I have a confession to make, everyone.
I did a ton of camping with my family when I was a kid, across Alaska, the Yukon, British Columbia, Texas and Maine. I’ve helped pitch tents, gone swimming and kayaking, helped my mom fix blueberry pancakes on the camp stove, and roasted my fair share of marshmallows and hot dogs over campfires.
But I never ate a s’more until I was in college.
It never fails to shock people when I tell them this. Their reaction is “You never ate a s’more? You had a deprived childhood.” Or, “Aw, man, what kind of camper are you?”