Yesterday we dropped Alexander off at camp. I’ve dropped him off at camp every morning this summer, but yesterday I dropped him off at sleep away camp.
Two weeks ago when my friends asked me how I felt about it I snickered and said, “He’ll have the time of his life.” A week ago I gave the same response. Three days ago at ten o’clock at night I asked my husband if we weren’t making the worst mistake of our lives.
Dropping him off was uneventful, we filled out forms, they checked the boys for headlice, bruises, and made them do a few jumping jacks. Some moms tied their boy’s shoes and I used every ounce of restraint I had to not push the hair out of my son’s eyes.
I looked at every man at the camp and sized up his propensity to be a child molester. Two worried me. I am insane.
So now, 24 hours later I’m walking around the house looking at the sky and wondering what my son is doing right now. I turn to Jane about a thousand times an hour and ask her, “What do you think Alexander is doing right now?” She puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “Mom, he’s having the time of his life.”