Summer Camp

One summer, when I was ten years old, my parents sent me to summer camp. An extra eight dollars included horse back riding. I’d never been on a horse, and I asked for the most easy-going horse.
Of course they put me on a crazy white stallion! He did not want to leave the stables that day. He was dis-obeying all commands and eating all of the green stuff a long the trail.
They told me horses could tell if you’re nervous and inexperienced.
The leader was a harsh woman who did not tolerate bad horse riders. She kept telling me to get my horse in line.
After a while, the feisty stallion had had enough. He turned tail and galloped all the way back to the stables with me hanging on and begging it to stop.
When we (or he) got back to the stables, the horse just went over to a hay pile and started eating like nothing happened. They at the stables told me the whole thing was my fault. Even my parents told me it had to be my fault. (I was ten! It was about 1971).
Part two The Mess Hall

I went to the mess hall for breakfast in the morning after my first night of summer camp. I did not like the food. Especially prunes. I hated prunes.
A camp counselor got up and told everyone to clean our plates, because it contained the four food groups. The table counselor told if I didn’t eat my prunes, there would be consequences.

I took my fork and cut a little tiny bite and put it in my mouth. And I liked it!.
Now I like prunes, but my digestive system does not.