My parents used to love to go camping. They would gather all of us kids up, and we would sleep in a tent, nearly every weekend. I remember not being able to touch the sides of the tent if it were raining, because the water would leak through. I used to deliberately, accidentally touch them, in hopes that they would take us home. I really never liked camping, and out of the six kids, I was probably the only one. I had a great bed at home, and there was heating and air conditioning. I didn’t have to wear the smelly insect repellent, because there were screens on the door and windows to keep the insects out. Did I mention there was heating and air conditioning at home? I had hot water at home, and I could soak in a tub whenever I wanted to. I didn’t have to walk half a mile to go to the bathroom, or try to find a tree to sneak behind while hoping no one was watching. I am now grown up and I refuse to go camping. The last time I went, it was to a modern campground. My sons and I set up the tent close to the showers and bathrooms. It was so hot that I sweat all night, and I heard my son ask why we didn’t have a portable air conditioner. At 4AM we were packing up because we couldn’t stand the humidity, and they were calling for rain all day. That morning we heard on the radio that the campground had been decimated by a tornado. I took it as an omen that I should stay where there is heating and air conditioning, and leave the outdoor sleeping to others.