Mommy Camp 2010

Yesterday was one of my favorite summer time traditions—dropping my kid off for summer camp. Before you judge me a cold, heartless mother, let me tell you—it’s Mark’s favorite day of summer as well.

I was dreading a repeat of last year’s nightmare, when Mark turned into the devil himself while we waited for the buses to depart. I was especially worried because this time, I also brought along my 3-year-old nephew Johnny, who idolizes Mark. I knew if Mark acted up, Johnny would follow, and I’d end up imprisoned for a double (but justifiable) homicide.

So as I started up the car, I reminded Mark yet again about his behavior.

I started to say, “You WILL behave under penalty of—” but Mark cut me off.

“I know, I know, penalty of death,” he sighed. I was glad he’d been listening.

“Grandma told me the same thing,” he said. “She pulled me over in the hallway, like she was a traffic cop or something.”

I giggled at the thought. “Did she give you a ticket?” I asked.

“No, a lecture,” he answered. And so I knew he’d behave.

He behaved so well in fact, that I started to get a little teary. He was so playful and silly, and patient with Johnny, and I realized that he will be gone for two weeks, instead of his usual one. In the five years I’ve had him, he’s never been away that long. I started missing him before he even left.

By the time we got through the registration line, the wheel’s on Mark’s roller duffel bag were straining and twisting kinda weird. They tilted out sideways and I realized they would not last the trip, at least not with Mark carelessly dragging it across the campground.

“Mark, your bag is gonna break at camp,” I told him, pointing at the bag stuffed with his oldest, rattiest clothes. “I don’t care if you throw it away at the end of camp, but please don’t throw your clothes away until the second week! Otherwise, you won’t have anything to wear.” This is, after all, a diabetes camp, not a nudist camp.

Mark received his name tag, and promptly stuck it on his shorts where no one could see it. I made him move it up so people could see it, so he grudgingly moved it to his shoulder, and then to the bottom of his shirt. He’s just too cool for name tags.

We met his cabin counselor, Alec, and the counselor-in-training (I forgot his name). They introduced him to the other boys in his cabin, but he ignored them all, even the one kid he already knew from a previous camp. “S’up?” he said, with a slight head nod, then went back to playing with Johnny.

I couldn’t send him off on false pretenses, so I warned the counselor that this was the quietest he’d see Mark all week.

“He’s hiding it now,” I said, “but he’s really a little wild child.”

The counselor laughed and thanked me, saying he could handle any kid. I wonder if he’ll still say that when Mark returns from camp.

Because, as good as he was yesterday, he’s still Mark. And if that doesn’t mean anything to you, then this should shed some light. The boy in gray is the counselor, who was sitting in the seat in front of Mark on the bus.



And who was completely unaware that my child had found a new place to stick his name tag.