"No Girls Allowed" Camping Club

Max loves camping. With his dad. And his friends. Especially friends that aren't girls. The annual Fathers and Sons Camp is like a totally awesome "No Girls Allowed" camping club that happens once a year. At least that's how Max sees it. I view it as a twenty-four hour exercise at preventing an energetic boy from playing in and getting burned by the fire, while at the same time letting a once younger, parent-dependent child run free with his friends, hoping that he wouldn't get lost, drowned in the lake, or worse, rummaging off trail through poison ivy infested woods.

Fortunately for Max, his girl-free camping club was as awesome as he expected.

Fortunately for his dad, there were no burns (although there were quite a few close calls), drownings, losings, or poison ivy encounters.

I always loved Fathers and Sons camps with my own dad. In fact, when I was young I loved camping in general. It was a boy's heaven to run around the forest to play with friends, brothers, and sometimes even cousins. We'd throw rocks in the lake, splash in rivers and streams, get muddy if the opportunity presented itself, and scurry all over rocks, boulders, logs, and nearly the entire mountainside. I never once recall thinking of my dad, back at camp, probably talking with other dads or doing other boring dad things.

I definitely don't recall thinking that my dad was worried about my safety. Now that I'm a dad, I totally see the other side. As I was sitting there at camp, talking with other dads or doing other boring dad things, I couldn't help but constantly worry about Max. Where was he? Was he being nice to the other boys? Was he lost? Did he get into poison ivy?

It was the first time camping that Max was really old enough to run around and play without me tagging along, and I had a difficult time letting go. I noticed myself following him around for the first few hours, reminding him to be safe and to not touch any single plant or tree because it might be poisonous. I finally had to make a conscious effort to back off. Most of the other dads seemed to have no problem letting their boys run wild, but perhaps they were dealing with the same internal struggle that I was. Or perhaps they just don't feel they need to be so emotionally and tangibly connected to their sons as I do to mine.

The camp was a success. I had a great time doing boring dad things, and Max was in little boy heaven. I did eventually let him venture off on his own, although I never stopped worrying about poison ivy.