I've got an assfull of work to do tonight, so I don't have much time to ponder/reflect/blabber like a ninny.
I will say this, though. Mr. Z has started camp at the Y this week and, so far, it's going pretty smoothly. It's broken down into themed weeks, where each week focuses on something different. It actually seems a little half-assed -- like when they were planning it all out, they just kinda looked around for theme ideas:
COUNSELOR1: Uh... how 'bout... 'Shoe Week'? We could... teach them about shoes and shit and... play games... with shoes.
COUNSELOR2: Perfect! What else?
COUNSELOR3: Fuck... I dunno... we could do... 'Stick Week,' where they collect sticks and make stick-related crafts and... shit.
COUNSELOR2: Nice! Only six more weeks to go! Who's next?
But he's having a blast, so who am I to complain?! This week is "Harry Potter" week (brilliant!) and I guess they've been doing wizardy crap and playing quidditch (without all that boring flying around shit) and eating toads, or something.
Well, Mr. Z has been obsessing all week about what they have planned for tomorrow and he's getting himself pretty worked up out about it. He said that the counselors have captured four dragons and the kids are going to try to find them in the woods. Now, Mr. Z is a very bright young lad and he knows that dragons don't exist and all that, but the boy has a fucking imagination on him that will not quit. At dinner tonight he sorta mumbled that he's a little worried about going to camp tomorrow.
MR. Z: I don't know about tomorrow...
ME: Why, what's the matter?
MR. Z: Well... [long pause] I just really don't want to get killed.
ME: What?! What are you talking abo--Oh, wait. You're not still worried about those dragons, are you?!
MR. Z: Well...?
ME: Dude! We've talked about this -- you know that dragons are totally made up and the counselors would never do anything to hurt you...
I went on to tell him, again, that the counselors' job is to make sure the kids have the most fun possible at camp, and that it wouldn't be in their best interest to go around killling or maiming the campers because then, those campers might not come back next summer, and then the Y would lose money and they wouldn't be able to hire someone to clean out the pool, WHICH THEY DESPERATELY NEED TO DO BECAUSE I WENT SWIMMING AT LUNCH TODAY AND I SWEAR I SAW A FUCKING TURD FLOATING IN THE LANE NEXT TO ME AND, INSTEAD OF GETTING OUT OF THE WATER OR TELLING THE LIFEGUARD, I JUST MOVED OVER ONE MORE LANE BECAUSE I REALLY NEEDED TO SWIM AND I WAS JUST TOO DAMN TIRED TO DEAL WITH IT.
Needless to say, I think his ass is still freaking out and he's basically convinced that his life will be terminated in the woods tomorrow, at the hands, er, claws of a giant, scaly, fire-breathing, counselor-fueled Hell-Beast.
I'll put an extra cookie in his lunch tomorrow. That should help.