A long time ago my uncle told Boy a scary story an hour before he went to sleep in a tent for the first time. I think Boy was five or six. Since that time, he refused to sleep in a tent.
Mr. Hobbitfeet and I felt that it was silly and decided we would get him to sleep in a tent if it killed us. So we picked a weekend when no one would be at my mom's farm and said he had to sleep with us in the tent.
Needless to say, he survived. No legless boy scouts came out of the woods in search of new legs. We did have a couple difficulties, Girl woke up at midnight and would go to the bathroom in the woods so Mr. H had to carry her to the house, and Boy woke us up at 3 screaming that he couldn't take Mr. H's snoring any more. But he lived and now knows that sleeping in a tent is no big thing.
6 hours ago