Camping in Maine

Camping in Maine.

It was in the summer of ‘62 that we had a reunion with our wonderful friends with whom we had spent those four  magical years in France. The parents decided it would be camping in Maine, in Kennebunk Port.

It was pretty exciting to see them again and to be in a camp ground with lots of activities for teenagers.  It didn’t take me long to single out this dark haired cutie pie.  If I wasn’t being grounded for something, I’d look forward to the sock hops they had where I could keep an eye on him.  I liked those feelings you got as a young teenager for a member of the opposite sex. It was called having a ‘crush’.

All went relatively well with my father, barring the groundings and control issues; well that is, until the water incident.

Karen and I had our respective duties.  With sibling rivalry at play, it wasn’t wise of my father to ask me to do one of her chores. I was incensed that I was being forced to cow tow to her.  I was to fetch the bucket of water over at the shower center which was a bit of a walk away.  This was much more difficult for me than for her, because I was so much frailer. I, very begrudgingly, complied. Was I mad.  I wouldn’t dare not get the pail of water, or worse yet, say no. But when I returned with the water, I did make the mistake of saying to my father in a reflex kind of way, ‘Here’s your damn water.’

I never cussed so this was a complete surprise to me.  Very appropriate under the circumstances, I smugly thought.  But my father didn’t think so.

He ordered me into the tent. Ah oh.  I was really going to get it now. These strappings were wearing thin for me and I could sense the end of them coming.  I just wasn’t going to go along with them any more.  I was fifteen. 

Within earshot of all of those great friends, he proceeded to beat me with his strap.  He asked me the question, where did I want it, on my hands or my bare bottom?  I said neither, that I was too old for this.  I don’t know if you can blame the drink or the challenge to his authority, but he proceeded to beat the crap out of me, leaving me with heavy welts on my back, arms and legs.

I think his friends were shocked but still made no move to help me. My Dad must have been humiliated to now know that they knew his disgusting secret. The next day when I went to the beach with my friends, they asked me how I got those marks.  I said I fell in the bushes, but hadn’t they heard everything too?

In retrospect I see that this was a dirty family secret that no one talked about. Up to this point, I thought every kid got the same treatment. It was bittersweet to see other fathers treat their daughters so lovingly.  I got a glimpse of what I missed.