I hope family values camper just like I did

"We're camping," I said with a firm nod of my head as all four boys stood in the kitchen. They wanted to know where the video game system had gone and why the cable wasn't working.
"Camping?" one child said, incredulously.
"You're kidding," another said with disgust.
"That's a good one!" I heard one comment as the herd moseyed out of the kitchen, laughing.
When my husband and I had decided to "primitize" the house the night before, I am not sure what response we expected from the children. Laughter was not at the top of the list, however.
Perhaps they found humor in our "camping" ploy because we sold our camper a month ago, thus ending our camping era.
"I can't believe this phase of our life is over," my husband had said over the phone as I was confirming the selling price with him as the buyers stood, hitch in tow, in the driveway.
I knew what the next words out of his mouth would be: "Let's not sell it!" So I quickly hung up the phone and signed the papers over.
I knew it was best
The truth was, I didn't want to sell our pop-up camper, either. But I knew holding on to this family keepsake was sentencing it to death -- a slow death, rotting away in our backyard.
Our camper deserved better than that and I knew I was selling it to a family who would have as much enjoyment with it as ours had.
Popping it down for the last time, I remembered the first time we had popped it up.
The family we bought it off of brought it to our house to show us all the details of how it worked.
As they instructed Pat and me, the children ran in and out of the camper opening the cupboards, hopping on the beds, too excited to stop moving for even a moment.
They slept in it for weeks in our back yard.
We camped at local campgrounds for a while. Then, there were trips to Lake Erie, camping on the beach. There were trips to the Allegheny National Forest, camping with the bears.
As a family, we would decide whether to return to a campground. We always agreed.
As a family, we packed for a trip. By the last year, we had become so adept we could be packed and in the van ready to pull out in 20 minutes. We had a system. We were in sync.
As a family, we picked our campsite when there were sites to choose from.
We didn't always agree on this point, but we always accepted the decision.
As a family, we set up camp. We became so good at popping up the camper, we could do it in 12 minutes flat.
As a family, we gathered wood for the fire and sat around it until the wee hours of the morning.
We told ghost stories lying in bed -- until somebody got too scared or somebody had to go to the bathroom from laughing too hard. Then, as a family, we did everything we could to frighten the bathroom-goer.
As a family we huddled, miserable and cold in our close quarters when the rain decided to visit our campsite.
And when the sun shined, we played many hands of cards around the picnic table and ate many a burnt hot dog -- all as a family.
In the eye of the beholder
A lot of people stopped to look at our camper when we had it for sale. Most didn't like it. I could tell they thought it was ugly.
They were right.
It is an ugly camper. But its canvas holds some of the most beautiful memories for our family.
It is those wonderful times as a family that Pat and I were attempting to replicate at home with our "camping" ploy.
Admittedly, we haven't gotten the desired effect.
Conquering the wilderness just isn't the same in a heated brick home.
"We're camping, remember?" Andrew said sarcastically to me as I was looking for my cell phone the first afternoon of our "camping" excursion.
"I remember," I said, unable to hide the sadness in my voice.
Oh, how I remember.
gwhite@vindy.com