By Sandy in Toronto
It was about 1964...........
Away on a day outing (Cook-out Mondays), our camp
section was returning from a day of canoeing on Moose Lake to the
shores of our summer camp in Haliburton, having enjoyed a cook-out
lunch of hot-dogs, bug juice, and canned corn. As we approached
the shores of our camp, I, all of seven or eight years old, noticed
a serious bit of unbalanced activity happening in an adjacent canoe.
It seems the bowsman and sternsman were in the throws
of a Saddamesque gassing of the forces by the fella in the middle.......well
call him Mark since hes now about 47 and we dont want
to cause him psychological distress. The gunnels were rockin
and the paddles were churning frantically....no nice clean j-strokes
happening here...it was a mad dash for shore. You see, Marky had
turned the middle thwart into a makeshift outhouse, a veritable
Johnny-on-the-spot, sans un trou pour la merde.
The consequent loaves of post-cookout fare
sat forlornly on the bottom of the canoe, sloshing about in a small
pool of water, a goo-stew of sorts. Marky, looking mortified (perhaps
thinking, these assholes are going to remember this moment
forty years from now), did his best to haul his stinky streaked
ass out of the canoe as it slid up the sand shores of refuge. And
so it goes............as I tell my children (and they know the Marky
story): careful what you do as a kid, because your peers (and their
parents) have VERY LONG MEMORIES !!!!!!