1970-1971, junior year at JOHNS HOPKINS, Age 21

FATE AND FREE WILL
 

My spiritual journey erased all doubt in my mind concerning the existence of God.  However, I had not quite made up my mind about Fate.  Given that I cherished my Free Will, I did not like the concept of Fate.  How does someone believe in Free Will when a giant contradiction like Fate stares us in the face?  If Fate exists, then perhaps all we do is act out a giant Cosmic Play with God writing the Script.  How much of our Lives is scripted?  What approach should we take given that we lack complete control over our own lives?

While reading Autobiography of a Yogi, there was a story that really upset me.  Yogananda, the author, was told by his guru that he was about to get sick.  Then the guru handed Yogananda a special arm band consisting of silver, copper, and a small quantity of gold.  Yogananda asked what the arm ring was for.  The guru replied that his astrological Fate predicted he would become extremely sick in one month.  Apparently Yogananda's liver was about to develop a serious problem.  However, if Yogananda were to wear this special armlet, the length of the illness would be shortened from six months to one month.  Sure enough, Yogananda got sick just as predicted.  And, as his guru predicted, Yogananda recovered one month later.

I am not going to insult the Reader's intelligence by insisting this story is true.  What I will say is the story suggests we are all Fated for certain things to happen at a specific time, even yogis and saints.  Witness Jesus.  He knew all along what his Fate would be.  After reading this chapter, I questioned whether I had free will.  I am not sure why, but I lost interest in studying for a couple of weeks.   If everything is predetermined, then what difference does it make whatever I do?  However, the moment my grades began to fall, I snapped back to Reality.  I put down Yogananda's book and began studying for my next test.  When I got a good grade, I felt better.  I decided that until I had a better understanding about the nature of Fate, the smart move was to continue running my life as if I was captain of my own ship.  The eminent physicist Stephen Hawking shared a humorous insight relevant to this issue. 

"I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined, and that we can do nothing to change it, always look before they cross the road."

I agree with that sentiment.  Even though I firmly believe in Fate, I live my life by a rule I refer to as "Reality with an Asterisk".  Operating as if I am in charge of my own destiny, I approach each day under the assumption I have Free Will to make my own choices.  I do everything in my power to improve my health and stay out of trouble.  Exercise, healthy food, seat belts, annual check-ups, watch my weight.  Guess what?  It works.  I have been blessed with good health my entire life. 

So what about that Asterisk?  Although I live my life based on what modern science has taught me, I believe that certain things will happen to me occasionally and there is nothing I can do to prevent it.  99.9% of the time my life is completely normal.  But every now and then something strange happens which causes me to go on Supernatural Alert.  Most of the time my suspicions turn out to be unfounded, but once in a while things get very weird.  What do I do in that situation?  I accept that God is going to periodically place obstacles in my life.  I may not like what happened, but I assume this obstacle is meant to teach me a lesson.  First I accept that I am experiencing a Fated Event.  I remind myself this unpleasant task was probably placed in my path for a reason.  Then I use my Free Will to solve the problem.  Sometimes I am pleased when the Fated Event turns out to be something I like.  In that case, I say thank you, then remind myself not to get too excited until I see what is coming next.  At the end of my Daydream story, you will see what I mean.

march 1971, junior year at JOHNS HOPKINS

daydream believer
 

My first two years at Johns Hopkins had been sheer misery.  However, my outlook improved considerably during my journey into the Mystic.  Helping Vickie find the strength to carry on was the start of a transformation.  If I could help Vickie, I could help others.  I felt a keen desire to do something to make the world a better place.  Although I was still absurdly self-centered, at least I was finally headed in the right direction.  My days as a computer science major ended and I switched to Psychology with the goal of becoming a therapist.

A major by-product of my journey was the decision to become a spiritual person.  In addition to my new-found desire to be of service to the world, I wanted to be the best person I could possibly be.  In practical terms, I chose to turn the other cheek when necessary.  Love thy neighbor.  I also chose to remain celibate.  A virgin at the time, I decided to remain that way until I fell in love.  I wanted my first experience to be special.

In Hindsight, these were two of the worst decisions I ever made, but let's not get ahead of the story.  It was not difficult being celibate.  Since there was not a girl in sight here in the Land without Women, at this point I had learned to live with their absence.  Out of sight, out of mind.  I enjoyed my studies, so that was good enough for the time being.  As for turning the other cheek, also not a problem.  I was a loner and no one ever spoke to me.  In other words, being a spiritual person was not difficult at all. 

