Also, ask your friend(s) for tips on how to keep your body/face warm at night. Even if the temp’s only getting down to about 50-55 degrees, your face may still get cool enough to be uncomfortable.… Read more »
I will say this ALL IS NOT EQUAL ESPECIALLY HERE IN BEAVER COUNTY, PA I AM A SINGLE DAD OF 2 BOYS AGES 4 AND 5 WHO UNFORTUNIETELY HATE THEIR MA CAUSE OF NEGLECTS OF HER TO FEED, CHANGE AN CARE FOR THEM BASIC HEIRARCHY OF NEEDS THE BASIC PYSIOLOGICAL NEEDS, I GOT CUSTODY FOR NOW BUT SO TIRED OF FIGHTING HER AN NOONE WILL HELP OR LISTEN I AM HARRASSED BY LOCAL CYS CHILD PPL AND I HAVE NO FAMILY OR FRIEND SUPPORT AND I AM ( ABOUT READY GIVE UP) GIVE MY BOYS UP MY CELL 412 378… Read more »
Great story . I do not like camping either. You can come to the little red house, watch The Devil Wears Prada, and still look out the window and still see a moose. Good beer in the fridge( or snow bank)- RK will share. Maybe when you visit Norridgewock. I only drink wine and I share too..
I don’t blame you for not wanting to go camping. If I wanted to put up with that sort of rough outdoor living I would have joined the Army.
I think the notion here is great – not everything is for everyone, and you shouldn’t kill yourself trying to prove to others you’re something you’re not or enjoy something you don’t. And I would take Meryl over the great outdoors any day!
Yes, you are a wuss.
Maybe your supposed distaste for camping is just a really strong distaste for being really really COLD. Maybe the “Next time” Should be in the summer. Camping can be a lot of fun, it doesn’t have to be miserable, cold, wet or a pain in the butt! I sleep outdoors 3 months out of the year, I love camping, but I wouldn’t have like the experience you described! Go camping somewhere warm!
A great suggestion!
Couldn’t agree more.
I like camping and I also like pushing myself to do things I thought I wouldn’t want to do. Sometimes, it’s good to test oneself. It strengthens the mind.
Yeah, you’re a huge wuss. Partly for not liking camping, but mostly for even mentioning that godawful Meryl Streep catastrophe of a movie. Camping is the best, and one of the biggest things I miss doing since becoming a dad. I wish I could head off with your friends to Vermont.
Aaron, hopefully you’ll get the chance to blend both fatherhood and camping once the little guy is a bit older. Part of the reason my friends love it so much is because it brings them back to a time when we weren’t tied to work and the city beat, which, I admit, is certainly an admirable mentality.
As far as Meryl Streep’s role – agree to disagree.
Nothing is quite as satisfying as sitting by the campfire with your son (or daughter–i only have sons) watching the smoke curl upwards and the fire lick the logs. It’s a genuine bonding experience and I really love it. I get the experience via the Cub Scouts, which I enjoy tremendously despite the current political brouhaha the BSA has mired itself in; they offer a great introduction to camping. However the Scouts isn’t the only way to get that experience. I hope you find a way to take your kids camping soon!
Love it! I feel the same way my dear. Let’s set up a tent in my living room, make s’mores on my stove and drink some wine. We can leave the windows open to experience “nature.”
100% with you. I just don’t get camping. Nice article.
What a great article! I had the same attitude, until I did some (rented-spot) camping in the National Parks out west a couple summers ago. Totally different experience – no frozen fingers, communal restrooms with running water, but all the natural splendor. It’s worth another try under a less primitive scenario!