All of a sudden it is thirty years ago. There I am sitting in the back seat of my father's car being involuntarily driven to the Port Authority bus terminal in New York City. I was going to camp for the summer and sitting here now contemplating that episode I can still effectively and genuinely feel to what extent I did not want to go. Maybe what I really felt was the adolescent trauma associated with resignation. Of course there was no such a diagnosis then. In those days I was just a stubborn kid that did not want to go to camp.