My First Day of Summer Camp

Today was Skyler's first day of summer camp. Her bus picks her up at 8:00, camp begins at 9:00 and is packed with activities until 4:00, and then the bus drops her off at 4:40. That was gist of the information provided to us by the camp.  Of course, I knew what the camp experience was going to be in general, based on the quick "tour" I asked to take last Friday, and the informational brochure. You know those brochures -- they are multi-color, glossy-paged brochures which depict pictures of rolling hills, graceful horses, beautiful adults in coordinating outfits, and healthy, brightly smiling children all aglow from their carefully planned and perfectly executed camp activities. The brochures that seduce you into plunking down the not insignifcant amount of change for the privilege of participating in the experience the brochure was promoting. By all accounts, this was a premiere summer camp that Skyler woud be attending. Nonetheless, I was ill at ease about putting a 5 year-old on a bus with a driver I had never laid eyes on before, and kids whe were total strangers to Skyler. I'm a bit of a paranoid type.

I told Skyler I was thinking about following the bus, just for the first day. She protested against this plan. This surprised me because she didn't have an issue with Randy and me following her bus on the first day of kindergarten and meeting her at the school to capture, with still shots and video, her first venture into the real world. Of course, that was back when she was only 4 and starting kindergarten. Now that she was older and starting summer camp, apparently the rules were different. I didn't expect Skyler, who is somewhat of a mama's girl, to not want me to be near her. Could it be that at her tender age she was already aware of the concept of "uncoolness?"  After unsuccessfully pleading with her to allow me to follow her, I finally resorted to pity. "I'm not doing this for you," I explained. "I'm doing this for myself. Because I will enjoy your first day of summer camp more if I know you got to the camp and joined your little group safely." At this, she reluctantly agreed to let me follow the bus.

We arrived at the bus stop at the appointed time. The designated pickup spot for Bus No. 3 had about ten other mom-mobiles parked there awaiting said bus. As an aside let me say that the pleas for people to switch to Green Cars doesn't seem to have reached the ears of suburban mommies, because every single one was in an SUV, present blogger included. The bus arrived promtly at 8:00, but it had the number 64 painted on the side. Skyler insisted it was not her bus (the girl demands preciseness), notwithstanding the fact that the school's name was also emblazoned on the side. To assuage her, I asked the driver, "Is this supposed to be the number 3 bus?"

"You see the number 3 on the front bumper?" she asked, gesturing with a wave of the hand not on the steering wheel.

"Yes?" I replied brightly. It wasn't obvious at all, and I had not seen it before.

"That means it's the number 3," finished the bus driver.

I forced a smile. "Okay, thanks," I said, cognizant of the fact that to say something snarky to the woman in whose hands I was about to entrust my daughter's life would be like telling the heart surgeon about to operate on me that my best friend does medical malpractice. There might be the ever-so-slight delay in using his or her finger to plug that pesky burst artery until a proper medical device can utilized to stop the bleeding.

I couldn't help but notice that the other moms (and a couple of dads) sending their kids off to camp all seemed so enthusiastic and happy. As if invisible exclamation points were oozing from within. Were they happy to get their kids off their hands for the next 8 hours? Were they excited about sumer camp because they themselves had gone to summer camp as kids? I didn't know the reason, but I put a big smile on my face and waved enthusiastically to Skyler, too, even though inside I was uneasy and, frankly, sad.  It seemed like only yesterday Skyler was tiny enough to hold in one arm, and now she was big enough to climb up onto the bus by hersef despite the backpack bulging with towels, shoes, snacks and other camp necessities weighing down on her.

After waving good-bye to the bus, I promptly got into my car and followed it. At first there was another SUV in front of me, and I sort of chuckled to myself over the fact that I wasn't the only nutty mom following the bus. I was about to call Randy to tell him other parents were following, too, imagining the good laugh he and I would share over it.

But then my fellow follower turned, and then it was just the bus.

And me.

And then the bus turned onto a really quiet and empty neighborhood, where the houses are rather far apart, the lawns are perfectly manicured, and the driveways are long. The kind of neighborhood where the streets are wide, because nobody parks outside. The kind of neighborhood in which a nice yellow school bus adds to the charm, but a big red SUV chugging along behind the bus, following its every turn is very, very conspicuous indeed.

When I say "conspicuous" I don't mean "noticeable." I mean "suspicious." I remember when I was a little girl stories in the news about little kids being abducted by strangers right outside their schools, and it seemed like it was always by men in blue vans. To this day, I find blue vans highly suspect. So, when I say I felt like my red SUV was conspicuous, I mean that I think I might have looked like this generation's Blue Van.  

