by Seth Prezant
Two city kids, a Jew and an Italian, go camping in the woods. It may sound like the opening of a joke, but it was the beginning of new great memory. I was eight years old when my father showed up in front of our Oceanside, New York brownstone dragging what resembled a very large grilled cheese in tow. The square object turned out to be a Colman pop-up camper. It looked like a sandwich when closed and a tent on wheels when opened.
