Back when I was an adolescent, my father had bought a tow-able camper for family trips (but mostly to camp out at Watkins Glen during the races). The Scamper Camper, our home away from home, became an intricate part to my childhood. It was the place where I spent my twelfth birthday (also Watkins Glen) and had sleepovers in the driveway when my friends and I were too mature to hang out in the basement. It was a piece of our family, a part of our system and I’m not ashamed to say I miss that homey travel box. For those of us that have ever owned an RV or motorhome, you can attest to that feeling of camaraderie. For the rest of you, I’m here to tell you, it’s a freedom one cannot feel anywhere else.
I remember some of the best times as a family were spent in that camper. Sitting at our stunted kitchen table, learning card games from my father or that time my brother’s friend hid under the master bed so we could sneak him onto the camp grounds (scandalous, I know). I remember messing with my sister from atop my mighty bunk bed or that time I forced everyone to watch Mavrick on VHS three consecutive times in a row. The bbqs, the bonfires, the brief but frequent bickering between me and my siblings. That camper was as much a part of the family as any of us were. That is, until one day my father decided to sell it.
We had spent so much time with that camper that selling it didn’t seem very practical or nostalgic at all. My father, however, saw in terms of dollar signs and as us kids grew into young adults, he couldn’t justify keeping a giant rolling rectangle in his driveway anymore. We didn’t take the trips we used to when we were younger and even when we did, we wouldn’t go as an entire family or would fly to our destination instead. So dad sold the Scamper Camper and my sister and I said goodbye to it like it was a toy from Toy Story. Like it was a friend.
When I think about motorhomes today, I think about what we as a family used to have. It’s not so much the trip or the travel time, but what these trips meant for us as a family. How we grew within those vinyl-sided walls and how we had those memories to share. For small stretches of annual time, that camper was our home. We were a family and we were together. There really isn’t another thing in the world quiet like that.
Tyler Baker; OSM Writer
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