It was on this part of the bus's route that I began to feel ridiculous. I don't think I felt ridiculous for feeling this need to protect my daughter, who is, after all, only five years old. I felt ridiculous because I was following a bus to every single one of its stops all the while thinking that maybe no one was noticing. It is inconceivable that the bus driver didn't notice me. Aside from the fact that I drive a big red SUV, there is also the fact that I was the only other car on the road. I had a sudden vision of the bus driver saying something like, "Who in the heck is that crazy woman following us? Someone call 911," causing all the children to turn and look, and causing Skyler to pray for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. While I am okay with the notion of making a fool of myself, I am not okay with the notion of embarassing my daughter, and risking her being known for the rest of her academic career as the girl with the crazy mother. So, I decided to stop following the bus.

Unfortunately, my moment of resolve happened at the very spot where the bus had to make a three-point turn, hindered by guess who? That's right -- conspicuous me. At one very awkward moment, I even had to go in reverse to make more room for the bus, putting an abrupt end to the delusion that no one knew I was following it. As the bus passed me by, I gave the driver a half-hearted wave, just because what else was there to do when she and I were face to face? And then to get out of the neighborhood, I had to keep following the bus because there was no other way out. But I am proud to say that I did, in fact, stop following that bus...

...and opted instead to go ahead of the bus to the school so that I could meet the bus at its destination. There were a lot of parents dropping their kids off, hence I arrived at a parking lot resembling an SUV dealership. The counselors were lined up beneath the signs designating the different groups that the kids were assigned to. Skyler was designated a "Cub" so I went to that area and introduced myself to the young lead counselor. She confirmed that Skyler was in her group. I explained that Skyler was arriving by bus but that I was there just to make sure she arived.

I didn't say this out loud, but I was also there to make sure that none of the various adults who were there presumably to drop off their kids didn't just snatch my daughter. No one would know that Skyler wasn't supposed to be with said kidnapper. No one would even notice that something untoward was happening because there was so much going on during the first day of camp. Even if you teach your kids to yell for help if a stranger tries to take them, what can a five-year old really do against an adult? Even if the adults in charge at the camp are tasked with protecting your child, they don't have the same vested interest, and they can't possibly be as diligent or protective as you would be. But I didn't say any of that out loud. The lead counselor, who is probably around 22 years old, looked at me politely and tried to placate me with an "Awww, that's okay." I wasn't apologizing, I wanted to say. But I didn't say that out loud.

Fotunately, this blog is rather anti-climactic, because as I watched from a distance, Skyler arrived safely, was greeted at the door of the bus by one of her counselors, and led by hand to her designated spot. I had hoped to avoid having her see me there, but she did and she greeted me with just a little smile and a less than enthusiastic wave. Ouch. I called Randy and asked whether it was already possible for a five-year old to be mortified by her parent. He reassured me that Skyler wasn't mortified by me. He's a good husband.

Later in the day, when I was reliving the moment I put Skyler on the bus and noticing the ebullient parents, it dawned on me that Skyler looked nervous as the bus was pulling out, and I realized that the parents were probably putting on a brave front for their kids, so that the kids wouldn't be so nervous about the first day at camp with a bunch of strangers. I will always want to kick myself, hard, for being so nervous about my daughter that I didn't even think about my daughter being nervous.

The bus was 40 minutes late dropping the kids off at the end of the day. For some reason, I wasn't as worried as I was in the morning. I did call Randy, using him as a barometer for how scared I should be. He didn't suggest that I drive the bus route to see if something had happened. When the bus finally arrived, I greeted Skyler with real, not false, enthusiasm. Not only was I happy to have her back in my arms safe and sound, but I was excited to hear about her day. Even the bus driver gave me an indulgent smile. She's probably a mom too and understands about the following-the-bus-thing.

Skyler was talking with so much energy that I could hardly believe she had spent eight hours being totally active. I had a million questions and she was more than eager to answer them. She went swimming, horseback riding, ate chicken nuggets and frozen yogurt, made an image of herself using popsicle sticks, acted like a snake for drama class, and took a computer course. In short, she had a blast. Fortunately she didn't say one single thing about my having followed her, and then my having shown up at the school. The bus was late for drop off because near the end of the route the driver realized that one of the kids was on the wrong bus, so she turned around to take that child back to school. Not a major disaster. No felonies had occured in the course of the first day of summer camp.

My job, where I hear about the horrible things that adults can perpetrate on children, coupled with easy access to headlines, thanks to the internet, probably makes me more paranoid than most parents. I remember the first day of kindergarten my biggest fear about sending Skyler off was that the driver might be a killer or rapist. My friend R. said that if my biggest fear on the first day of kindergarten was murder or rape, I was letting my job skew my perspective too much. I tend to agree. I want to protect my daughter, but don't want to expend so much energy on "protecting" her that I miss attending to other equally important needs that she might have. I don't ever want to forget to put on a brave front no matter how I am feeling, so that Skyler can have the emotional space to experience whatever she feels, whether it's sheer glee or sheer terror. I hope that in the future I can guide my daughter in choosing her journeys, let her take those journeys on her own, and let her know that at the end of the day I will be there with open arms.