Camp Cullen has my son

In the past forty-eight hours I have developed a new Internet addiction. This isn't a normal Internet addiction like posting photos of cats with grammatically incorrect captions or Myspace or porn. This Internet addiction will be short lived yet for the rest of this week I imagine that it will populate my history like no other site I visit. My Internet addiction is to Camp Cullen's online photo gallery page as, for the first time in his life, Colin is away from home at summer camp.

Melissa and I drove Colin up to camp on Sunday. I can't say the trip was easy and uneventful as it was the opposite of that. We had to drop off Melissa's old bed with our friend Brandi, who needed a bed, and return my parent's Tahoe, which we'd borrowed for the move all before we got on the road to Camp Cullen. On top of that, my car's AC was on it's last legs and while it ran fine at sixty miles per hour, it turned into a heater in any serious traffic.

Still, we pressed on and tried to keep the needle over the sixty mark. As we approached Huntsville I did a mental checklist to make sure we were not forgetting anything and I realized that Colin's sleeping bag wasn't packed. A quick call to Chelsea confirmed this and left us with very few options on how to replace it. Melissa and I had to stop at Wal-Mart for a sleeping bag. It was my first trip to a Wal-Mart in six or so years and two for Melissa. We both refuse to shop there however when Colin needs a sleeping bag the choice between Wal-Mart and driving thirty miles back to Conroe is pretty easy. Twenty bucks later, we were back on the way.

Colin was nervous and a bit apprehensive about going to camp, but I knew he'd love it. Colin is attending the same summer camp I went to twenty-nine years ago when I was his age. He's in the same cabin I was in the first year and he will be walking the same trails and swimming in the same pool and canoing the same cove of water I did. Camp Cullen had a huge impact on my life and as I drove my son there I felt the same level of excitement that I used to feel as a child going there.

From the summer of 1979 until sometime in the spring of 1990 I found any way I could to get to Camp Cullen. I was a camper there for six years and spent two weeks every summer there. When I was too old to be a camper I was a CIT. When I was too old to be a CIT I was a volunteer and from there I moved up to a paid member of the staff. While I was in college I would drive over to Cullen on the weekends to lead trail rides or work on the ropes course. I looked at my college options with the idea of working at a camp like Cullen as a profession.

Camp Cullen was a magical place for me. It was a place where I felt loved and found it easy to make friends. The camp was filled with counselors who showed us how to be good people, friendly, happy, loving , supportive and overall, decent. I learned how to tie knots, canoe, waster ski, ride horses, shoot arrows and guns and sail a sailing boat. My head was filled with the skits, games and songs that make up the somewhat crazy world of summer camp and to this day I can still recall most of them. As a CIT I can remember my first summer romance at Camp Cullen (she had braces and it didn't last long). I learned how to be a good person at Camp Cullen and for that I am very thankful. My mind is filled with memories of the place and for the most part, they are all good.

Sure there are bad memories mixed in with the good, but looking back on it I learned lessons from the bad memories. When I had a counselor who I didn't like I learned that it was better to make the best of the time I wasn't around him rather than focusing on ways to get back at him. I learned that bragging on yourself was the fastest way to lose respect from your peers. When I was a volunteer I was there for a scholarship week and I learned a lot about what it is to be poor.

We dropped Colin off at Camp at three-thirty. The check in process was so fast that I was disappointed. We checked Colin's name off two checklists, gave a counselor his footlocker and showed him to the table for his cabin. When we left Colin looked a little overwhelmed with the scene. The dining hall was filled with kids and at the front of the room were six counselors leading the group in a crazy camp song. I know within a few days Colin will get used to that; the real trick is not missing it for the other fifty or so weeks of the year.

I wanted to spend more time there. I wanted to show Melissa this place that still has a hold on me. The check-in process was so smooth that within fifteen minutes of arriving we were back in the car and driving off for home. As we walked to the car I felt my eyes water up; not because I was sad that Colin was leaving, as a divorced parent I'm used to that. My eyes watered because I didn't want to leave. I wanted to figure out a way to spend one more summer week of my life at Camp Cullen. I wanted to be a camper again just to experience all those things that I so loved as a child.

I am sure that Colin will love his week at camp. I have no doubt in my mind. The photos on the camp website may not always show him smiling, but it's camp; how can it not be the most awesome week of his summer? I hope Colin learns about himself while he is there. At eight he is more and more his own person with his own struggles and strengths. The lessons he can learn being away from family are so important to him being a good person when he is older. If he comes back a different person then I am sure that the changes will be good for him.

Most of all I hope that Camp Cullen becomes as important a place for him as it did for me all those years ago. I hope that he still sings silly camp songs thirty years later when he is approaching forty and is able to smile at memories of a place on Lake Livingston that for a week or two each summer was the best place in the world.

