Well, not really. We dropped Courtney off for her first day of camp yesterday out near Jackson, MI. Travel time between here and there is around an hour or so, but it’s amazing what a difference that can make in the landscape. Here in Canton, it’s fairly city-like. We’re technically a township, so it’s still a fairly small city-like set up, but still doesn’t feel like being in the “country”. I guess it’s the typical suburb more so than anything else. Go an hour or so west and it’s definitely a much more country-ish feel as we passed through a couple one stoplight towns along the way. The kind that always look like movie depictions of the perfect place to grow up except that my family would go stir-crazy within a month because the only real local activity to engage in is mowing your lawn and gossiping about your neighbors. We’ve been spoiled by easy-access to the local movie theaters and Blockbuster and such.
Anyway, Courtney didn’t start to look nervous about the prospect of spending a week by herself with a bunch of strangers at a camp she’d never been to before until just before we left. Truth be told, I didn’t feel nervous about leaving her behind until right about then as well. I’m not the sort of parent who’s prone to separation anxiety. Courtney spent the first nine years of her life living with her mother so I’m used to the idea of having a daughter that I didn’t see very often and had little control over. She’s been living with me for almost 4 years now and I guess I’ve gotten used to having her around as a constant presence in my home and my mind. Funny how you don’t notice the changes in yourself until something makes them very apparent.
Aside from dropping the kid off at camp (where they promised me to take her on a Snipe Hunt), we also stopped by the in-law’s house so Anne and Courtney could go to church with Grampa Gribble and then we all went out to breakfast for father’s day. Both Grampa and myself got wonderfully loud shirts with cool Chinese-style drawings on them. Chinese lettering was abundant on both shirts that we, of course, had no idea as to what they might say. I’ll find out this week, though, when I wear it to work as the Chinese folks at the office are always happy to tell me what my shirts say. Sometimes translating it into English is difficult and they hold a spirited debate before announcing to me what it says. I sometimes wonder if they’re trying to decide if I should really know out of fear I won’t fix their PCs anymore if I learn the shirt says something like “Stupid white guy wearing this hasn’t a clue what this says. What a moron.”
Actually, I’d love to get a shirt that had that written on it in Chinese. I’d have a ball wearing that one around.