Summer camp

It's that time of year again, when the parents get giddy and silly and maybe even a little obnoxious, and their smarter-than-anyone-over-20 precocious teens roll their eyes and groan at the display of unbridled joy.

No, it's not not the beginning of the school year (close), it's time for summer camp! And the biggest difference is that the kids actually share their parents' joy, but won't actually admit it.

A couple weeks ago, I was one of those parents, though I didn't start off so giddy. Mark is a thoughtful young man who knows I'll miss him over the week, so he does everything he can to minimize my homesickness (i.e., he acts like a complete brat so that I actually can't wait for him to leave!). This year was no different.

he stressed me out from the minute I woke up. Instead of, ya know, loading his luggage into the car or even putting on his shoes and socks, he spent the morning playing video games. I smiled patiently and explained it was TIME TO GO.

Thirty minutes later, we actually left. I wasn't worried because the kids are always at least 90 minutes late in departing. But I panicked momentarily when I rounded the corner at the pick-up spot, and saw the buses. However, true to form, the campers didn't roll off for another couple hours.

This is the most fun part of the camp--the wait (oh look, sarcasm!). It's always hot--at least 100 degrees, and there's nowhere to sit. The kids are nervous, ignoring each other as if they'd never met (they go to events throughout the year, and to camp every summer). They make up for it by being snotty--nodding shyly at each other, embarrassed to talk to their cabinmates, then  and ignoring their parents, rolling their eyes at our stupid questions ("Did you pack flip-flops?"). 

Within a few minutes, the parents all give up and talk to each other or play on their phones, and the kids start pestering us. The kids really want to interact with each other, but lack the social skills, and resort to irritating us instead. (The irony is that when returning from camp, they roll off the bus lifelong best friends, hugging each other and pleading for two weeks of camp next year.)

Mark's friend Colby appeared, and Mark promptly ignored him. Then his mom Shandel walked over, and we hugged and greeted each other loudly. Another boy, Ryan, came over with his mom Sandra, and we repeated the scene. (I became friends with the moms at last year's drop off, and we've met up a few times socially since then.)

Both Colby and Ryan grew a LOT over the past couple months--poor Mark, not so much. (Ryan, on the left, is a full year younger than Mark--and a full foot taller!)

Colby and Ryan are nice kids. Colby told me about the summer school classes he'd just finished, and Ryan showed me pictures of his new puppy. Mark remained silent, quietly tearing up a two-foot square of grass with his foot (ack!!!).

"Did you remember to bring any pants for nighttime?" I asked him, after he'd replaced the turf.

"Yes, Mom," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Geez..."

"Did you--"

"YES! Mom, I rememebered EVERYTHING!" he said, ending the conversation.

I realized it didn't really matter--I'd be home with all my creature comforts. If he's cold, it's his own fault, and if he didn't pack any pants--well, not much I could do about it now.

Just as Mark was sending telepathic signals to his friends that I'm the worst mom EVER, Shandel spoke up.

"Colby did his own laundry," she said. "Then he only packed three pair of underwear! THREE! Can you believe that?" 

Colby shook his head in shocked disbelief (Is my mom really talking about my underwear???), and the other boys died a slow, quiet death from embarrassment in sympathy. Me and the other moms cracked up.

"Your optimism is so cute," I told Shandel, "thinking he's gonna change his clothes AT ALL."

Then Shandel started talking about the boys (ack, girls!) and they couldn't take it--more sighing, eye rolling, and groaning, then they finally disappeared with a basketball in hand, returning only when the discussions changed to something safer.

Finally, after a couples hour of stalling, the buses were finally ready to go. The counselors called for the kids to climb aboard, but not before us moms got one last photo.

"Cabin 9, get together!" Sandra called, grouping the boys together.  They smiled awkwardly, willing the moment to end. We snapped a couple good shots, except Shandel, whose camera phone wasn't working.

"Hold on!" she said, as they started drifting off. "One more photo!"

And with that, they ran off, all 7 boys, scattering in every direction. 

