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            One warm summer day, in the Catskill Mountains, at a campsite near New York City when I was just about 7 years old, I was on my first camping trip with my family. We all loaded up into the family vehicle, which was at the time a 1979 VW Camper Bus. It was a real bomb, however it transported the whole family Grandpa, Grams, Yvette, Melissa, twin 1 and twin 2, and myself. Yes all 7 of us yet not all of us, I am a grandchild that is one of twenty-four, and a sibling one of four. I come from a large family and we tend to stick together, as a result in order to get a rest my grandparents only take us in shifts and only spend a limited amount of time with us. .
             As I was saying it was a warm and sunny day and I was coming back from the swimming pool crying because my cousin was being incredibly mean and she threw my towel in the pool. I responded with an immediate reaction of slapping her in the face and dramatically storming off to the campsite where by some unexplainable happening the word had already gotten back to my grandma. I was in big poopie! She was very upset with me and made me sit in the tent for a half hour. Talk about torture, a whole thirty minutes sitting on the rocks, pebble, stones, and sticks, sitting up straight without falling asleep or having any enjoyment. It wasn’t pretty and quite cruel. My grandfather had a rather different take on it. In fact he wasn’t mad at all. Besides everyone was out playing and swimming. My cousin Melissa had already forgotten about it and I had to sit at the campsite all day and risk giving up my privileges of roasting marshmallows. Now I was moping around and my grandfather doesn’t like to see his grandchildren unhappy. Therefore he tried to make it as interesting and enjoyable for me as possible. .
             He asked me to help him make dinner. It was still early but he wanted me to help. I was walking at a snail's pace up the pathway to a see through tent where all the foot was stored.