Wherefore art Thou?

Has it really been a week since I last scribed a post on this blog? For shame, for shame. I should have posted earlier in the week, but alas, I had a busy week.

Taking a sweat soaked shirt off for the umpteenth time on Tuesday evening I sighed with relief. The long weekend was over and I looked forward to returning to work in the morning. I tossed the shirt into the pile that I'd been building over the past few days. My shirts piled up in the corner smelling of the sustained effort I put forth this weekend. I looked on them and smiled.

There is a feeling that I get after doing a lot of physical work that is a bit hard to explain. Sure there is the satisfaction that the job has ended, but there is also a romance to using nothing more than your mind and muscles to accomplish a task. Moving is one of those activities that gives me a lot of satisfaction and always has. Moving closes a chapter on one part of your life and opens a chapter on another.

This weekend Melissa and I, along with Colin, moved into our rent house. We've been moving since last Friday, and it has been a huge amount of work. Not only did we have to clear out Melissa's apartment of all it's content, but we also had to move loads of furniture and the like from my house. Furniture that has remained essentially in the same place for eleven years had to be loaded into trucks and driven the seven miles to the new place. The record breaking heat of May didn't make things easier, but it did make things more satisfying.

The main issue with moving for me is that my dust allergies really take it upon themselves to make the experience one punctuated by sneezes. Cleaning my house out really set them off as I was entering closets and grabbing things of shelves that haven't been disturbed in over a decade. I try not to let the sneezing bother me too much and to focus on getting things done as quick as can be. That way I can get out of the dust sooner. It sure seems to bother other people though as they just can't understand how I can sneeze ten times in a row and not be annoyed.

This move was made easier by the wonderful help that Colin provided. He not only carried a lot of things into the car for me, but he also helped me to navigate some of the larger pieces of furniture into the car including two Cargo beds, a love seat, two dressers and a lot of Legos and other toys. With his help I accomplished a lot more than I thought I would and for his efforts he was rewarded with a trip to Target for some Indiana Jones Legos. We also saw the new Indy film on Saturday, and it was enjoyable; especially with Colin and Melissa at my side.

Chelsea wasn't around for the main part of the weekend. She went off camping with friends and left the three of us to make headway on the move. Her help would have been nice, but the Memorial Day camping trip has been a yearly thing for her for years and we were not about to put the kibosh on it. Even without her help we were still able to accomplish a lot. When she returned on Monday she got to work helping her mother pack the remaining items at their apartment as Colin and I took load after load to the new house.

My parents have flown off for England and my Grandad's funeral. Before they left they came over to view the house and drop off the Tahoe, which has been a great help. While they were visiting we walked to the park in the neighborhood and watched as Colin played. My parents seemed to like the house and the neighborhood. I suspect that they're a little unsure as to what the plan with Wildwood is going to be, but they're in good company on that front.

Things are slowly settling down back to normal for the four of us now. There is still moving related tasks to do, but for the most part we have past the major hurdles and are enjoying the house immensely.

It's My Move

Tomorrow Melissa and I get the keys for the lease house and the moving starts. I can't decide if I'm excited or nervous, probably a combination of both. Moving into a house together, with our kids, is a big step towards our dream of having a big happy family. It marks a significant change in all four of our lives and a part of me worries that the change will have adverse effects on the relationships within our little clan. A family living together can be tough in the best of circumstances; merging two families together isn't going to be as easy as it was in the Brady Bunch.

Still, I am excited about the place. I think that Colin and Chelsea are going to really enjoy the neighborhood. The house is on a fairly quiet street that ends at the neighborhood park, which is a long thin park connecting two larger community parks with pools and playgrounds. We're all going to be able to take walks to the pool or tennis courts or community events and ride our bikes all over the place. Additionally the neighborhood is filled with a lot more kids both Colin and Chelsea's age. I'm sure that in no time they're going to make friends around the neighborhood and the house will be filled with the sounds of kids being kids. I look forward to this, because it feels like how a childhood should be and I want Colin to have that.

There are also going to have to be concessions made between our two families due to living together. When I stay at Melissa's place I try to be conscious that the apartment is essentially theirs and I am a guest. I don't always act in that way, but we all have our off days. When we move to the new place it will be all of our place and with that we're all going to have things that we want from our new place.

I, for example, don't want the kids using the master bath. When I grew up my parent's bathroom was probably the least frequently visited room in the house by us kids. We hardly every had any need to be in there and that room was for my parent's exclusively. At Melissa's I can't tell you how many times I've come home from work and wanted to sit down only to find the restroom smelly and the seat wet because the dog was drinking out of the toilet. At least that's cleaner than when Colin uses the bathroom. At the new house I want the master bath to be both dog and kid free; we'll see what I get.

