Camp α (Patreon)

He had been vocally protesting the first half hour of the trip and then quietly sulking for rest of it. But now that we were getting close I could see that he started to be excited, or at least nervous.

I love Stephanie with all my heart, and I’ve really made an effort with her son, but we have nothing in common. He’s too old for the typical bonding over learning to ride a bike or catching ball, and I couldn’t lure him with game night. He would just run back to his room for gaming or reading or God knows what nerdy shit. So I thought it was my duty as step father to make one last ditch attempt to make a man out of him before he runs off to senior high.

He didn’t take it well when I and Stephanie told him that he would spend the entire summer at a summer camp, and that I had already selected, booked and paid for it. He came up with a long list of excuses, but I told him that my marriage certificate and adoption papers from earlier that year gave me the right to send him wherever I damn well please.

So that’s why we’ve been sitting in the car for hours to reach some former military barracks in the middle of nowhere. Apparently it had been used as a correctional facility for some years as well, before it had gone private as a camp of last resort for weaklings needing that extra push. They didn’t say much on the web site, but the testimonials were outstanding when I asked around.

Admittedly when we arrived the facilities didn’t look that welcoming, given its history. Concrete fences with barbed wires, and beyond in the distance, concrete buildings. My stepson opted to remain silent while Mr. Clarke greeted us at the gate and had me sign some final papers. Yes, he needs parents consent to leave. No, he has no dietary concerns. Yes, they are authorized to administer medical procedures as needed. No, there are no cellphones or other valuables packed in the bag.

As a goodbye my stepson broke his silence and said “May the odds be ever in my favor”, whatever that meant, took his duffel bag and walked towards the concrete complex.

In the 13 weeks that followed there wasn’t much communication. A few hand written letters that were way too upbeat to be genuine, but Stephanie bought them. I was again standing outside the gates, waiting to pick him up. I could see the group advancing towards the gate, all dressed the same, and at exactly noon the gates opened and they walked out towards the parents that had now gone quiet.

I didn’t recognize him until he was just a few paces from me. He was several inches taller, buzz cut hair and a much harder looking, leaner face, and a kind of steely eyes that I hadn’t seen before. He was wearing grey sweatshirt and sweatpants with Camp Alpha logo on them, but it was obvious that there was a wide and muscled frame beneath it. “It wasn’t like you said” were his first words. He held up his almost empty duffel bag and said “I need new clothes. The old ones doesn’t fit anymore”, and walked past me towards the car and put it in the trunk.

He didn’t say much on the drive from the camp either, but it was more like he was evasive about the camp rather than avoiding talking altogether. Had they been outdoors? Yes. Could he name an activity? Canoeing upstream. Had they done any crafts? Yes. They had forged the dumbbells in his duffel bag. Had he made any friends? Not really. Enemies, I joked? Nope. He did say he looked forward to go back to school. Joining any sports teams there? Maybe.

It was when we stopped for gas that the new him started to emerge. I offered to buy him snacks, and he asked if he could have a yogurt. While in the station I could see him exiting the car and do some jumps and push ups. He had looked warm in the car with his sweatshirt on, so I bought a cheap T-shirt as well. When I came back to the car he was standing next to it, acting like nothing had happened. “I got stiff sitting still”, he said, downing the full bottle of yogurt in one go.

I offered the T-shirt, and without hesitation or self consciousness he stripped out of the sweatshirt, showing impressive pecs, swollen biceps and chiseled abs for everyone to see. The T-shirt was a bit lose around the waist, but stretched the fabric at the chest and biceps. I felt a pang of guilt choosing “strength” over “stamina” or “agility” as camp specialization without asking him. He is not going to find many shirts his size. Regardless of what his plans were before, he is no longer in control of his own body. He needs his five healthy meals per day to function. He needs his 8 hours of sleep, his daily gym set, his evening jog, his functional cloths, his showers. He is not going to sit 5 hours to raid his wizard in War of Whatever. I hope he can see that it was for his own good. More  importantly I hope Stephanie can forgive me for replacing her son.

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