My girlfriend Meg invited the kids and me to spend the weekend with her family at her in-law's cottage this past weekend. Aside from it being a little too cool in the shade, we had a glorious, sunny weekend. We took the paddle boat out a couple of times and the kids had fun swimming, fishing and playing a game that was new to me: redneck golf. (Turns out there is a "sport" I'm good at after all!)
Her daughters, my boys and I also slept in a tent for the first time together which I loved -- except that I could barely sleep because every little noise freaked me out.
I read a story years ago about forgiveness, of all things, written by a mother whose youngest daughter was kidnapped from their tent while the family camped in Montana. The kidnapper quietly slit the tent while the whole family was asleep inside, pulled the daughter out, and later killed her at his nearby house. Although the story told about this woman's prayers for her daughter's safety and prayers/compassion for the kidnapper (who ultimately called her one night, they chatted for an hour and he was subsequently arrested), I have never been able to get the horror of this story out of my head.
But really, what are the chances of something like that happening? Close to nil. Yet reason and logic vanish in the middle of the night. The story played in my head over and over. I even dreamed of a dead girl speaking to me about her brother. Not exactly relaxing.
I need to get over this, though, because I used to love camping and don't want this irrational fear to ruin it for me. I'm thinking of taking baby steps: I'll start by "camping" in our backyard and gradually work up to pitching a tent in Manhattan. And I'll pack some mace.
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