Pastor Ralph smirked at my fate as he went off to the comforts of his own bed.
I’m too old for this, right? I’m almost 46.
When Karina needed someone to chaperone her boys’ sleepover on Saturday, I volunteered. My son was one of the friends. Here were eight kids aged 10 – 13, camping out in tents on the front lawn of her suburb home for a birthday. The guys woke me up every 15 to 30 minutes until 3:00 a.m. with cackling at prepubescent jokes. I was afraid they’d wake the neighbors, who’d call the police for disturbing the peace. Yeah, my peace.
At 1:30 a.m. the 20-something-year-old girl across the street had some guy friends talking to her, leaning against the car. I crawled back into my sleeping bag on the porch because it didn’t look like any problem. Then at 2:30 a.m., two boys woke me up with hushed screams of terror. The guys, they said, had attempted to light the tent on fire (I think they may have thrown a cigarette or two in the street; from that, the imagined immolation). According to my boys, the guys were gangstas, hoodlums, “bad guys.”
Aw, shut up and go back to bed, I growled. It’s YOU guys who are the bad guys ‘cuz you won’t let me sleep. I curmudgeonly drilled my head into my pillow. Next thing I knew, the boys were putting their sleeping bags onto the cement driveway. I ask them why but, delirious with exhaustion, I comprehended nothing of their answer. I began to snore. The next morning I asked why they left the tent on the lawn for the bruisingly hard driveway.
“Because we were closer to you.”
This was Sunday. Hosea wanted to have a friend over. They handed out these lighted goggles at the party.
A super-groggy, trying-not-to-be-cranky Christian camp dad attempted to crack the tent-packing code. (How does something so big fit into such a small bag? Where are those tent pegs sunk into the lawn?) I dropped half the kids off at their homes and went to take a shower and gulp down 3-4 cups of coffee before church service.
“Thank you, Mr. Ashcraft.”
I tried not to grumble in response.
Kids need activities to make them feel special, to let them know how much God loves them. It’s up to us, the older generation, to help the younger generation know Christ. Today is Monday, and three cups of coffee have NOT achieved the desired effect. Through the haze of hangover-like sleepiness, I’m planning the next sleepover.
Are you too old to help kids?