CAMP GUILT
I’ve got Camp Guilt.
My daughter’s crabby morning grousing got to me today:  ”Why do I have to go to camp for a MONTH?”  
And that’s where the guilt creeps in.  Why DOES she have to go to camp for a month?  Granted, it’s just day-camp, but it is a long day.  I tried to explain that us grownups don’t have the summer off, which I think surprised her.  
I just feel bad.  It’s the same bad feeling any parent has when they have someone else taking care of their kids.  My wife works full time, but I have a weird schedule; maybe I should have her at home with me, maybe I should be making art with her every day, maybe I should be using this summer time to get us out in the city, checking out museums, learning about HISTORY, or diverse lifestyles or taking the train to a sculpture garden or something.  Something creative and amazing, some top-notch creative parenting.  Or maybe I should be that dad who’s like:  do whatever!  Follow HER interests on any given day:  be like, “Oh, clouds?  Yes, they are interesting!  Let’s go sketch CLOUDS FOR THE DAY.”  Or beach bum it up and nap in the hammock and get into the slow groove of a lazy summer day, teach her to CHILL.
But I remember being like her when I was a kid:  complaining, annoyed, put-out, just IDONTWANNA.  What DID I want to do?  Who knows.  I bet if my daughter was at home, she’d be bored, begging for computer time, pissed that she couldn’t watch TV all day, mad that all her friends weren’t around to hang out.  
Camp’s good; it really is!  I know this.  It’s active and fun and good for her. But today she’s pissed about it.  Thus:  Camp Guilt.  

CAMP GUILT

I’ve got Camp Guilt.

My daughter’s crabby morning grousing got to me today:  ”Why do I have to go to camp for a MONTH?”  

And that’s where the guilt creeps in.  Why DOES she have to go to camp for a month?  Granted, it’s just day-camp, but it is a long day.  I tried to explain that us grownups don’t have the summer off, which I think surprised her.  

I just feel bad.  It’s the same bad feeling any parent has when they have someone else taking care of their kids.  My wife works full time, but I have a weird schedule; maybe I should have her at home with me, maybe I should be making art with her every day, maybe I should be using this summer time to get us out in the city, checking out museums, learning about HISTORY, or diverse lifestyles or taking the train to a sculpture garden or something.  Something creative and amazing, some top-notch creative parenting.  Or maybe I should be that dad who’s like:  do whatever!  Follow HER interests on any given day:  be like, “Oh, clouds?  Yes, they are interesting!  Let’s go sketch CLOUDS FOR THE DAY.”  Or beach bum it up and nap in the hammock and get into the slow groove of a lazy summer day, teach her to CHILL.

But I remember being like her when I was a kid:  complaining, annoyed, put-out, just IDONTWANNA.  What DID I want to do?  Who knows.  I bet if my daughter was at home, she’d be bored, begging for computer time, pissed that she couldn’t watch TV all day, mad that all her friends weren’t around to hang out.  

Camp’s good; it really is!  I know this.  It’s active and fun and good for her. But today she’s pissed about it.  Thus:  Camp Guilt.  

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