It's Personal: Heat and Humidity

I'm not a fan.

Not even a little bit of a fan.

Not when I was partaking in football double sessions during the waning summer season.

Not when I played baseball in full catcher's gear on a scorching July day.

Not when I sat in a non-air conditioned Moses Y. Beach gym for a makeshift summer camp.

But one of those instances trumps them all. A day like none I've ever felt...

It was our first vacation together as a trio. The old man, my brother, and I. The summer after the divorce. A couple weeks spent with the old man at various historical sites in Washington D.C. and Virginia. A fan of Colonial America and the Revolutionary War at approximately 12 years of age, I wanted to see Williamsburg and Yorktown. Not to mention the sites in our nation's capital.

The old man had an idea. Most likely to keep costs down a bit. We would go camping. Tenting is the more appropriate designation. And thus after a long day of spectating, we retired to our campsite.

Everything was moist. The blankets. The clothes. Paper towels and napkins. Everything...

The heat was stifling. Even at night when the air should have been cooler, it felt as if the sun shone on a giant black comforter held over us by some evil divinity.

The old man grilled a few burgers - which didn't help with the heat - and gave them to us. I stuffed a few bites into my mouth and chewed hesitantly. My brother refused to eat at all. The old man almost had to force the food into his throat.

Dinner didn't go particularly well.

After dinner, we decided that it was best just to go to sleep. And so we tried. To no avail.

Some time during the night, the old man heard movement by the Astrovan. He went to investigate. And got sprayed by an unhappily startled skunk. An odor that stagnant heat and humidity does not allow to pass quickly.

The moment of truth had come...

We moved to a hotel the next night and basked in the wonderfully meager room replete with the constantly blowing cold air.