I just spent a week’s worth of work hours navigating the arcane forms of summer camp. There were transportation arrangements, health care card signatures, emergency contacts and declaring swimming levels- all after the relentless onslaught of the end of the school year extra-curriculars. I want a break. Not just the ‘please help me think of things to occupy them these weeks before camps starts and then I can sit and have a coffee’ break. But a real break.
What if every summer, or even every fifth summer, parents got to go to day camp? Pick me up on a goddam bus every morning at 8 and don’t bring me back until I’m deliriously tired; tired enough to fall asleep on the bus even if the driver is an elderly wheezing man whose face has achieved that deeply apoplectic red from either alcohol abuse or an eminent stroke. Because we’re expected to send our kids off with that guy, too. But that’s another post. The point of this post, just illustrated, is that I can’t stay on topic because I so desperately need a break. Not a luxury resort break. Not an exciting photography safari break. Because they expect sentient adults at those places. I need a break where I am treated like a toddler, an emotionally incoherent beast, an unreliable narrator, a wild child who needs every last detail of the day thought out for them, and who is nevertheless loved so blindly by their family that counselors are compelled to treat them just as the British treat anyone with a archaic title in their name .
And this is Parent Camp would look like.
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