CHIPMUNK, a memoir

A story of young boys going through their growing pains at summer camp.

Summer camp was one of the rites of passage when I was growing up. The camp I went to was in the beautiful Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. My parents dropped me off in Fresno about a hundred miles from the camp, and I was loaded on the back of a truck with several other boys. This was before the days of seatbelts and airbags. We started off winding our way up from the flat valley into the grandeur of one of the most gorgeous mountain ranges in the world. Giant granite monoliths forced from the earth were sprinkled with spruce and pine. Our truck continued snaking its way into the clouds. Occasionally I would get a glimpse of a beautiful veil of water splashing over the edge of some huge escarpment. 

 

As time went by, I had my first experience with carsickness, or should I say truck-sickness. The back of the truck was far from comfortable, exposing us to our fair share of exhaust, but at least it had a wooden bench to sit on. At the time, I seriously thought I might die. It was hard for me to fathom how someone could feel so miserable and stay alive for very long. I actually was silently praying to myself as I stared down on the floor of the truck. What I should have been doing was staring off into the forest at things far away, but at the time, there were no adults in the back of the truck to disseminate this carsickness remedy. So we just all plowed on up the mountain sick or not finally reaching the camp late in the afternoon.

 

I was twelve and this was the first time I had been away from home for so long, five weeks. I did suffer from homesickness the first two days, but I soon got into the semi-military lifestyle of the camp. First thing in the morning they would wake us with a loud bugle call. We would jump out of bed, put on our clothes, and run to the dump. It seems to me they could have picked a more pleasant location for the run’s halfway point, there was nothing like the smell of garage in the morning.

 

Kit was the kid in the bunk above me. He was a handsome boy and had a muscular body for his young age. Another feature of Kit, he was an a*s-hole. The pretty-boy type that thought he should rule the roost in our cabin. In the morning, as we were jumping out of our beds, Kit would intentionally try to jump on top of me as I was getting up. This went on for a couple of days until we came to an understanding. I was a lot bigger than Kit, so he did the math and left me alone. I did some pranks on Kit. He would snore in the middle of the night, and I would gingerly sneak up and punch him in the stomach. It worked every time, and I always managed to slip back in my sleeping bag before he saw me. I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me, but we managed to tolerate each other’s company for the five weeks.

 

The target for Kit’s mean and bullying behavior was a boy everyone called Chipmunk. Sadly, I don’t remember his real name. He was one of those kids that were created for bullies to prey upon. I never said an unkind word to Chipmunk and I was always nice to him. What I didn’t do was side with him against Kit and some of the other boys in the cabin. I stayed clear and became an observer. I was a kid that had a high threshold for getting angry, but when I did, it was not a pleasant thing. I had been doing exceptionally well keeping my temper, and I was not about to lose it at camp. If my dad had to drive up there to get me, it would not be particularly pleasant.

 

This particular camp had a lot of activities, and it was a fairly rough and tumble place. The counselors that supervised us were young men in their teens. Most were well liked, a few weren’t. We did a lot of physical things there: backpacking, hiking, tug of wars in swamps, horseback riding, shooting guns, and bows and arrows. It was a lot of fun, especially after the first week. By then we were a pretty fit bunch of boys, and we had adapted to the Spartan life.

 

One hard and fast rule was if you got in a fight you had to fight the same guy again in the ring, with the entire camp population watching. There was fighting now and then, and in truth, it was fun having the Friday night fights. They were tremendously exciting and did serve as a strong deterrent for unsupervised boys punching it out in the cabins. That’s where most fights broke out because we were pretty much on our own there.

Chipmunk and Kit were about as different as two human beings could be. Kit was medium sized, and as I said before, he was muscular. He was the guy that would someday play football in high school and be the heartthrob of the girls, at least until they found out what a prick he was under his charming exterior. On the other hand, Chipmunk was tall and skinny. When he took off his shirt, he would have made an impressive display of a skeleton in any classroom in America. Kit had the handsome face. Chipmunk had glasses, braces, and a decidedly rodent looking face. His teeth were acutely crooked, and the front of his face came to a point like a chipmunk, hence the name. I’m going to call him Chip from now on just out of respect. Another trait of Chip, he liked to read. That’s the kiss of death when you are bunking with the dirty dozen. The last straw was the fact that Chip was far more intelligent than we, except for me of course. I’m sorry I can’t in clear conscience end this paragraph with a lie; he was a lot smarter than me also.

 

One day we came back to our cabin after some challenging experiences in the great outdoors. The cabin was completely torn up, with clothes, sleeping bags, letters from home, and all manner of other stuff all over the floor. My bed and things and a few other boys possessions were spared. Chip was standing in the middle of the room explaining why he did it. It does not take a rocket scientist to piece together his motives. Chip was sick and tired of how some of his cabin mates were treating him, especially Kit.

 

Kit immediately had to prove his dominance and charged into the room swinging at Chip. Chip took a few blows and was saved by a counselor that just happened to be walking by. Now both boys were destined to fight on Friday, and it was Friday! This might seem a little brutal, especially from Chip’s perspective. In no way an athlete, it seemed unfair that he would have to fight when he never threw a punch. The fact of the matter was that it was unfair, but that was the way it was. Lesson number one, life is not always fair.

In the cafeteria that night, there was a buzz in the air. Of course, all the money was on Kit, but the sentiment for Chip was bubbling under the surface. No one likes a bully, and Kit was one. There was no way a boy like Chip could defeat Kit. Things like that just don’t occur in the real world.