It was now the end of March 1971.  It was late in the afternoon on a warm spring day.  After two hours of studying at the Hutzler Reading Room, I was ready to call it a day.  Soon I would head to the gym for my daily dose of basketball.  However there was no hurry.  I had a few moments to relax.  As I sat back, I realized I had no job lined up for the summer.  Now that I had lost interest in computers, what sort of job would I like to try? 

After daydreaming for a moment, an unusual idea crossed my mind.  Wouldn't it be fun to be a camp counselor?  A big smile crossed my face.  A summer spent outdoors would be very cool.  Having lived my past twelve years inside the protective walls of St. John's and Johns Hopkins, it would be great to get outside for a change.  Canoes, swimming, archery, softball, volleyball, nature hikes, practical jokes, campfires, marshmallows, singing, and, best of all, ghost stories.  Gee, maybe I could tell them about the time I met the ghost of my dog.  The thought of telling the kids about Terry made me laugh. 

I was amused by my twisted sense of humor.  In fact, this entire fantasy had me smiling so I continued to daydream.  Where would I like to go to be a camp counselor?  Well, Colorado, of course.  I had visited Colorado several times as a boy with the Clark family and went absolutely nuts over the magnificent Rocky Mountains.  To me, Colorado was the most beautiful place on earth.

Camp counselor... what an odd thought.  I had never thought of being a camp counselor before.  Not once.  To begin with, I had never been to a summer camp.  Nor had the idea been discussed in my home.  There was barely enough money to pay the bills, so entertaining frivolous thoughts about European vacations, Rocky Mountain ski trips, and expensive summer camps was an exercise in futility.  I had learned long ago to avoid fanciful thinking.  Growing up, my idea of summer vacation was reading books, taking Terry for walks, and playing basketball at the nearby park.  This explains why I was very suspicious about this odd thought.  Where did such a ridiculous idea come from?

As I rolled the unusual idea around in my mind, it sounded like fun, but not very realistic.  In fact, my practical side dismissed it as absurd.  How silly to even imagine. 

What were the chances of finding a job like that?  For one thing, there wasn't much time left.  This was late March.  Summer was just around the corner.  I imagined most camps already had their summer staff lined up.  Furthermore, I had absolutely no idea where to begin looking.  Since I had never been to a summer camp, I did not know the name or location of a single place.  Nor did I know anyone who had ever been to a summer camp.  I did not have the slightest idea how to go about applying.  If I tried hard enough, I suppose I could run down the addresses of several camps in the Maryland area.  But why bother?  Even if I went to the trouble of sending a letter to a total stranger, why would he or she hire me?  I had no connections, no experience, no one to recommend me.  Furthermore, what skills did I have to offer that might make me useful to a summer camp?  I was a Psychology major.  What good is that for entertaining kids?  What would we talk about at night, Sigmund Freud?  No, stick to ghost stories.  Less scary.

Let's face it, I had no business even considering the idea.  Nevertheless, this daydream really caught my fancy.  Although my practical side continued to ixnay this strange idea, I could not seem to dismiss it.  Obviously I really wanted this job.  But my chances were slim, one in a million.  I imagined most camp counselors were chosen in-house.  In other words, a college student who had previously attended a particular summer camp as a teenager would have the inside track to return as a counselor.  An outsider like me had no chance.  I shrugged.  Oh well.  My camp counselor idea was a nice fantasy, but far-fetched.  It was a complete waste of time to give it another thought, so I got up and headed to basketball.  The daydream disappeared on the way to the gym.

April 1971, second semester, junior year, Age 21

the Quaker meeting daycare center
 

I owed a debt to the Baltimore Quaker Meeting.  The kindness of several members had been instrumental in rescuing me from Rock Bottom one year ago.  As part of my transformation, I wanted to contribute.  By chance, on the same September morning I learned that Vickie had left Baltimore for Canada, I discovered there was a day care center here at the Friends Meeting.  I asked someone if they welcomed needed volunteers.  Someone said yes, so I promised to help one afternoon per week.

That brings us to a warm April afternoon.  I am busy playing with the kids at the Quaker daycare center.  I have been surprised to discover I liked playing with kids.  Today I was playing with Eric, age 4, my favorite.  I made a point to seek out Eric whenever I was there.  Great kid, all boy.  Our favorite game was playing Monster.  I loved to chase Eric through the elevated playhouse.  Wherever Eric went, I lumbered right behind him growling the entire time.  Up the ladder, across the hanging rope bridge, down the slide and through the tunnel.  Yup, even through the tunnel.  I made sure to never actually catch Eric for fear of scaring him, but I could be a great monster when given the chance.  Today was special.  It was springtime and I was in rare form. 