"I'll send you my photo," I told Shandel, watching the uncooperative boys run onto the bus. The little ingrates never even hugged their moms or said goodbye!

(On another note, I was discouraged to see how much smaller Mark is than all the other boys---seriously, he grew about an inch the past few months, while the other boys all grew three to four times that much! At least I didn't have to worry about Mark stealing everyone else's clothes this year--there's no way he'd fit into them until maybe next year!)

But we weren't the only parents being ignored. One dad walked up to the bus, shoved his camera into an open window and snapped a pic.

 "No more photos!" his son yelled, but Dad just answered back, "Too late."

Shandel and I were mad that our boys ran off without saying goodbye, so we said goodbye in our own way.

"Goodbye Marky, Mommy loves you!" I shouted at the bus, waving wildly. "I'll miss my little boy so much! Have fun, baby, I looooooove you!" 

He hid in the seats, away from the window, as though my words were emotional shrapnel to hide from. 

Shandel ran up to the bus, too, blowing kisses and yelling, "My baby! Goodbye, baby boy!" 

The kids, trapped on the bus with nowhere to run, ignored us as we turned the tables on them, acting twice as obnoxious as our kids.

"If my wife was here, she'd join you!" the paparazzi dad told us. "She'd love you guys! Last year, she wanted to bring pom-poms and act like a cheerleader as they drove off."

Shandel, Sandra and I loved that idea, and immediately started planning pom poms for next year.

The camp leader, Ryan, held up a bullhorn and asked where Grant's mom was. She waved, and he walked over to her, handing her a two-liter bottle of soda he'd confiscated from Grant. All the parents gasped (it's a diabetes camp, contraband soda = high blood sugars), and the kids on the buses groaned.

"Oh man, can you imagine the kids in his cabin?" I said to Sandra. "They'll all be high and caffeinated up, and the adults won't know why!"

"That's OUR boys' cabin!" she replied. "Grant's with our kids!'

It was my turn to gasp.

Grant's mom opened the bottle and poured the soda into the grass. The kids on the bus gasped, horrified ("The soda! She's wasting the soda! Nooooooo!"), but the parents burst into applause. Grant's mom responded to the parental cheers, and did a little dance as she poured. It was hilarious!

And then finally, I heard it--the sound I'd been waiting two hours for. The bus engine roared to life, and the doors closed with a squeal.

"Do you hear that?" I said, pointing toward the engines. "It's like the angels are singing! It's music to my ears!" 

The parents broke into applause again.

"Bye!" we shouted, as the buses pulled away. "Have fun! We love you!" 

Our calls went unreturned, but that's okay. Everybody was in for a good week, whether they admitted it or not.

The parents enjoyed our quiet week off, and the boys loved camp, as usual. They returned home filthy, exhausted, hungry, and begging for another week at camp. 

And they'll get it, too, but not for another year. In the meantime, I will savor and enjoy the memories from this year's drop off. (I'm still giggling about it!)

Promoted

I've had a tough time emotionally over the last month, tearing up every time I think of Mark leaving the safe little cocoon of his elementary/middle school. To be honest, I didn't know how I'd make it through his 8th grade graduation without sobbing like a baby the whole time.

Well, Mark helped me out quite a bit with his little stunt at the awards ceremony, because when graduation rolled around a day and a half later, the only emotion I felt was anger. I was still so mad, I didn't even bring my camera with me--which, for most people, is like saying "I didn't bring any air to breathe." Me without my camera at an event this big is like a fish without water--a stubborn, angry mom fish with an ingrate baby.

I started the day early--6 a.m., to be precise, setting up chairs at the school. I dragged Mark along with me, with the warning I'd better not hear one complaint.

"I have to set up chairs for my own graduation?" he whined.

"This is karmic retribution," I reminded him. That shut him up.

We finished the set up, then I raced home to get ready. Sean forgott his hair chair at the house the day before, so he and Liz stopped by to get it, which was nice, the boys spending their last morning together. While Sean gelled his hair, Mark straightened his bow tie  and continually readjusted his red satin pocket square. 

