“Daddy, my camp counselor asked if anyone had nuts in their lunch today,” Baxter brought up at dinner time. “I wonder if we’re supposed to bring nut-free lunches like at Lyle’s school.”
“….and…?” Matt looked at him. “Did you tell her you had a peanut butter sandwich?”
“No, not really,” he replied.
“Wow, Lyle, I heard from Carmen that your school bus only came back from the Nature Center field trip at pick-up time! That must’ve been a long field trip!”
“Was it uncomfortable in the heat, or were you okay?”
“Who did you sit with on the bus?”
“Did you take a long hike this time?”
His responses to my questions were agreeable in general, but in retrospect brief and non-committal.
I heard later in the evening that his camp’s school bus had, in actuality, overheated, gone up in smoke and had to be evacuated, and the kids had sat out on the lawn of a retirement center on Pulaski listening to stories for the majority of the camp day. The actual field trip? A quick 45-minute walk around the shortest trail.
The child didn’t think to mention any of this to me or the babysitter.
We arrive at camp on the second day. Baxter looks at his peers as they walk past him. They have green, blue, purple hair, sticking up in otherworldly directions. Some are in funny hats, others are in wigs.
“It must be crazy hair day or something,” he muses. I agree.
The camp director looks at him, eyebrows raised.
“Baxter, you didn’t hear about that yesterday?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.
“No, I guess not,” he says.
The director mentions good-naturedly that they reminded his group about it countless times the day before. She was kind enough to say that he, like her, could just act crazy since they hadn’t dressed up.
Some days I’m pretty sure we ain’t acting crazy at all.