Campfire confessional

I am currently re-training my hand to write the year 2011 on my checks, and I've pinned up my new wall calendar. The calendar which, incidentally, reminded me it's time to sign Mark up for diabetes camp.

It's weird to think about something six or seven months away, but space is limited and the camps fill up fast. So last night I went to the camp Web site and started completing the endless applications.

Mark was very excited--he loves sleep-away camp, and would spend his whole summer there if I could afford it. He was disappointed to see there were no consecutive week camps for his age group this year--last year, he went for two weeks, and it was the best fortnight of his life (mostly because he didn't ever change his clothes or make his bed).

He kept looking over my shoulder, and when I got to the section about money for the camp store, he started jumping around like an angry monkey.

"Thirty dollars!" he shouted as I moved the mouse toward the $25 button. "Come on, give me $30 for the store!"

"What do you buy at the store?" I asked.

"You know...diet sodas, Slim Jims, sunflower seeds," he answered.

"But you don't like Slim Jims," I said. I thought about it, then asked, "How much do sodas cost?"

"Like, 50 cents," he said.

"You're gonna buy 60 cans of soda in 6 days?" I asked. That seemed like a lot, even for a kid away at camp.

"No!" he sighed, like I am an idiot. "I only drink one or two a day. But I buy a bunch and use them for stuff with my friends."

That sounded...curious.

"What kind of stuff?"

"You know," he explained. "Challenges. Like, if they hop like a bunny for five minutes, or do 500 push-ups in a row, then I give them a soda."

"You're daring other kids to do stuff for SODAS?" I roared.

He realized it didn't sound good, and tried to back pedal.

"We all do it," he said. "Kids dare me to do stuff, too, and give me sodas."

I shook my head. "So basically," I said, "you're telling me you're all wasting our hard-earned money on stupid dares?"

"Yes!" he answered happily, relieved that I got it. I got it, all right, but I didn't like it.

"Hmmm," I said. I moused right past the $30 button, and past the $25 button I'd originally planned to check. Instead, I kept going until I found $15, and I clicked that one instead.

"What?" Mark screeched. "$15? That's NOTHING!"

"Well, then you'll just have to hop like a bunny," I told him. "Or do 500 push-ups."

Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to be honest.