When Bowels Want To Go Home

The summer I turned eight, my parents decided to send me off to an Episcopal camp all by myself. Don't ask me why. I didn't ask to be sent -- I was just informed that I was going. It turned out to be a huge mistake all-around, as I was just too young to be away from home for two weeks. (Later on, when I was twelve, my brother and I were sent off to a different camp, and I enjoyed that experience tremendously [1], particularly the Shameless joking around that went on in the latrine with its open stalls, as well as the overnight camping/outdoor squatting trips.)

But back to the church camp. I was terribly homesick from the moment I arrived. It didn't help that I was put into a cabin with older boys -- and by "older" I mean ten- and eleven-year-olds. I was the odd man out, too young to get all their pre-pubescent jokes. What I remember most about the five days I spent there (that was as long as I lasted!) was the effect the homesickness had on my eating habits -- and their aftermath.

Although I didn't have much of an appetite, I did manage to eat a little something each day. The food was typical of camp -- lots of bacon and eggs in the morning, and hot dogs, chicken, and hamburgers at lunch and dinner. What I was not able to do the first four days was take a dump. The facilities consisted of a gigantic communal shower and a row of open stalls off to one side for a measure of privacy, although I wasn't particularly concerned about privacy. I wouldn't exactly say I was constipated, either. It was more like my bowels longed for a happier place and pace, rather than moving the smaller amount of food I'd eaten through at the speed of molasses. I even wonder if this sort of thing can be documented medically. Has anyone studied the effect that homesickness can have on the bowels when a person is away at camp, boarding school, or college for the first time?

On the fifth day, I'd had enough. I remember telling my counselor that I just wasn't having any fun at all and that I wanted to go home. Arrangements were made to have my parents come pick me up, and as soon as I knew they were on their way, me and my bowels were no longer homesick. My mood lightened immediately, and I made my way to that row of stalls, pulled down my pants, and started pushing out five days' worth of camp food.

No one came along during all the grunting I did, though it really wouldn't have mattered all that much to me if they had. I just wanted to get rid of the camp and the crap at the same time; and when that very solid, very homesick BM finally headed from my system into the septic system, I was home-free. I did take a gander at what five days of distress had wrought, and it was quite impressive for an eight year-old. It was very thick and long; and, really, it was about all I had to show for my abbreviated stay. The other kids had lariats and special ribbons to take home, but I had to flush my camp achievement away.