Deeducation Camp

Hello, stragglers, find a seat towards the back where I can’t see you. I don’t need to make out your faces – the security footage will be plenty clear when I review this assembly later on today with members of the NSA. That said, welcome to Camp Magna Errata in the heart of Undisclosed Territory. You have some bad habits, a lifetime of them, and we’re here to help.

Now repeat after me, “id est vestrum erit flagitium.” Good. There’s still a chance for you yet. 

Since this is a camp for adults, I’d like to speak to your children first. You don’t have to leave the room, just put on these ear plugs and blackout sunglasses. That person standing behind you putting a bag over your head is a professional. We haven’t suffocated anyone yet and we’re not about to start now. It’s okay to laugh. Laughing is good. It means you can breathe. 

With that taken care of, kids, thanks for bringing your parents out to camp for this year’s first summer session. Obviously, some of you are worried about putting us in charge of their well-being. Don’t be. Many of us come from the BOP (Bureau of Prisons) and most of us have parents of our own. There are probably many of you wondering how you’re going to get home, since the vast majority of you are minors. That won’t be a problem. We have issued flawlessly beautiful counterfeit driver’s licenses which, once they’ve served their initial function should grace any mantle. This way you can drive home the family car without issue. There are PBA cards on the table by the exits in case you want some extra protection should you get pulled over on the thruway. I realize that many of you are skeptical of the merits of the camp since your college funds are going towards payment, but think of it this way: once we’re done with them, you won’t need to run away to school. Indoctrination begins here, but continues in the home. 

Jimmy, Johnny, Stacey, please start removing the bags from the campers’ heads. I’m noticing Mr. Whitaker is a little too blue, thanks. Light purple is okay, but anything darker and we might have to engage the paramedics again. Those gasps you’re hearing sure sound like excitement to me. Every year I see a new batch of campers ready to unlearn what they think they know. However, it’s that first near-fatal coughing fit that says to me, “summer has arrived.” 

Remember, this is a “deeducation camp.” To paraphrase Socrates, “the only thing you know is what we tell you.” It’s not that questions aren’t permitted exactly. There’s just no point to asking them. We tell you everything and that should be enough. Hopefully, your religious upbringing, lodged somewhere inside, eases this process. 

After two years with us, you’ll be ready again for society. You could get out early for good behavior, though that’s extremely rare. Much more common is getting your sentence, I mean, tenure extended based on the board’s oversight. Your meals are taken care of as are your sleep aids. Whoever you are on the outside is irrelevant to us here. There won’t be yachting or small talk. You listen, you unlearn, and you keep your mouth shut. Unless you’re eating, then you have to open it. 

And that cute little Latin phase is our unofficial motto here at Camp ME. It means, “it’s all your fault.” Bathroom is the last door on the left. There's only one stall, so if you want some privacy, it's probably best to find the Exxon just outside of town. It's only about a half a mile away.