Another issue that Melissa and I are going to have to face soon is establishing some parameters for parenting each other's kid. With Colin I'm not too concerned because Melissa already does a great job with Colin, but he's eight and doesn't fuss too much. With Chelsea the situation is totally different. In a few months she's going to be eighteen, but that doesn't change the fact that she's going to be living in our house. The lines of parental authority are already being tested by Chelsea towards her mother; I suspect that any parental authority that I need to assert will not go over well. I may be needlessly worrying though; Chelsea is a really awesome young woman and we get along pretty well. I'm lucky in that Melissa will be there to help me figure things out.

There are going to be a million little things that change when we all move in together. I have confidence that the vast majority of these changes will be welcome changes for all. That tiny percentage that aren't welcome will need our attention and patience to smooth over. I hope that in a few months the gears of family life are all turning effortlessly in Mill Point but if they aren't, I'm committed to doing what needs to be done to fix things.

The last concern that I want to jot down today has to do with my current house. The plan is to rebuild on my property giving Melissa and I our dream house in an area that I have come to love. I've lived in Wildwood, my house, for the past eleven years and the thought of tearing it down and rebuilding gives me a touch of anxiety. The house is old and doesn't meet our needs, but the lot if perfect so rebuilding is the best option, but still there are lingering doubts in my mind that the plan will go smoothly. I worry that the financial markets have already turned against the idea of loaning money for something like this and that Melissa and I will not be able to rebuild. Then what am I to do with Wildwood and more importantly, if the plan falls through how is that going to affect my relationship with Melissa?

There's a lot to worry about I guess. The next chapter in my life starts tomorrow and like all the rest of the chapters I've faced I don't know how this one is going to go. I worry that the future might hold more hardship for me, a pessimistic outlook for sure. I need to find that font of optimism and fill up again. I want the next twelve months to be a fantastic preview of the rest of my life and not a return to troubles past.

Fear with Child

Last week I touched on the topic of the paranoid parental fear that seems to be gripping the country. As a parent of a young child I am constantly being told by friends, family and even people I hardly know that the world is a very dangerous place for my child and that only through constant vigilance will I assure my child will reach adulthood without being kidnapped, molested, murdered or bludgeoned. Even the TV news gets in on the stoking of parental fear
by making any case of a missing child or worse the lead story of the night's broadcast (they even have a quaint name for this).

To all this I say poppycock, which is a old fashioned way of calling bullshit on the culture of parental fear. I've read books on the subject of the exploitation of fear (The Culture of Fear by Barry Glassner) and one of the things that I have learned is that reality is not as dangerous a place as we are lead to believe. The crimes that most parents spend countless hours worrying about are at historic lows and statistically, our children are safer now than they have ever been in the history of our country.

Kidnappings are at a historic low. Sexual abuse of children by adults have been declining also. It is a fact that children today are less likely to be molested, kidnapped or killed than their parents were thirty years ago, and the odds of these things happening have continued to decrease generation after generation. And yet we, as a society, think that letting our kids go to the park or take the subway by themselves is akin to neglect and abuse. Again, poppycock. This is what kids need.

What we are doing is raising a generation of children unable to take charge of their own lives because they are so accustomed to having their safety managed by an adult. If a child doesn't have the chance to get into scrapes and little bits of trouble when they are young then they will have no capability to deal with scrapes and trouble when they are older. This is what childhood is for; it is a relatively consequence free period of life where you learn the cost of mistakes and how to deal with them productively. A child who doesn't get into little scrapes as a child will get into bigger scrapes as an adult.

Pitting the facts and logic against this culture of fear is getting harder and harder to do. As a father who has custody of my bi-racial son I read articles about how this fear gripping our society is affecting men and I worry. I worry about a father in Boston who is investigated by police for telling his daughter to 'please be quiet' while on the subway because I have told my son the same thing many many times in public. He and I don't share the same skin color and in the back of my mind I do often wonder if other people look at me and my child and let their fear run away with them. Do I set off the ‘stranger danger’ alerts in parents?

This fear of being labeled a threat to children actually makes our children less safe. I firmly agree with Hillary Clinton's premise that it takes a community to raise a child. We all have to look out for children to protect them, but what happens when one lives in a community overrun with illogical fear? Do we create men like Clive Peachy who did not stop to help little Abigail Rae because he was worried that people would think he was an abductor? Is that where we are going with this fear? Would you, put into Mr. Peachy's place, have stopped to help Abigail?

