August 3, 2015: Send my non-catholic kids to a catholic camp

Yes I know today is not August 3rd, I’m behind. Again.

My kids have never been to camp before but the idea of sending them away was incredibly appealing to me. You know, because it would be such a great experience for them and all. I looked into a few options months ago and well, the cost of sending your kids away for a week is as much as hopping on a plane, flying to the opposite hemisphere and gorging myself on all you can eat food and lying drunk beside the ocean pretending to read a book. Hells no kids, hells no. Enter a friend, who found a much more affordable day camp version of the camp experience.  It’s affordable of course because it’s subsidized by the pope and the pool is filled with the tears of catholic schoolgirls that can’t even.

After day one my kids told me that two prayers occurred per day but other than that it seemed relatively bible story free.  I’m not unconvinced that someone wasn’t watching during the first prayer and taking names down of all the kids that looked really confused and mumbled “dafuq?!” under their breaths.  That list would later be used to guide the children to the tear filled pool for a baptism disguised as swimming lessons.  Any day now they’re going to bring home with rosaries and when I say goodnight to them they’ll reply with “And also to you”.

The pope-free version of the daily report from my son was that he went fishing for the first time. As vegetarians and supporters of animal rights, we don’t fish. I did my best to squash my feelings of anger at the catholics for encouraging that heinous activity and replied only with an “Oh really?”. He quickly blurted: “I didn’t have a choice mom, they made us. Everyone had to do it.”. It made me sad to think that I have raised a child that didn’t think to question or refuse something he thought was wrong but went along with it anyway because he was told to.  I explained to him that no one could make him do something he didn’t want to do which was when that his story changed.  The reality was he said that he wanted to try it.  He assured me that he didn’t hurt the fish. Without anger or judgement I assured him that he had hurt the fish and that if he wanted to know what it felt like I could hook him in the mouth and see what he thought about it.  Okay, not exactly how that went down. It was a true test of my parenting skills to hide my incredible disappointment at the choice he had made. He assured me that he only wanted to try it and didn’t want to do it again. I’m not convinced. Fishing is a gateway cruelty and the next thing I know he’ll be eating a hamburger and addicted to crack cocaine.

catholic

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