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Editorial Reviews. From the Author. This is my second novel and the sequel to Martin Cunningham's Birthday. Where Birthday takes place within the span of 24 .
Table of contents

Each one silently nodded, yes boss, I am quiet, I am the most quiet one of all. Fall into a single file behind me. Soon we were up to our necks in boughs and brush, slapping away the leaves and bugs that without mercy descended upon us from above. Suddenly Ken held up his hand.

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Ken pointed with his finger to a brown bird standing up upon a branch. Out in the woods it was louder than hell. I nearly jumped out of my skin. And the bird.

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It was dead, man; it was dead! It was gone from its perch on the branch. That poor old bird. What had just happened? It was perched on that branch, and now it was gone. It was just perched on that branch… And now it was gone, now it was dead. Dead as a door nail. Holy shit. Nobody said a word. We five followed him wordlessly down the trail. One time during the summer season all the campers would be loaded onto buses.

It was time for the Summer Vacation; a faraway trip to the beach, a couple of hours away from the camp. The crash of the waves on the beach, and the camp-out with hamburgers and hotdogs were a welcome change from the swimming area of Moosehead Lake and the cafeteria-style food we got at Camp.

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And the girls from Camp Three Pines were also invited. The older counselors were excited. But young and old, all Moosehead campers were allowed to enter the sea and splash among the waves. Yes, it was a glorious feeling. Also glorious was the extra candy that one was allowed to purchase at the outdoor candy stand. I opted for a Sugar Daddy. This was a large stick of hardened caramel with a grip made of cardboard.

It was dense to the touch, and nearly unchewable. This dollop of caramel could put the nine-year-old sir or madame into a sugar high of ecstasy. A high that lasted for nearly one hour or more. I bit down hard on the Sugar Daddy. What an ecstasy it was! No chocolate, no nuts, just the raw pleasure of the unadorned hard caramel wafting down the eager throat of the pristine nine-year-old kid. Pure pleasure.

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But there was something wrong about it. My teeth had gripped so far into the caramel that they were stuck. The Sugar Daddy was now stuck in my mouth. Oh shit , I silently cried. My teeth won't come out.

Ever so slowly I managed to get the upper, then the lower, free of the evil caramel mess. What a relief; I was free, free at last! But something was wrong. I look at the caramel candy in my hand. There was a big old tooth - my tooth - embedded among the caramel. That tooth belonged in the upper row of my upper teeth. But instead it was down in my hand, among the caramel mess. I stood there looking at it for what seemed to be the longest time.

Eventually a kindly counselor came over.

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It came off. It came off in the Sugar Daddy!

Rebecca Cunningham

And he raised up the Sugar Daddy to the sun and inspected it with the care that a NASA inspector would put on outer space lunar-rocks from the moon. I know. I lost my tooth. How horrible can that be! Your grown-up tooth will grow in in a couple of months; it'll grow back. So, no problem. Just enjoy the water, all right? That's right , I said to myself. It's just a baby tooth. The grown-up tooth will take over by the end of the summer. And I will floss it and brush it three times a day. On this I swear. And with that, I rushed into the entrancing waves down there on old Scarborough Beach.

I started going to Camp Moosehead every summer, five summers in total. To be a returning camper instead of a new boy starting out was like the difference between fine old wine and lemonade. The older returning boys have the age-old skill and proficiency that the newbies must learn. It's a knowledge that only comes with the ability and art of growing up.

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The older campers had their very own wood and canvas tent. Only two people were assigned to it, on two twin beds. That was heavenly. You can lie on your bed, and hear the sounds of the breeze and the animals rustling in the night. That was cool enough, but a far greatest thrill came from putting our transistor radios under the pillow to listen to the hot sounds of the local AM radio guys in the darkness. I can hear it now, as if it was just yesterday in the charts….

Six of these wood and canvas tents were set up in a row overlooking the far side of the hill; it led down to the rifle range and the archery court.

But one day, on the way back from rifle practice, I noticed that something was wrong; my cabin looked like a layer had been removed and the roof been rolled down to the floor. I knew immediately what had happened. Some guys had snuck up, and with great delight they had jumped my two-man tent. They had simply jumped my tent and turned it into a ruin down there on the ground. And not only that. With the roof now down, a whole mess of wasps and hornets had been let loose, and were now angrily buzzing about the whole camping area. I remembered that I had bought some anti-hornet spray at the commissary, and I was wildly spraying it around.

Suddenly behind me a voice said, "Hey man, looks like you got some hornet friends there… Ha ha! He was a big camper, bigger than me, with blonde hair and a sneering smile on his lips. Hornet friends, eh? I'll show you, man, I'll show you.