Not only was Large not attacked by any bears this week while in Yosemite, his class was the first in something like ten years to not see any bears at all. or wolves. or other dangerous wildlife. This comes as a great comfort to me, since the week before his trip, I had a horrible dream where I watched him and Medium running out of an alligator enclosure and not quite making it. We’ll leave it at that. It was profoundly disturbing. This dream could have only meant one thing. There would be bears, quite possibly hungry bears with a hankering for sixth graders, awaiting my kid on his class trip. You can imagine that while I empathized with his disappointment at the lack of bear sightings, I was, in some small measure, a bit relieved. I’m a mom, man. That’s just how I roll.
I don’t think they got much rest while away. While some kids cope with exhaustion with…say…sleeping, he often takes the “insane rambling and dramatic and catastrophic feelings of despair” route, recounting the pain of his yellow jacket sting, the disappointment of not ever making it to the souvenir shop as he’d hoped, how he JUST WANTS TO GO HOME. Later, when he is showered and changed and his blood sugar has been supplemented by a Jamba Juice, he’s back to his usual rational self, passing out hugs to the family that missed him, and cuddling the cats that he focused all his homesickness around.
He took lots of pictures and videos. He is full of stories. I have made him recount the story about the discovery of the yellow jacket nest in his cabin after lights out three different times, just so I can hear him relay what his bunk mate said when he felt buzzing on his forehead. “JEEzus CHRIST, turn on the freakin’ LIGHTS!” I don’t know why I find that so funny. Something about 11 year olds dabbling in pg-13 language. Everytime he tells the story I laugh all over again. I am careful to ooh and aaah over the sting on the back of his head.
I swear he got taller while he was away. I hate that and I love that. I miss him while he’s away, whether it is a week at Yosemite or a couple days with his dad. I hate that I can’t always be by his side, and I love his confidence as he flings forth without me. There has been no single joy greater in my life than watching him morph from baby to kid to tween, and while he’s only 11 (almost 12), the very occasional and fleeting speck of my son as a man shines through and then evaporates just as quickly as it came. What an amazing gift it has all been.
