Overnight in a Tent. Well, Maybe – Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

Overnight in a Tent. Well, Maybe – Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

I was a kid who never wanted to leave home in the summer, or anytime, so I was never “sentenced” to a camp. My mom knew I could never survive in the wild jungle. I liked being around home or at a beach cottage where, on my own or with trusted friends, I could wander freely in the dappled light of the oak trees, listen to cicadas, play stickball or gawk at caterpillars and turtles at the nearby stream.

That was enough adventure for me. I never got a badge or roamed the night forest.

At eight, I was lucky to have Wally as a friend. He lived on the first floor of a two-family house across the street. Four years older, he was professorial, with mountains of knowledge about to explode from his wide-eyed, smiling face.  While I boasted of going downtown with my mother to see a movie, Wally told captivating stories of Boy Scout Camp adventures. I was not at all envious.

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Wally slept in a tent pitched every summer in his backyard. One afternoon, he asked me to join him and Andy, another scout, to an overnight. “Yes,” I said, with enthusiasm. Wow, a night in the wild with the big guys. Wally’s mother reassured my mom that she would “Keep an eye on things.” Confident, I saw no need for her to monitor me.

At sunset, I shuffled across the street in my pajamas and slippers. Wally and Andy shared camp stories, tales of dark nights and creatures that roamed the woods. Wally pointed out the North Star. I told him I saw it but I think it was a streetlight. In the distance were the sandbanks, barely visible in the fading light.

Wally’s Mom shut her kitchen light. The guys fell asleep.  I tossed, sat up, looked for the North Star and listened . . . groans, snaps, howls, barks, mews and steps . . .  a garage door closing, an engine purring, a television, a cough, a ball game—the Boston Braves?  Lights flickered. The cellar light was on in the house next door. Was something moving? I never realized how long it took for the moon to move. I thought of my bed, my room. I shook Wally. “Eddie. Whatsup?”

“I wanna go home.”

Wally’s Mom appeared from the shadows. “Come along.” I rolled my pillow and blanket into a ball, tightened my pajama string and put on my slippers. We crossed the street. Wally’s Mom left me with Mom at the door. “Thank you.”

In the comfort of my bedroom, I slid under fresh, cool sheets oozing the smell of soap. I turned on my radio. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.” I snuggled my head into the fluffy pillow and pulled the sheets up under my chin.  The moonlight rolled softly over my blanket. Ted Williams’ picture stood tall on the dresser.

I looked at the clock. 9:15. Hmm, earlier than I thought.  

What a great adventure.

Dr. Ed Iannuccilli is the author of three popular memoirs, “Growing up Italian; Grandfather’s Fig Tree and Other Stories”, “What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner” and “My Story Continues: From Neighborhood to Junior High.”  Learn more here.