I never went to summer camp. Not an away camp, church camp, YMCA, neighborhood camp… nothing. When I was my son’s age I lived in Key West, had two older brothers, and my mother was a full-time mom. Summers were the stuff of classic movies – carefree and exciting. We had crushes on the girl next door, pool parties to attend, and long adventurous bike rides and walks (like Stand By Me, minus the dead body). Then I moved to Bed Stuy Brooklyn and summer became a different kind of adventure. Late night infiltrations of notorious public housing projects to meet cute girls, midnight runs to White Castle and of course bullets and barbecues. Like Jay Z once said of the hottest time of the year in The Stuy “summertime, unforgettable.”
For Dev this is his first summer as a kid in public school, so it’s his first real camp experience. Unfortunately for him it’s not the 80s, we live in NYC so mommy and daddy both have to work, and as my faithful readers know, there is nary a sibling in sight to pass the long humid days into short muggy nights with. Given that, I can imagine why Dev is not too thrilled about his summer situation. Plus he really misses his school pals (we are planning play dates with a few but it’s difficult to pull off, logistically speaking) and his loving teachers. What’s hard on us as parents is that the tears have flowed for six days straight at drop off, not exactly the best start. We are being reassuring and understanding, as we should be, in the hopes that this cloud will soon pass.
At least we’re having really great temperatures in New York. There’s always a bright side!