I'm writing this from the Lair of the Bear. No doubt this is politically incorrect. But I was re-introduced into the world of squirt guns 10 years ago, this week. I had forgotten so much.

Here we were at the Lair of the Bear. It’s a Cal Camp for Cal Alumni. Parents and their kids sign up for a week of dust, bug juice, and games—volleyball, baseball, tennis, shuffleboard, basketball, hiking, horseback riding, ping pong and cocktails—all the clichés one sees in Chevy Chase movies about summer camps.

It is hardly unique, yet being associated with Cal is extremely unique.

It started in 1949. Legend has it that it was the brain child of the late Mike Koll. We lost Mike a few years back. No one would have said it when Mike was alive (he wouldn’t have permitted it), but Mike was a genius.

How did he know that if he created an environment like this, not only would it endure for 60 years, but if waiting lists mean anything it will endure for sixty times another sixty?

The Lair is nothing if not tradition. Folks come the same week every year. If one is a third week Camper, he is that for life. He is just as sure that third week is better than 8th, as the 8th week camper is positive his is better than 3rd. The common bond is Cal.

Actually, the common bond is families watching children learning, growing, testing, playing, swimming, boating, crafting—doing more “ings” than one could ever imagine.
Of course, that happens in lots of camps in lots of places.

My guess is that what I saw happen that summer doesn’t happen elsewhere.

My friend Rick hadn’t been up for a number of years.

He had made cameo appearances, but his job kept him “down the hill” after the kids had matriculated from the Lair.

Well, sans explanation he decided to make this is first full week at the Lair in many a moon.

On his first day he noticed all the young children running around. He had a flash back—-or maybe a hot flash.

He remembered how the late “Babba” Tuck, used to pass out squirt guns. This was back in the days when shooting the “bad buys” was considered a good thing.

Someone ought to revive that sacred tradition, Rick thought.

Next thing we knew, Rick was down in Sonora at the Wall Mart, buying out the whole store. Soon every squirt gun in Sonora was in his trunk.

Back in camp, the tom toms began to beat. Squirt guns were to be had.

First two ten year olds tentatively approached “the area”—a circle of aluminum chairs in front of Rick’s tent cabin where old we fogies gather to read the papers, gossip, bemoan the fact that the staff isn’t as good as when we worked on it, and occasionally down a Coors Light.

In exchange for their names and the answers to a couple of questions, they were able to walk away with two fabulous weapons of mass disruption.

Word spread. “Where’d you get those guns? Really? For free? We have to do what?”
I mean, what kid wants to come up to total strangers, give their name in a loud voice and then get quizzed on what’s their favorite thing at the Lair, or who is their favorite author? On the other hand, free squirt guns don’t grow on trees—even at the Lair.

(No doubt the PC crowd is recoiling in horror about children talking to strangers bu t we’ll forgive them their trespasses).

Within 24 hours, the entire camp was armed—armed with laughter and games. A golf cart of staffers came by chased by pre-teens. Kids were hiding behind trees and sneaking around tents ambushing their contemporaries—tweaking some uptight adults.
Soon tent 41 was the place to be as kids giving their best Eddie Haskel appeared and auditioned for their free guns. I’ve rarely seen a greater definition of “cute.” Soon all the kids were speaking to the adults who congregate in “The Area.” Maybe there is more loot to be gathered? Who knew?

This is what Babba had done 50 years ago. It took Rick to bring it back. This is what tradition is all about. Passing on the works and wisdom of elders to the next generation.

Kids and squirt guns. Is there a better recipe for laughter?

Frost spoke of being a “Swinger of Birches.” One could do worse than be a buyer of Squirt guns.”

There is nothing like the Lair.