Max has been asking to go camping for awhile now. We waited a few weeks for good weather. This weekend was the best weather, overnight, that we could ask for: overnight lows would be in the 60s. Additionally, it would be dry. This was our weekend.
I do not feel comfortable going to an actual campsite at this time. I figured the campsites in our area would be packed. We decided to pitch a tent in our backyard. It was great to get the tent out of storage. Max even helped me with the tent. I let him swing the rubber mallet to drive the stakes into the ground while I held them (he only missed the stakes a few times, but got my hand every time he missed).
Our camping trip was a success. Even though we were in the city, it was still fairly peaceful. Once the neighbors’ party (trying not to judge) died down, we were able to fall asleep and stayed asleep until the very early morning (for whatever reason, I awoke around 03:30 and could not fall back asleep).
I do not recall how many times I camped in the backyard as a child, but I only remember one time though. I was staying the weekend with my brother’s father, who I thought was my father (it’s a long story for another time). We were in the backyard and I finally fell asleep. I remember it being cold and dark when I woke up. I was now alone. I remember being scared. I wasn’t sure what to do. I figured it was sometime in the early morning, but did not have a watch with me. My brother’s father had left the tent and went inside the house to watch television instead. I found him passed out on the couch. I do not recall my exact age, but I would guess I was around eight. I will never do that to Max.