Now, there are things for parent's to fear in our communities. This Venn diagram that I came across last night is a good illustration about how we are directing our fears towards the wrong things. Statistically our children are less likely to encounter a molester at school, but far more likely to encounter a man who will actively stalk them, lie to them and once trusted by our children, send them off to a strange country where their lives will be in danger. Why do we fear the long shot and allow a greater threat to our children unlimited access?

People tell me that it is a dangerous world and that kids these days are growing up faster than before. All this attention and protection aren't helping. As Tim Gill, author of the parenting book No Fear, puts it, “our fear of [stranger danger] is magnified so dramatically, we deny our children the basic freedoms and experiences they need to grow up.” We are raising children in a protective shell who will be ill-prepared for the harshness of life.

The experiences we offer our children in childhood set their expectations in life. If a child grows to adulthood without experiencing the wrong side of a swindle, then they will grow to be an easy mark. If a child grows without criticism then they will not be able to handle it as an adult. As a parent we have to give our children the space they need to inoculate their character against the hardships of life, or they will remain a child forever.

Colin complains about the troubles in his life on occasion. He will voice his frustration by telling me “it isn't fair Daddy.” He is right, life isn't fair. Life is hard, and for long periods everyone will suffer through hardship and loss, money will be tight, expectations will not be met, and then there's high school. I try to instill in my son the tools he will need to make the best of life, hardships and all. Part of my job is to let him learn a lot of these things in little ways, now that he is a child.

I do not want my son to grow up miserable and unhappy. I want him to have the skills he will need to make the most of life and find happiness in the face of all the uncertainty and unfairness of the world. I want his expectations of life to match the realities and if that means bucking against the culture of fear then that is what I will do.

When was the last time you jumped out of a swing?

This morning I came across a Flickr group of people leaping out of swings. As I flipped through the photos in the group (and tut-tutted at the photos that were obviously not swing jumping related) I remembered how much fun it is to launch yourself into the air from a swing.

When I was in elementary school I can remember being a good swing jumper was a badge of honor. Jumping from a swing asserted that you were a kid of action and adventure. Swings were not just for swinging; they were for launching imaginative flights across the universe.

I wasn't bad at swing jumping, but certainly not the best in my age group. The more athletic and daring kids were able to jump much higher than I did. I usually liked to try for the longest distance and not the highest height. Still, I can remember the rush of air as you disentangled from the chains and flung yourself free of the seat as if the last time I jumped from a swing was yesterday.

There was a certain mental process that I had to go through in preparing for the jump. You can just decide to jump in the middle of a swing, you have to get ready for it. First off, you have to make sure that you're not going to leap into someone because you might get hurt. In elementary school this was a challenge because the playground swing set consisted of eight swings all hung from bars in the shape of a large octagon, and we all swung inward.

Once your flight path was cleared there were some body contortions to attend to. You had to move your elbows so that they were inside the chains. Most of the time when you're swinging your elbows are outside the chains to give you more power in your swings, but in order to leap you need those elbows in to clear the chains, otherwise you're not jumping off the swing; you're falling out of it.

The most important part of the jump was timing the release. As I mentioned above, I liked to go for length of the jump and not height. To assure that your jump is going to cover a lot of distance you have to let go of the swing while you're moving forward more than moving up. Somewhere around a 40° chain angle is about optimum, but it is hardly a precise sport. If height is what you want then you should release before the peak of your swing.

I don't know if Colin jumps from swings. As his school is brand new and needing playground equipment I don't even know if he gets to swing at school. I can't imagine elementary school without swings.

There is so much that my son has in his life that I didn't at his age, and there are many things that I did at his age that I can't see him doing now. This is partially a generational gap of nearly thirty years and partially because there are many different activities that are available to Colin. Swings just can't compete with Nintendo DS and Wii or even the computer itself.

But that isn't the only reason that Colin doesn't have as much swing time as I did. We live in a culture of fear and parents these days are told that the most dangerous thing on a playground is the predator waiting to snatch your child. It is this fear that drives parents to put limits on what their children can do. The Daily Mail ran an article talking about how children's roaming limits have decreased to almost nothing in just four generations.

When I was Colin's age my mother wouldn't think twice about letting me tear off the driveway on my bike to who knows where. I don't recall having a time to come home either. Returning home wasn't something I did until I was hungry. Only on occasion would my parent's look for me. My bike offered me miles of places to go to and I was always happy to hop on and take off.

The rent house has a neighborhood very similar to the one I grew up in and one thing that I want to instill in Colin is the joy of exploring. He's a smart kid and I'm sure that if he runs into trouble that he will be able to find his way out of it. After all, he's my son and when I think of all the scrapes I got into as a kid I can't imagine Colin doing anything more dangerous.