There's camping and then there's camping

As you know, I got back from camping this weekend with the Robo boy. He is just made for that kind of thing--at the genetic level. I watch him and feel I have passed on some recessive characteristic that, although provided by me, is as unlike me as his red hair.

I came to the camp late on Thursday because I couldn't get off work to take him down. He had gone in earlier with the leaders at about one in the afternoon. I arrived after 9 that evening.

When he spyed me coming up the path, he broke from his group of friends and ran to give me his signature tackle/hug. He immediately started rattling off about the afternoon adventures with a bright face and broad smile, stepping on the half spoken sentences of his friends who clamored areound to tell me also. He told me how in the afternoon it had rained hard and he had danced in the downpour, and then hiked along a swollen creek that he proceeded to fall into, meaning that he was down to his last dry set of clothes---the clothes he was wearing.

And with these exploits came a new nickname that he wore proudly: Splash!

For all my anxiousness at the prospect of camping again, I found that I was truely glad to be there to witness him in his element over the next two days. Boating, hiking, swimming, archery, pottery---he seemed to just drink it all in like this was what he had been waiting his whole life to do.

On the last night of the camp I started getting into bed a little early and noticed that my boy was right there beside me getting ready as well. Without being told, without a fuss. He had been right beside me most of the weekend actually. While other boys seemed to run ahead and away from their fathers, Robo was always checking to be sure I was right there. Even on occasion separating himself from the other boys running around to just come and sit beside me, leaning up against me, content to be able to share a piece of dirt with me at that moment.

And now here he was, quite contrary to character, getting ready for bed while boys were still running and playing right outside our tent flap. As we lay in the dark listening to the muted ruckus that was keeping us from being able to sleep, I thought this might be a good time to have some kind of father son bonding conversation. So I asked,

"Hey buddy, what was your favorite part of this weekend?"

He thought for a quick second, then replied,

"Um, let's see. . .the BB guns. . .the lakefront (where they had done rowboating). . .

. . .and when you got here."

Gulp.

I made the top three.

Somehow I think that, despite all my complaining, there's going to be a lot more camping in my future. And I'll count every uncomfortable moment of it a privilege.

My brother did some camping this week, too. And while what I did with my son was a very good thing, what my brother did was very, very important.

He volunteered for a camp that his church sponsors where they take abused kids who are now in foster care and try to give them a moment in their fractured lives where they can find a cool drink of friendship and normalcy.

Please read it. It's kind of long, and it contains what some may consider to be "churchy" passages, but please read it to the end---to the final poem he writes. It tore me up.

In this time of headlines about the politicizing of religion, this is something that is so rarely reported. A faith based act of love that happens away from the limelight, away from the voting booth, and with no desire for a pat on the back. An act out of a strong desire that the pat would go to a much smaller, younger back. One that is carrying a much heavier burden.

During the camp, the young campers get to celebrate a mass birthday party to recognize all their birthdays on the same day, no matter what the actual date. I've been told that they do this because for many of these kids, this is the only proper birthday celebration they every get.

The pastor who organized this camp has done so for years. He told me how each camper gets a special birthday care package during this party. He told m he's had campers come back to him years later when they were grown to tell him that this little birthday package of trinkets they received made such an impact that they had kept it and valued it their whole life, a little treasure chest full of selfworth and validation they had gotten from this camp.

Please read it. Read it with an open mind and heart. It's so important.