In the spring of 1983, my friends and I were approaching the
end of our high school careers. We
felt we needed a place to celebrate, somewhere away from all watchful
eyes. The idea was born to go on a
camping trip. The first one would be at the end of our senior year. It would eventually become a tradition for the next several summers. It was always a nice escape from
reality. The gang had gathered
once again after we all returned from our inaugural year in college. Immediately on the agenda was planning
another camping trip. The
naysayers told us that it was not really camping, all you guys are doing is
drinking in the woods. What’s your
point?
Friday would be our departure day. I had only been home a few weeks and I
couldn’t wait to get out of the house.
I originally offered up a different weekend. This one happened to
coincide with graduation at our alma mater…and I wanted to attend. Friday morning came and I was able to
head to the high school for a little while. A few friends followed. I didn’t think my ex would be there since she was still a
junior. I was wrong. Forgotten was the fact that the school
band played for the ceremony, and she was in it. I had not seen her since last summer. Funny how ex’s seem to look better
after you are no longer with them.
Another year of being a teenager was pushing her into womanhood. And she wore it well. We couldn’t stick around long since we
needed to finish prepping for our trip, so she never knew I was there. I would have liked a chance to
rekindle. Maybe it was for the
best I would be getting away for the next few days.
Besides graduation, there was another reason I did not want
to go this particular weekend. The
Michigan Panthers had a playoff game that Saturday. During our senior year the USFL was created. My friends and I, being football
fanatics, all chose a favorite team.
My team would be the Michigan Panthers. They would go on to win the first USFL Championship. This was now year two of the fledgling
league and the Panthers were prepared to repeat. Knowing I was going to miss the game, Mom would record it on
the VCR…she was good like that.
Over the weekend I tried not to find out the score, but that never
works. It made the news since it
was the longest professional football game ever played. The Panthers field goal kicker would
have two tries to end the game in overtime, and he failed at each one. Steve Young, yes that Steve Young,
would eventually lead the L.A. Express to victory in triple overtime. Knowing the outcome I never wound up
watching the game. The Michigan
Panthers were disbanded during that offseason. This game would be the last they would ever play.
With the preparation done I began picking up
passengers. I arrived at the first
friend’s house. A few months
earlier another one of our friends had started dating his sister, breaking a
bit of an unwritten rule. The
dater was not coming with us on this trip, but his car was parked out
front. My friend noticed the
windows were open and a baseball, a foul ball from a Yankee game, was displayed
on the dash. As we were leaving he
removed it from its resting place.
A little payback perhaps.
It was a year earlier that six of us trekked out to Yankee Stadium. We would sit in foul territory along
the right field line…why? Well,
Lou Piniella played right field…enough said. They were playing Texas that night and Billy Sample lined a
hard foul…and it was heading right towards the group. It deflected off a fan’s hands a few rows in front of us,
hit the seats behind us, and rolled under our row. It was bedlam for the ball, something out of the WWF. I don’t think I ever saw it while I was
in this scrum. Eventually one of
us crawled out into the aisle for relief…and the ball was there waiting for
him. Ever since that day it found
a home in his car, until now.
Later that day while camping, we would use that ball for a catch. An errant throw and it disappeared in
the brush. We searched for it but
to no avail. Well, I never caught
a foul ball, but I CAN say I have lost one. Hmm, I hope he doesn’t read this….
We finally arrived.
It was late June and the extended daylight would give us ample time to
set up camp. We had carted a
couple of kegs, as we were tired of dragging cases of beer…along with the
challenge of keeping them cool. A
simple central station for suds could be easily iced. The campfire was lit and the food was grilled. As the night wore on, the gang crashed
one by one. Most had worked that
day and it had been a long four-hour trip upstate. Only myself and the first friend I picked up remained awake.
I was glad to get away from Valley Stream. Things had changed for me while I was
away that first year in college.
When I returned home, I felt all of that fading away. I was falling back into old
habits. It was, however, nice to see
some old friends…I hear it is good for the soul. That night we were treated to a meteor shower. My friend and I sat upon the hood on my
car, backs against the windshield, eyes towards the sky. It was a stunning celestial show.
For all the reasons to come out here, this seemed to be the
best of all.
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