Camper Dreams, Teenage Screams: Our Mountain Misadventure

By Ellen Fannon

Last week marked the beginning of summer break for our younger son, and for some inexplicable reason, we thought it would be an excellent time to really try out our new camper for more than a couple of days. Excitedly, we planned to haul our camper eight hours north to the mountains of Helen, Georgia. The keyword here is planning. It took us a solid week to pack the camper with every imaginable necessity we would need to “survive” the wilderness of the resort campground—with a bored fifteen-year-old. In the cold. And the rain. What were we thinking? Well, clearly, we had visions of a peaceful, relaxing getaway where we could unplug, kick back, and simply do nothing. Surprisingly, this was not our younger son’s idea of a good time.

Seriously, what teenager wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to spend a fun-filled week in close quarters with his parents, stuck in a 21-foot trailer with no TV and possibly no internet, to detract from experiencing complete detachment from society and enable family bonding? Our togetherness was reinforced by having to turn sideways in order to pass each other in the narrow confines of our minuscule living space, making tiny homes look like mansions by comparison. Our younger son, however, was less than thrilled with the idea of spending quality time with his parents.  He even refused to play Yahtzee with us, if you can believe it. The first couple of days weren’t entirely awful for him, as he managed to find some other disenchanted teens to hang out with. But, alas, the summer break schedules in Georgia did not coincide with our younger son’s schedule in Florida, so after the first of the week, he was left to fend for himself amidst a sea of retirees. Even the campfire we built on the one night it didn’t rain failed to draw him into family participation. But what can you expect from a weird child who doesn’t even like s’mores? Did I mention he’s adopted?

Lest you be tempted to turn us in for child abuse, let me reassure you we did try to meet his desperate need for excitement and the requisite spending of a considerable amount of money by taking him zip-lining, since playing Yahtzee with the old folks wasn’t exhilarating enough. At the risk of breaking our elderly, fragile necks, I might add. Actually, it wasn’t my neck but my shoulder I injured as we hurled several hundred feet above the ground, all for the sake of entertaining our complaining child. Somehow, all the safety instructions our guide gave us prior to launching us off the platform into the air went out of my head when I attempted to slow down by grabbing the line (which we were explicitly told NOT to do), rather than laying my hand flat. I realized my mistake when I felt my body wrenched backward and separated from my arm. But what’s a dislocated shoulder when it comes to the happiness of a pain-in-the-you-know-where whining, bored child?   

“Are we ever going on a real vacation again?” our younger son lamented. To him, a real vacation consists of flying across the country and staying in a luxury condo with his own private room, TV, and a hot tub by the pool. Just as long as he doesn’t have to go sightseeing, shopping, or interact with us other than eating expensive meals out. Oh, and which costs several thousand dollars.

“This is why we bought a camper,” we patiently explained to him. “So we can travel wherever we want and bring our own accommodations with us. We can do a lot more with a camper.”

The look of horror on his face was priceless. But not to worry. In just three years, he will turn eighteen and can take all the luxury vacations he can afford—just like his older brother, who, by the way, spends his free time… well, camping. In a tent. Our younger son has no idea how lucky he is.