Fernando helped too, rubbing up against the leg of Mark's black pants. He couldn't leave Mark alone, shedding half a cat's worth of orange hair on to Mark's pants.

Finally, it was time to go. The boys walked to school together one last time (waaahhhh!), and I loaded my parents and Liz in the car.

The quad was already filled when we got there. Families were fanning themselves in the sun, and straining to find their kids in the crowd. Edra and Monica waved us down, and I joined them in our seats. 

Mark was with the band, fiddling with the drums, and acting silly with the other drummers. But he ditched them as the ceremony started, to stroll down the aisle with all the other graduating 8th graders.

It was such a sight to see...I did get a little emotional then, as the kids walked up the row, two by two. The girls all towered over the boys, probably for the last time. They wore pretty sun dresses and mile-high heels, trying unsuccessfully to navigate the uneven lawn as they walked. The boys all wore dress shirts and ties, with nervous smiles. I nodded to them, all of Mark's friends since third grade--there's Kyler, so handsome in his purple shirt, and Tristan, over six feet tall now! There's Kevin, in a fancy suit, and Jonah, with his hair smoothed back and medals shining around his chest. There's Damian, also super tall, and with a shaggy 'do he can't stop shaking, and Josh, beaming proudly as he struts down the aisle. It was a short walk to their seats, but a long trip down memory lane.

The principal gave her opening remarks, then passed the mic to the students. 

"We did it!" one girl sighed, prompting cheers from the graduates, as though they'd conquered not just 8th grade, but the impossible. 

The kids introduced a favorite teacher, Mr. Estrada, the keynote speaker. He's a tough guy, always correcting the kids gruffly, and calling them out when needed. But he loves those kids--he is seriously at every single school event, taking photos and cheering the kids on. He may be tough, but he got a little emotional while reminiscing on the kids' journey over the past three years. As he walked off the stage to wild applause, I was grateful for him and all the other wonderful role models at this school.

I was holding it together pretty well until the principal called up the first graders. As they filed into the bleachers, a little curly-headed boy and the sweetest little girl climbed onstage, dragging step stools with them. They planted the steps directly in front of the mic, climbed atop them, and said, in perfect synchronization, "Hello, 8th graders. Do you remember when you were in first grade and sang this song? Now we're gonna sing it for you." 

They pointed to the kids in the bleachers, who started singing "What a wonderful World" as all the adults lost it. Dirty trick, principal!, I thought, as the water works began. Not cool!

Finally, it was time. The 8th graders lined up, and the principal announced that she'd tell us a little bit about each kid as they accepted their diplomas.

"I asked each child about their favorite Cubberley memory, or where they'll be 10 years from now," she announced, and I broke into a cold sweat.

"How nervous are you about what Mark's gonna say?" my friend Holly whispered from across the aisle.

"Pretty nervous!" I answered. "You?"

"Very!" Holly said. Mark and Kyler, always the class clowns, gave us good reason to worry!

I listened as the other kids were called. Some had lofty dreams, saying they saw themselves 10 years from now graduated from Ivy League colleges, working as computer programmers or doctors. There were quite a few who saw themselves as NBA stars, or lawyers, or even travelling the world.

And then, suddenly, there was Mark, striding confidently across the quad, shaking hands with all his teachers.

I held my breath, waited, then exhaled with relief as the principal announced that in 10 years, Mark saw himself as a kindergarten teacher, and a UCLA graduate. This was a dream I could live with!

And then, soon after, it was over. The principal declared the kids promoted, and wished them well in high school. The kids cheered and jumped out of their seats.

Mark ran off to collect his portfolio, and I stood there, taking one final look around the quad.

Good-bye, Cubberley, I thought wistfully, welling up a bit again. Thank you for taking such good care of my kid.  

I was grateful Mark had such a wonderful academic career here, and for his amazing nurse, the teachers who helped shape him into the kid he'd now become, and all the great kids and parents I met along the way.

"Ready, Mom?" Mark asked, quietly slipping beside me. I nodded, even consenting to a few photos. 

And then we were off to a celebratory lunch--and a whole new beginning. 

I just hope I'm as ready for the next few years as Mark is...