When I was 8, 9, 10 years old or so, my mom got this idea that it would be good for me to be shipped off to summer camp a couple of times.

One summer it was “Y” (YMCA) camp. Another summer it was something that several of the Baptist churches jointly owned somewhere out in the boonies.

Each one involved me being taken away in a bus full of kids with me sunk down in the seat in despair, a la “inmate transfer.”

The “Y” camp was every horror that I thought it would be, and then some.

The Baptist camp was actually the good one. Church-like activities weren’t that heavy or numerous. There was hiking, a lake, a swimming pool, and good food. Music was great. I remember singing Three Dog Night “Joy to the World” with a couple of hundred kids several times.

I appreciated the Baptists bailing me out of some horror that summer.