"Grr, grr, I'm gonna get you, Eric, and when I get you, I'm gonna sit on you!!"

Eric squealed with delight as I lurched after him, growling the whole time.  I loved threatening to sit on him.  Eric and I had a standing joke that monsters were so stupid they thought 'babysitting' meant sitting on top of the baby.  Every now and then I would briefly sit on Eric to reinforce the message.  We were right in the middle of monster mania when Eric's mother Jennifer arrived.  When Jennifer called out to her son it was time to go, Eric immediately began to protest.  "I don't want to go, Mommy.  I want to stay here and play monster with Rick!"

Jennifer laughed.  Eric's protest was part of our little game.  The three of us went through this ritual every week.  Today I noticed Jennifer had brought an attractive lady with her.  The woman was about 30, a couple years older than Jennifer.  Lonely as always, I could not help but notice how pretty this lady was.  I sighed appreciatively and wished for the millionth time that Hopkins had coeds.  Then I noticed the lady was smiling at me.  Wow.  Why would this lovely woman be smiling at me?  When I realized she had been watching our game of Monster Chase, I blushed.  Good grief.  She must think I am the silliest boy on earth. 

As Eric hugged his mother's leg, Jennifer noticed my appreciative gaze at her lovely companion.  Jennifer decided to make an introduction.   "Rick, this is my sister Mary Colvig.  She is visiting me here in Baltimore for a couple days."

I smiled and introduced myself.  Mary stuck out her hand and we shook.  When Mary smiled at me, I decided to say something.

"Welcome to Baltimore, Mary!  Where are you from?"

"Colorado."

I froze on the spot and my eyes furrowed.  Colorado?  Whoa.  I instantly went on Supernatural Alert.  Recalling that weird fantasy from two weeks ago, I had a funny feeling that something might be happening here.

"You live in Colorado?  Wow, aren't you lucky!  When I was a boy, I visited Colorado four summers in a row with a family I am close to.  I absolutely love Colorado.  In fact, I've been thinking of applying to graduate school in Colorado.  What do you do in Colorado?"

"My husband and I are opening a summer camp in Durango."

No way!!!  My heart skipped a beat.   

"I know where Durango is.  I love that area.  When I was 12, my adopted family passed through Durango on our way to Mesa Verde National Park.  Durango is part of the San Juan National Forest, right?"

"Good for you.  You know your Colorado geography."

"So you run a camp in Colorado.  That is awesome."  I paused, then blurted it out.  "Do you have any openings for counselors?"

I stopped breathing.  Where did I get the courage to be so forward?  Was I dreaming?  Tell me this is not happening.

"Why, yes, Rick, by chance we do!  We have one spot left.  But we are leaving town tomorrow morning.  Can you come over to Jennifer's house tonight and speak to my husband Craig while we are still in Baltimore?"

At this moment, Jennifer spoke up. 

"Oh, Mary, I think Rick would be a terrific counselor.  He loves kids and the kids here at the day school adore him.  Just look at Eric.  Eric goes nuts over him."

At this comment, Mary broke into broad smile.  She knew what Jennifer was up to, but didn't mind a bit.  If anything, Mary appreciated her sister's ringing endorsement.

So did I.  Wow!  Nice timing on the compliment.  I smiled at Jennifer and winked a discreet 'Thank you very much!' 

I talked with Mary's husband Craig that night.  He liked me and, boom, just like that, I got the job.  I would spend my entire summer working at Colvig Silver Camp in Durango, Colorado. 

This was a very unusual stroke of good luck.  I never even had to lift a finger.  Instead the job had appeared out of nowhere.    Wouldn't life be great if everything was this easy??

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Universe someone was laughing.  Be careful what you wish for. 

Serious

summer of 1971, Age 21

Colvig silver camps
 

When I got my job as a Camp Counselor, I was excited beyond words.  Woodstock was my new favorite new song.  I had a huge crush on Joni Mitchell, so I listened to her song all the time.  In particular, one phrase... Life is for Learning... kept running through my brain.

Well, maybe it's the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man
I don't know who l am
But you know life is for learning.

