It’s Alive!

Young Frankenstein PosterSo picture the movie, Young Frankenstein, with Gene Wilder (who used to be the fencing teacher at HB Studio, where I taught under Joe Daly’s supervision) as the monster comes alive and he shouts, “It’s alive!”

We finally saw pictures of M-ito on the camp website. The first two arrived on day four. Four days of combing the photo gallery waiting to see a picture with his mug on it. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

The first two pictures were blurry but I swear he was smiling in one. Either that or it was gas. He was swimming in the lake in either case. I called the camp on day five and said I wanted to speak to his counselor and find out what was going on. Was he okay? Is he having a hard time? Was that really a picture of him I saw or a blurry image of someone else? The staff were very nice and said they would talk to his unit leader and call us back with a report later that day.

At four they hadn’t called me back yet and I called from AMTRAK on my way back from DC. The unit leader was right there so I got to speak to him on the phone.

M-ito is doing fine. He had  a rough first night, but nowhere near as rough a night as some others had had (just what does that mean?). They roasted marshmallows together at the campfire that night as a way to bond and cope with first night loneliness. Since then he’s been active, seems happy, is making friends, and has settled in.

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

Twelve pictures of him on Friday. Clear images at arts and crafts. Two with big smiles.

I’m doing okay. Mom-ita is fine. M-ito has settled in. Today is day seven. Half way home. We pick him up from his adventure on Saturday, next week.

Inga: “Put… ze candle… back!”

 

Hollow Space – Part II

BUNK BED $198

Drop off was hard, but we did it. We met two families for lunch earlier in a town near the camp and the boys had a chance to talk, fool around, and settle their nerves. Us adults sat, smiled at each other, and made small-talk. Some of the adults were veterans and a few of us were newbies.

At the camp we were too late to get a bottom bunk. We’d been early but not early enough. This doesn’t seem like a big deal at first glance but M-ito was a little freaked out by the closeness of the tent roof to the bed and the challenge of getting up into the bunk without a ladder. He’s never been in a bunk bed before.

Mom-ita came to the rescue. M-ito said it was okay, but I could tell it wasn’t. He was holding himself together the best he could but this was unravelling him. Mom-ita set to work. M-ito and I went to get the mosquito netting while Mom-ita wrangled with the counselors to see how our son could end up on a bottom bunk. His tent was the only one with all four bottom bunks taken. He was the fifth one to arrive.

This kind of thing always happens to me when I travel. I get a room with a brick wall outside my window, or a dumpster, or soiled carpet of a suspicious nature, or my reservation is missing, or it was for the following week. Sometimes these things happen to M-ito too.

On the way to get the netting. M-ito said, “Why do these things always happen to me?”

I didn’t know what to answer. “Mom-ita will take care of it. Have faith,” I said.

Two weeks of build-up was showing on his face. We sprinted a few times on the way to the store as if he needed to burn off something and leave it behind.

“I don’t think I can get up onto that top bunk,” he said softly, his head down, his hands in his pockets. “There’s a pin on the ceiling of one that will probably poke me in the head or take my eye out. And did you see the graffiti above the other beds? It’s creepy.”

“Let’s see what Mom-ita can do to fix things,” I said. “Have faith.”

We got the netting and slogged back up the path to the tents of the 10-11 year olds. Mom-ita was at another tent talking to a new counselor. M-ito’s things had been moved. “You’re over here now,” she said, “Bottom bunk.” His friend had switched with him, bottom for top, tent for tent. This was his second year at the camp so he was a veteran and didn’t mind.

M-ito’s face lit up.

We said goodbye and he ran off, leading a new boy who had the bunk above him whom he’d just met, to the camp store. I wanted to hold him a while, tell him I loved him again, but he needed to go.

I have a hollow space in the center of my chest. It’s amazing how I could find a true smile as he left and feel such sadness at the same time.

Now it’s time to look for his picture in the daily photo gallery. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

Hollow Space

M-ito left yesterday for sleep away camp. We dropped him off in CT with two friends, a trunk, a day pack (mine and a personal favorite), some bedding, a mosquito net, and a sleeping bag. Right now I’m on my way to DC for the International AIDS Conference – the first time in my life that I’ve been able to go. Mom-ita is home with the dogs and the peace and quiet. That’s one way to look at it.

I have a hollow space in my chest. For the first time ever I don’t know what my son is doing for an extended period of time. I enjoy travelling but I am an anxious traveller. This afternoon I’m a bit worse for wear. All morning we kept asking each other, “I wonder what he’s doing now?”

I can hear my colleague from work saying, her voice a cigarette scarred growl, “That’s pathetic. When I sent my two girls off to camp they were 7. I told them at the camp to just keep walking. Don’t turn around. You’re not coming back with us so don’t even think about it.” This makes me smile. She is tough as nails and she loves her girls, but she is not me. I’ve got my own issues. I worry.

M-ito is ten. He’s also our only child. Maybe I do need to toughen up, just a little.

“I wonder what he’s doing now?