The Best of Daddy Days: Camping

I took the week off so enjoy this “best of” episode of Daddy Days from 2015.

The youth group at our church went on a camping trip over spring break and I decided the three-year-old was ready for his first campout. I was optimistic about the trip, however we were in uncharted territory so we planned to go for just one night. 

 

I was so optimistic about the affair, that I didn't realize until the day of the trip that it was the Ides of March. And I wouldn’t even have given it a second thought had another omen not appeared. 

 

A few hours before we were going to head out to the campsite, I saw over 20 vultures circling the sky near our house. Could this be another portentous sign? Were these birds eying me knowing I was a dead man walking? I mean, I was about to be in the wilderness, overnight with the three-year-old, by myself. (Ok, so the wilderness was a state park 30 minutes from home). Was I crazy?

 

I can just imagine Caesar on his way to the Theatre of Pompey, spotting a bunch of vultures circling, and thinking, “That’s odd. [Shrug]. Oh, hi Brutus.” 

 

The final foreboding sign happened while I was loading the car. Splat. A bird pooped on me (not a vulture, thank goodness). I figured I’d either offended birdkind or they were trying to warn me. [Shrug].

 

Despite all the signs, we loaded up and headed out. Levi talked the entire car ride. He was excited, but I think he was a little scared too so it was good that some of his family and friends were going to be there.

 

We set up our modest tent in the shadow of a tent that needed a zip code and situated our sleeping bags. His friend peaked in the door, My son asked him to come inside, and before I knew it they had each snuggled down into sleeping bags and were talking about staying in there all night. The outlook for the evening was good.

 

Around twilight, we took a walk to the “waterfall” that is a feature of this park. It’s a pretty long walk for a three-year-old but He walked all the way there. He liked looking at the water and we decided to take the river path back to the camp. As I was holding his hand walking down the path, a strange deja-vu-like sensation came over me. 

 

Eleven years ago, on that very night, I had walked down that same trail holding hands with a girl I wanted to ask out on a date. The surreal part is that girl is now my wife and The 3-year-old’s’s mom. Here I was holding hands with the little guy I couldn’t even have imagined 11 years ago, because the girl I couldn’t imagine wanting to hold my hand took it. Goosebumps.

 

By this time I had decided, “Ides of March, smides of March” and was relaxing and having a good time. After a little ways on the river trail I gave My son a piggyback ride back to the camp where he had a s'more with a marshmallow the size of his face. 

 

After sitting around the fire for a while (where he moved his chair by Grandma’s, “so I can talk to her”) he was ready for bed. He was the youngest person at the campout and when he was putting on his pjs he looked out at all the people by the fire and said, “why aren’t these people going to bed?”

 

He laid down and was out in five minutes. A good while later I woke him up when I came in the tent. He smiled and said, “I like this place.” Throughout the night, he would periodically reach over and touch (more like smack) my face, I think to make sure I was there, and then lie flat like he was sleeping as soon as I moved. I guess that’s what I get for waking him up when I went to bed. 

 

Other than him waking up at dawn (can’t blame him) the night went just fine. Things were going great until 10 the next morning. At that point he just melted down and wanted to go home. He hadn’t eaten much dinner or a full breakfast and he was running on a short night’s sleep so things weren't stacked in his favor that morning. But it was still bad. I blame the blimp sized marshmallow.

 

Later that night, back at home, I asked him what his favorite part of the campout was. He said, “leaving.” That stung a little (et tu, Brute?), since I knew he had a good time up until the end. But then he said, “and you in my tent resting at night.” For a first campout that’s not too bad in my book.

 

I’ll just have to remember: it’s not the Ides of March to watch out for, it’s the morning after.