-- Woodstock, Joni Mitchell

I was tired of learning things.  As far as I was concerned, I had enough difficult Learning Experiences to last a lifetime.  Now I just wanted to have some fun.  I assumed this unexpected camp counselor job was Good Luck in its purest form.  To my surprise, this turned out to be one of the most difficult experiences I ever encountered.  It served as the perfect example for the Good Luck-Bad Luck Paradox.

I had been asked to arrive one week early.  The grand opening of Colvig Silver Camps was next week.  Are you fond of hackneyed cliches?  I stuck out like a sore thumb.  Speaking of sore thumbs, the moment I got there, I discovered the camp was not finished yet.  They were still building cabins.  Someone placed a hammer in my hand and told me to get to work.  Good grief, this was the first time I had held a hammer since my boyhood toy set.  I nearly lost my thumb that day. 

Here's another cliché.  I was a fish out of water.  I was an introverted philosophy-psychology major from an elite Eastern university who found himself placed with the Future Farmers of America.  The other 20 counselors were farm and veterinary majors recruited from a nearby agricultural college.  Talk about lost.  I was a stranger in a strange land, a city boy placed among young men and women who were masters of their environment. 

The Colorado college kids could sense there was something odd about me.  I was so out of it I did not even know how to put up a tent.  Since I was different, the nail that sticks out the most gets pounded first.  Hmm.  I am on a roll with these cliches.  You should have seen the looks I got when they watched me use a hammer for the first time.  There were three men in particular who picked on me unmercifully.  Jack was their ringleader.  He was a mean-spirited malcontent who needed someone to bully.  Once Jack discovered that I was 'different', this jerk thought it was his duty to remind me every chance he got that I didn't belong here.  Which of course was true. I had never been more out of my element in my life.  I was easy pickings.

As Jack's harassment grew meaner during my three month stay, I found myself at a loss to cope.  Confrontation was not something I handled very well.  Since I had spent the past year believing a spiritual person was supposed to turn the other cheek, I did not have a clue how to deal with Jack other than retreat into sullen silence and seethe with bitterness. 

As the only city slicker in the bunch, my ignorance of the Great Outdoors showed up in all sorts of embarrassing ways.  I cannot begin to describe the terror I felt when Jack dared me to get on a horse.  When that horse took off at full gallop, I was certain it was curtains for me.  While I hung on for dear life, the other counselors thought my panic was hysterical.  Thanks, guys, I could have been hurt.  Not that they cared.

There was one unexpected development that completely blew my mind.  I was so indoctrinated into the Land without Women, the presence of female camp counselors did not even occur to me beforehand.  I am absolutely serious.  I drove 2,000 miles to get here.  It took me 3 days.  I had all the time in the world to think, but not once did it ever occur to me there would be young women my age.  In my ignorance, I thought the camp counselors would be boys!  Sometimes I have to laugh at how clueless I can be.

Believe it or not, there were two very pretty counselors who showed interest in me.  In the first week of camp, a pretty redhead named Margaret invited me to join her for a long walk in the woods.  She even brought some pot along, but I turned it down.  I was so locked into becoming a spiritual person, I did not touch drugs or alcohol.  Meanwhile, Margaret was high as a kite and ready for action.  She suggested we sit together on a log.  Margaret sat so close we were touching.  Although I never made a move, I'm sure she wanted me to.  The idea did not occur to me until afterwards.  I wanted to kick myself.  I had not had a date in two and a half years, I was alone with a pretty girl in the forest and I froze!  What is wrong with me??

A couple days later, Nancy asked me to go for walk.  I really liked Nancy.  She was a dead ringer for Joni Mitchell, high cheekbones, long hair.  She exuded the same warmth as my long lost girlfriend Emily. I could understand my reluctance with Margaret.  She was a sorority rah-rah type who was more interested in boys than books.  Nancy was just the opposite.  She was quiet and thoughtful.  Again I was alone in the woods, this time with a pretty girl I really liked.  Did I take advantage of the situation?  No. 

Nancy was a born listener.  Since I was angry at Jack and his cronies for picking on me, I spent our time complaining about how mean they were.  Did Nancy wish I would shut up and ask a question about her, maybe offer to hold her hand?  I will never know.  The thought never crossed my mind.

Both girls gave up on me.  Do you blame them?  To my dismay, they found themselves agreeing with the male counselors that I was weird.  It made me sick to realize they were right.  There was something wrong with me.  Ever since Emily broke my heart in my Freshman year, I had developed some sort of phobia about women and getting hurt.  I had been able to hide from this fact at Hopkins, but not here.  My fear of women was painfully exposed.

