Summer Reading Camp

"Grandma, would you come to my reading camp play next Friday?" Zoe asked.  "What kind of camp?", not sure I had heard correctly.  It's a new world.  Summer daycamp used to mean water sports, craft projects, and a few hours of parental respite.  These days it means enrichment, meaningful learning, and a few hours of parental respite.  Our eight year old granddaughter was wrapping up her session of Reading Camp and invited me to join the family at the group performance.  No matter what the event is, if asked by the grandkids and it's doable, I go.  We have four grandchildren under 12; children at this age aren't embarrassed by disability.  That may not always be the case.

Turned out, the presentation was a mock radio reading of a mystery, each child taking on a character and reading from a script.  Zoe assured me hers was a big part, but the rest of the details had to remain a surprise.

The camp location was not far from my son and daughter–in–law's home, so it was very scootable.  In fact, it was the same place Heidi and Jason had gone to preschool, taken swimming lessons, and had their first school pageants 35 years ago.  My, how time flies when you're having...never mind.

At the designated time, Skeeter and I set out, somewhat familiar with the route.  I messaged my son that I was leaving my house and 40 minutes away according to the app Map My Ride.  He started tracking me with Find My Friends.  Relying on phone apps can be a bit creepy, but also reassuring when you're not exactly certain about navigation.  At least I knew Jason would be able to find me if my "blinking dot" stopped moving. 

Even with making a wrong turn, I beat them to the camp school and waited in the designated handicapped parking space.  I decided that, although I was on a mobility scooter rather than in a car, I was still entitled to it.  Jason had seen me take the wrong turn, but accurately guessed I would figure it out eventually.  When you're being tracked, you have no secrets.

After navigating to the back of the spacious auditorium, I tried to remember where the swimming pool was.  There had obviously been significant expansion and renovation over the last 35 years and I was having trouble reorienting.  "Jason, where is the pool?" I asked.
"You're sitting in it", he responded.  I could see where a staged room would be more useful and less expensive to maintain, but I was nostalgic for that old, over–heated, excessively–chlorinated pool.

The reading performance started and the reading instructor had written a clever mystery. The lead detective was Rumpelstiltskin, framed for stealing the King's gold.  Zoe played his trusty sidekick, and the rest of the children portrayed the other characters.  It was a very different take on the familiar fairy tale.  

Not to sound like a typical grandmother, but Zoe is unusually bright and an advanced reader, easily handling the character and the part.  However, I could tell that she wasn't terribly challenged by the script, yawning and braiding her hair during other character readings.  Sitting quietly and waiting for your turn is so bor–ing.  I can't speak for behavior–conscious parents, but grandchildren are fun to watch when you're a grandparent.  Wanting to be an re–invitable guest, my applause was appropriate, I turned my cell phone off, refrained from shouting 'Yea, Zoe!',  and didn't cry even once.

The lesson:  Go to any performance, be a polite guest, and don't embarrass the child.