Camping Out

Last weekend, we celebrated our oldest son’s birthday by taking him, three of his closest friends, and our younger son camping. I can imagine what you are all thinking…I can also imagine what someone like Dave Barry might even write about this experience. But, the long and short of it is, it was by far birthday party that we have planned to date.

We started with pizza and birthday cake at our house while people gathered and we packed up the truck. Before we left, we gave the boys their own, individual mess kit and spork, a compass, a camouflage flash light, and a bag of trail mix for hiking (or at least for the drive to the lake). We handed these out and went over the rules for the night out. They were simple: 1) As parents, we are in charge. 2) Do what we say.

After everyone’s gear, sleeping bags, the tents, a bucket, shovel and wood for the fire, various snacks (which, of course, included ingredients for S’mores), two coolers containing food for breakfast and lunch the following day, bug spray, and sunscreen were stowed away – we took off for the lake.

We had scouted out three potential camping spots earlier in the week and when we got there, our first choice was available – a flat, football field sized peninsula surrounded on three sides by the rain swollen lake. An existing picnic table and fire pit silently gave testimony to the fact that we weren’t the only ones who realized this was a perfect spot. We set up our tents about 20 feet from the place where the land gently evolved into water. There were no trees to block the view. There was only sky, soft green grass and 5 very excited boys.

First task? Set up the tents. My husband threw the smaller tent we were going to use for clothing and storage into the middle of the group of boys and said, “Figure it out.” He is a man of few, but ingenious, words. For a while, they stared at the tent bag like it was a strange and beautiful fish. Then slowly, while we set up the larger, 8-man tent, the boys began a textbook experiment in group process.

The next time I looked over, two poles were half-way threaded, one boy was trapped on the inside of the completely zipped tent, and the rest of the boys were arguing heatedly about whether a third pole should start from the middle or from the edge. My husband intervened and gave a few, enlightened suggestions. After about 30 more minutes both tents were up and the boys were ready to move on to something else.

So we went swimming. I don’t believe that I could have said anything else that would have brought more pleasure to the group. From the boy’s faces and heightened conversation I could tell that the slight possibility of getting their toes nibbled on by lake creatures added that extra-special zing to an otherwise ordinary experience. It was also NIGHTTIME. I was taking them swimming at about the same time that they were normally being told to get in their pajamas, brush their teeth and say their prayers. This was great stuff. They swam, tackled waves made by passing boats, squished mud between their toes, packed sand on their bodies, and argued about whether or not it was safe to open their eyes under water. At around 9:15, I pulled them out, sent them to the shower house to hose off and we headed back to camp.

By the time we got back, my husband had a nice campfire going. The boys changed while I set out the snack food and we all warmed up by the flames. While the bugs swarmed around a couple of lanterns we had set up around the sunshade, the boys swarmed around the fire pit – poking sticks around, seeing how close they could get before getting too hot, asking my husband what they could and could not throw in there to watch burn. Suddenly, one of the boys said – “Let’s play ‘Would you rather?’”

And so we did. The fire was bright, the S’mores were sticky and warm, the lake was quiet, and the stars were out. “Would you rather be a Boston Celtic or a Los Angelos Laker?” “Would you rather be a chigger or a mosquito?” “Would you rather be a booger or a scab?” The possibilities were endless, and we all took turns.

It wasn’t too long after that that the boys – who I must admit had been very patient up to this point – were dying to get inside the tent. We sent them on ahead while my husband and I stayed by the fire to clean up, tend the fire and – let’s face it – eavesdrop on their conversation.

It was magical. I sat with my bare feet on the warm stones surrounding the orange-red embers of the dying fire watching the slick, still water, white with moonlight. The chorus of frogs surrounding us was occasionally joined by the soft, low call and answer of two bullfrogs. And soft, giggly 10-year-old voices were discussing Superheros, sports and girls in a tent gently glowing with the soft beams of flashlights. My husband and I were silent, talking only when necessary and then very, very low – both realizing the gift that we were being granted that evening. I didn’t want it to end.

The Golden Rule

I spent Thursday morning at a retention conference. I’m not talking about water retention – although that is something worth conferencing about. I am talking about the kind of retention concerned with keeping students in school.

To those of you who aren’t family, you need to know that I work at a college. In college, student retention is a big deal. We spend a lot of time talking about student retention. We are, after all, in the business of educating students. We would like these students to enter, stay, graduate and (the President would like me to add) turn into happy, generous donors – the circle of life, so to speak.

In the course of this morning’s discussion, we were talking about service, students and issues related to the millennial generation. What ensued is what typically ensues in any of these dialogues – a rant about helicopter parents, feelings of entitlement and student irresponsibility. One might call these things the joys of our job.

After several slides and much discussion about this topic, I leaned over to a colleague and said, “It’s all very simple really, all you have to do is treat others as you wish to be treated.” As we shared a laugh, she replied, “Yeah…in fact, isn’t there a Bible passage about that somewhere?”

Even so, the discussion made me think about the more challenging students that our office works with on a daily basis. I can immediately think of 20 different students that are particularly challenging to deal with. Shoot, before I left the office this morning, one of these 20 had already called two times about the same issue. This particular student is emotionally challenging and can be verbally abusive.

And once again, I said the little prayer that I say whenever these situations arise. “God, you put these 20 people into my life for a reason. I pray that when I interact with them, I am accomplishing your purpose and your will.”

And I really do. I truly hope that when I am listening to a student shout profanity at me over the phone for 20 solid minutes, that I can remember that this is still God’s child. I pray I can remember that God put this person in my life for a reason. Either I am there to teach them, or they are there to teach me. And I pray that I will be able to conduct myself in a manner that is pleasing to God.

Interactions with others are easy when everyone is friendly and things are fun. I find that I learn the most when they aren’t. Trying to view interactions from this perspective is one of the most challenging paths that I walk in this life.