I had long believed it was my facial scars that held me back.  However, the interest of Nancy and Margaret had challenged that mindset.  Since both girls asked me to go with them for a walk so that we could be alone, obviously they found me attractive enough to make the first move.  When Nancy and Margaret rejected me, it had nothing to do with my looks, but rather how I treated them.  This was a crushing blow.  I had no idea how to be a friend to these young women.  Their abrupt loss of interest served as a painful example of how unbelievably clueless I was around girls my age. 

The loss of Nancy hurt the worst.  Nancy was an intelligent, sensitive young lady who would have been a perfect match for me.  But I never found the guts to ask for a second chance.  Instead I spent my time that summer feeling sorry for myself.  All those years of being the underdog at St. John's combined with my dating problems at Hopkins had left mental scars that were tough to overcome.  What bothered me the most was the painful realization that my social problems went far beyond my comprehension. 

I was really bitter.  By the time summer was over, I felt just as rejected by the Aggies at this camp as I had felt snubbed by the Preppies at St. John's.  I wanted to be accepted, but that wasn't going to happen.  All summer long, every time I turned around, I learned something about myself that I did not like very much.  Joni Mitchell said Life is for Learning.  Well, I learned something all right.  This situation exposed glaring weaknesses in my social skills.  I was an idiot around women and not much better around men.

SUMMER OF 1971:  FEARLESS LEADER

Throughout this book I have chronicled my myriad array of shortcomings, the worst of which were my problems with women.  In the process I have attempted to convince the Reader that my eventual success in life was more or less a giant fluke.  Which is true... my dance career was a total accident.  However, this is a good time to add an *Asterisk*.  I actually did have talent, I just didn't know it.

Dale Carnegie once pointed out that success comes from the ability to change a handicap into an asset.  I am intensely analytical.  As it turns out, that is usually a major handicap when it comes to learning to dance.  Many of my students were successful professionals who did not have time to figure out how to dance on their own.  And why were they successful?  Because they too were analytical and used their sharp minds to get ahead.  They found it easy to learn from me because I was analytical in my explanations and shared a similar vocabulary.  Then there was that 'elite education' I sometimes refer to.  My writing ability would one day come in very handy in promoting the various dance activities at the studio.  I have my gifted teachers at St. John's to thank for honing this ability.  I would also one day discover I had more than average business acumen.  And then there was the strangest gift of all.  Thanks to a memorable Silver Lining in my summer camp experience, I discovered a natural ability to create fun. 

I was a regular Pied Piper with the kids.  They thought I was great.  Wherever I went, I always had a pack of kids following me around.  It took a while to realize it, but Mary Colvig had seen this in me at the Quaker daycare center.  She could tell I had real knack for playing with kids.  No doubt her instinct explained why I was hired on the spot.

Rejected by my peers, I concentrated instead on keeping the kids entertained.  They went nuts over me, especially the boys in my cabin.  I had a secret weapon that none of the counselors ever figured out.  Can you guess?  I will give you a hint.  What kind of kids go to summer camp? 

If you said 'Rich Kids', go to the head of the class.  And where do Rich Kids come from, the country or the city?  Ah, you are catching on.  Rich city slicker parents are the only ones who can afford to send their children to a ritzy place like this.  Now for the punch line.  Out of 21 camp counselors, which one spent NINE YEARS talking the language Rich Kids could relate to?  Voila, the secret of my success.  In particular, the teenagers thought I was great.  My sarcasm matched their preppie sense of humor to perfection. 

Indeed, by some odd twist of fate, my time at St. John's taught me how to relate to the kids at camp.  I understood them.  I knew how they thought.  While most of the other male counselors were flat-footed and unsure how to relate to Prep School kids, I was on their wavelength.  I knew what made them tick.  Plus I was still a kid at heart.  I was going to my first summer camp and my enthusiasm showed.  Upset over the rejection of my peers, I contented myself by having all kinds of fun with the boys in my cabin.  I became the best older brother they ever had.  Sometimes we went on long mountain climbs.  Other times we played hide and seek or blind man's bluff.  Each night I read ghost stories to the boys and scared them silly.

Considering my fellow counselors had written me off as a complete loser, my popularity was a baffling mystery.  My rapport with the kids was especially  irritating to Jack the Jerk.  Jack liked to order the boys around and they rebelled.  Jack was one of those authoritarian 'do it because I told you to' types.  Since this was summer camp, the boys refused to put up with a humorless cowboy who tried to boss them around.  They made smart ass remarks to his face and really got under his skin.  So naturally Jack turned around and picked on me.  However, I figured out a truly devious way to get him off my back.  I used my Pied Piper kids as a human shield.  With a flock of mini-me's for protection, Jack was forced to behave in their presence. 