 

Fight time finally arrived, and everyone was standing around the ring waiting for the fighters to appear. The first to come out was Chip. He was shirtless and wearing shorts and tennis shoes. On his hands he had on extremely large boxing gloves, making his skinny, long arms look like sticks. They were so immense it was almost “cartoonish.” I guess the camp administrators wanted to keep their insurance premiums to a minimum. Next, Kit stepped into the ring with a rather arrogant look on his face. He strutted around looking at the crowd of boys like a rooster in a chicken pen, his fans cheering him on.

 

The bell rang and the fight was on. Three rounds may the best boy win. Chip ran right out to the middle of the ring and took a swing at Kit, and hit him smack dab in the middle of his face. Kit was stunned, just standing there with a bewildered expression. Chip just kept coming on, swinging like a windmill, and actually making a good connection with Kit’s head. Kit was so off guard he hadn’t thrown a punch yet. The underlying sentiment for the underdog began to come to the surface, manifested by a huge cheer for Chip. This was shaping up to be something glorious. A true David and Goliath story heading to what appears to be the same outcome.

 

Round one ended with the clink of the bell, which looked a whole lot like a horseshoe to me. Both fighters went to their corners where they were toweled off and given pointers. I am sure in Kit’s corner they were telling him to throw some punches. Kit was no longer the overconfident punk that entered the ring. You could see his mind turning, contemplating the horrors that would befall him if he actually lost.

 

Clink! Round two got underway. Again Chip rapidly charged to the center of the ring. This time, Kit managed to hit Chip on his bony white chest. Chip was thrown back on his heels and then propelled himself forward throwing punches one after another until he had Kit pinned against the ropes. At this point, Kit’s face was clearly red on both sides, and his eyes appeared bloodshot and watering some. Could Kit be crying? Chip didn’t let up and continued to punch left then a right. Clink! That’s what I call saved by the horseshoe.

 

At this point, some of the adults were mumbling to each other on one side of the ring. Kit was sitting on his stool as the tears were obviously running down his cheeks. He had been broken and defeated, and he knew it. The humiliation must have been overpowering to someone like Kit, who so valued his status and posturing superiority. The head of the camp stepped into the ring and said, “both you boys put up a good fight, but I must declare Chip the winner.” The crowd of boys yelled, “there’s still the third round!” The man in the ring appeared to be deaf because there was no response from him at all. Kit seemed to be OK with the fact there would be no third round. You could tell by the dazed and confused expression on his slightly swollen face.

 

Chip showed no real reaction to his victory. No arms over his head declaring, “I’m the man!” He just stood there in the middle of the ring a bit dejected and seemingly somewhat disappointed in his fellow man. The crowd of boys was still cheering like a throng of crazed, bloodthirsty Romans in the Coliseum. Next Chip walked over to Kit’s corner, who was now in the process of accepting his obvious defeat. Chip stuck out his hand and Kit shook it without looking him in the eyes. Immediately Chip turned on his heels and scooted through the ropes and walked through the multitude of now admiring fans, as they spread apart making a path for him. He went straight to the cabin, got in his bunk, and starting reading a book. He never gloated or talked about the fight again. If anyone asked him a question or offered congratulations the response was always the same, “It’s over.”

 

That evening there was a whole new ambiance in the cabin. It was quieter and had a more relaxed atmosphere. Kit kept a low profile and eventually the entire episode was a part of history. Chip just went on with his regular routine of being who he was. His new position as camp hero made his life far more pleasant, and kids got to know him and appreciate his uniqueness. He still had the appearance of a chipmunk, but he just seemed different somehow.

 

Actually, he wasn’t different at all from his pre-fight days, we were the ones that were different, the boys of the camp. At our age you seldom ran into other children with such a well-developed character. On one level we now admired Chip for kicking Kit’s butt, but on a deeper level, we saw Chip was actually an amazing, principled, and courageous human being. The way he performed after the fight, showing nothing but humility and the desire to put it all behind, was a level of maturity that most of us would have to wait a few more years to achieve. Some of us would never come up to the standard this skinny odd-looking boy demonstrated to us.

 

The world had not been totally turned on its head. Still there was the occasional fight and then the Friday rematches, with the cheering hoards encouraging their favorites. Looking back it all seems so politically incorrect and harsh, but it did make us all a little bit more responsible for our behavior and come to the understanding that there were consequences for our actions.

 

The five weeks came to an end. Our parents came up the mountain to pick up their slightly more mature offspring. We had all changed some as the difficult process of growing up was still in progress. I have often wondered what became of Chip. Considering the lessons he taught us all, and the way he dealt with life, I am sure he continued to be someone quite special.

Reviews

[Shelley Holt-Lowrey]

This was a great story that I really looked forward to. I currently have much interest in the inner-workings of relationships between boys on the cusp of manhood. The young man I am currently in possession of does not feel inclined to clue me into these things so it's a "learn as you go" effort

I would say this write is good in its entirety but suffers a bit from what my pal Roarke would say "process". It's a bit rangy, which is unusual for you really. The flow and thought behind the piece seems to be a bit off from your usual - in your commitment to it perhaps. It IS good, and I like it, just not as good as some you've done. You are a pro at story telling truly - so I have much of your work to compare this one too. Only suggestion would be to come back to it at some point when you have a fresh perspective.

EDITED: Just realized this piece is over 2 years old which explains much. You've come a long way Zeeke.

[Mauricio Montoya]

Its part of life we all go there at some point and hopefully grow for the better, some of us it take longer to reach manhood.

[Liza]

so many transitions and hormones raging - not yet a man but still a boy - expressed with maturity

[Brad]

oh, man do i remember those days...we were always sent up to northern minnesota by the canadian border...sigh, thanks for taking me back with you

[emmajoy]

oh my goodness, this is very much a BOY write, one that should be read and read in schools to prove that it's not only the biggest and the self professed best that wins the day .. such a moral in this very well written story ..

am pretty sure this is genuine past .. well done ..