Parental Follies

This week, for some reason, a number of parents have shown up at camp for one reason or another, mostly to pick up their kids. The problem is, they've come to the wrong camp. Their kids are attending camp at our other site. Normally, this kind of thing happens once or twice a year. This week, it has happened at least three or four times. At one point, right around bedtime, somebody rang the bell outside the hub (a bell used to summon campers to the amphitheater - essentially a school bell), and it turned out to be one of the aforementioned wayward parents, who apparently thought it was some sort of doorbell. In fact, this particular parent had a whole family in tow - 5 or 6 people. None of them seemed to get the concept of following verbal directions. I called our other site, and listened to Papa Bear (who is my counterpart there) give directions to one of the parents, while the parent listened and didn't write anything down. The minute the phone call was over, the parent turned around and asked me for directions again. I replied that he had just gotten them, to which he responded, "but I still don't know how to get there." Perhaps these people were going through GPS withdrawal (GPS doesn't work too well up in the hills).

It amazes me that these parents sent their kids off for a week without knowing where their kids were going.

The other parental fail of the week was brought to light tonight. Apparently, a girl (a 5th grader) got her first period during the night hike and she immediately became afraid that she was dying from Ebola. Her parents apparently never thought to explain certain important facts to her. Of course, our sensationalist news media is to blame for the girl jumping to conclusions about Ebola, but that wouldn't have happened in the first place if one of her parents had thought to clue her in on what to expect from her growing body. Poor girl. She must have been terrified.

On the bright side, I saw a fluffy little coyote on the way home this morning. It crossed the road in front of me and glared disdainfully from the undergrowth as I passed.