A conflation of events conspired this year to keep our boys from summer camp, and this weekend they were reminiscing over memories from last year’s adventure. Seth reminded us, as he does each time the topic of summer camp comes up, that he missed us terribly. “I almost cried every night,” Seth lamented, his nine-year-old voice full of pathos. “I almost cried every night because I missed you so bad.”
Wyatt, our blunt realist, chimed in. “I did miss you guys at camp…” and Wyatt paused for only a millisecond. “But mainly I was glad I could go to the Snack Shack and buy Cheetos.”
Our children need us. They need our love, our care. We’re parents, and we’re necessary dagnabbit. It’s also good to remember, though, that our children probably don’t need us as much as we think. This kid-raising gig isn’t quite as precarious as our hand-wringing suggests. We could relax a little. Sometimes the kid just needs a bag of Cheetos.
Oh, dear, now I need to add cheetos to the list . . . 😉
ah, no. No lists. Just think of it as a metaphor for going easy…
Summer camp – church camp was my favorite week of the year, even topping Christmas. From 2nd grade through 12th grade, I think I missed only one year. I LOVED camp, and have to say, rarely missed Mom and Dad! In a day of no cell phones, and long distance costing $1 a minute for calls, a letter from Mom was the only connection during that week, and it usually arrived two days after camp began. That was enough for me to know they cared.