I had two highlight moments that summer.  The first came when Craig Colvig arranged a camp-wide 'Capture the Flag' contest.  All the kids, young and old, were divided into two teams.  Craig was determined to raise the stakes.  The winners would get hot dogs and potato chips, the losers would receive boring baked potatoes.  Butter and salt were forbidden.  Oh no!

The counselors were only allowed to supervise.  Since the older boys from my cabin were the Cool Kids, when they nominated me as Head Coach, the younger kids went along.  When the other counselors on my team objected to my promotion, they got shouted down by the kids.  It was a good move to put me in charge.  As opposed to the Yahoos directing the other team, I actually thought it would help to use strategy.  My cabin boys became captains of three attack units which would come from different directions.  I told them to sneak up from behind and hide nearby for the signal.

Believe it or not, my Greek Mythology came in handy.  Thinking about the Trojan Horse, I needed a distraction.  I picked three super-cute teenage girls to serve as decoys.  They were born attention-getters who laughed with glee when I explained their role.  It was their job to pretend to attack and allow themselves to be caught.  These girls were naturals.  Acting like dumb blonde Valley Girls, they were quickly caught and dragged inside the enemy camp as prisoners.  The counselors on the opposing team should have known better.  They taunted the girls unmercifully at how 'stupid' they were to think they could just walk right in and steal the flag. 

Meanwhile, the three girls had way too much fun with this.  Masters of distraction, they cried, they wailed, they pleaded to be let go. 

"Oh, please set us free!  The boys are going to make so much fun of us!  Don't humiliate us like this!  If you guys let us go, we'll be your best friends ever.  C'mon, guys, set us free!  Pleeeze!"

The three girls made such a fuss, sure enough the teenage boys wanted to let them go.  However the opposing girls objected.  Just when the boys were about to set the girls free, the girls on their team stepped in with a veto.  They made the three girls go sit down and told them to shut up.  And did the three girls shut up?  Are you kidding?  They started arguing with the enemy girls and made even more noise!  I could hear them yelling at each other all the way on the other side of the camp.  Meanwhile the boys were so mesmerized by the drama, they failed to pay proper attention to the game.

A girl named Betty was my ringleader.  It was her job to decide when the enemy was distracted enough for the attack to begin.  When the time was right Betty screamed at the top her lungs, "Stop it!  Get your hands off of me!!"  This was all an act.  No one touched her.  The scream was the signal.

While everyone stared to see what Betty was fussing about, the guards completely ignored the three attack groups as they swept in from different directions to effortlessly grab the flag.  My team loved me.  They called me 'Fearless Leader' for the rest of the summer.

For the big campfire songfest, I taught my teenage boys the lyrics to The Last Kiss.  This is really sad song about a guy who loses his girlfriend in a car crash.  Due to my twisted sense of humor, I noticed the song had great potential for satire.  I showed the boys how to play the song for laughs.  During rehearsal, I could see my teenagers were natural hams.  The boys had way too much fun wailing in agony over their lost love.

So here comes the big campfire sing-a-long.  I groaned at the lame performances.  'Leaving on a Jet Plane', 'Puff the Magic Dragon', 'Jeremiah was a Bullfrog'.  These songs were so syrupy I developed diabetes just from listening.  Now it's our turn.  Up to the stage comes my five boys.

Oh where oh where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me!!
She's gone to Heaven so I gotta be good
so I can see my baby when I lee-eave uh this a world!

I did something sneaky.  Beforehand I cornered the same three girls and begged them to scream at the boys like they were the Beatles.  I did this as a way to make sure the boys felt appreciated, but it turned out to be a brilliant idea.  At first, the three girls... serious hotties for their age... were screaming just to be funny.  But the boys misunderstood.  They thought the girls were serious, so they began singing directly to the pretty girls in front.

Baring their hearts with painful teenage lament, the result was hysterical.  Seeing these ultra-cute boys croon to them with such passion, the pretty girls went absolutely nuts!  Now when they screamed, they meant it!  These babes completely lost control.  The boys were such cut-ups, the girls almost passed out from laughing and screaming so hard.  Inspired, the other kids started to scream too.  My boys became Rock Stars of the entire camp.