Camp, part 3

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

My screams could be heard far and wide as I fell through the air, forty feet off the ground. Falling, falling, falling down ... then falling, falling, falling up. Trying not to curse. Children are present, including my daughter. Fellow parents are below, alternately shouting approval and snickering with amusement as I fly by on the Giant Swing. I am petrified, but glad that I followed the advice given by my friends Andrea and Bernard, both of whom said I should go all the way to the top before my free fall, lest I regret my cowardice after the fact. Okay, they didn't use those words, but that's what they meant. This advice didn't mean too much coming from Andrea, since she's basically crazy, and proud of it. But Bernard? He seems sensible, and he has a fear of heights, like me. I decided to step way out of my comfort zone and go for it. From the top.

Getting to the top would involve the hoisting-me-up-by-pulley crew actually getting me to the top. I surveyed the crew of parents; they looked fit and eager to hoist me to my fate. The final variable (barring mechanical failure, which I was definitely trying not to think about at that moment) was the wuss-out factor. To make sure that did not come into play, I made one final request to a couple of the dads in the hoisting crew: "Even if I say 'stop' before I reach the top, just keep going."

Wuss-out insurance in place, I began my ascent. When I thought I could not possibly go any higher, I gesticulated wildly with my arms and yelled "Stop! Stop! Stop!" Surely, I was at the top, wasn't I? I wasn't. The crew kept hoisting. And, in a couple more heave-ho's, I was at the top. I closed my eyes, and let her rip, releasing the lever that would propel me through the air, hurtling like a giant boulder toward the ground. Falling, falling, falling down ... and falling, falling, falling up. I opened my eyes to see the trees whizzing past me, sailing through the air like Cathy Rigby in Peter Pan -- minus the green costume and the smile.

Looking back at the weekend, I am shocked to find that the Camp Augusta experience seems to have agreed with me.* My journey to the Giant Swing has involved much self-evaluation and a fair amount of encouragement from other parents. I found inspiration in watching my daughter, cheering as she tackled the Giant Swing, traversed the High Ropes Course, and observing quietly as she navigated the sometimes treacherous obstacle course that is the fourth grade girl social universe. I tried out many new activities -- Silk Painting, Paper Marbling, Tie Dye, Rock Climbing, Archery, Riflery, Axe and Knife Throwing -- and found Axe Throwing to be very therapeutic.

Unfortunately, I will be returning to my home soon, where there will be no Giant Swing to challenge me, and no place to (safely) throw axes. But I will take with me the feeling of shedding my grown-up levels of fear and anxiety and venturing off to Never-Never Land, where I am flying through the air -- like my seemingly fearless nine year old daughter.

*Except for the dirt, bugs and lack of private bathrooms.