Chapter 192: I encounter the obligatory Mother's Day letters post.
[ As holidays go, Mother’s Day is up there with Christmas. I know, you’re probably wondering why a teenage boy likes a holiday that he doesn’t get school off for or presents on, but that’s because you haven’t met my mom, who is pretty much perfect in every way. I could tell you stories about her for hours, but I need to get on with the post.
I didn’t expect the camp to celebrate Mother’s Day, but when I got to the mess hall, there was a mailbox in the dead center of the dining room. It could have been pulled off any street corner in America, except that the pick-up time was “Midnight” and when you looked a little closer someone - or something - had keyed “to: YOUR MOM” into the paint. On the tables next to the box were construction paper, pens, glitter, scissors, and paper doilies, like someone had dropped a first grade classroom’s art supplies in the middle of Louisiana.
Apparently, camp celebrated Mother’s Day with style. ]
I didn’t expect the camp to celebrate Mother’s Day, but when I got to the mess hall, there was a mailbox in the dead center of the dining room. It could have been pulled off any street corner in America, except that the pick-up time was “Midnight” and when you looked a little closer someone - or something - had keyed “to: YOUR MOM” into the paint. On the tables next to the box were construction paper, pens, glitter, scissors, and paper doilies, like someone had dropped a first grade classroom’s art supplies in the middle of Louisiana.
Apparently, camp celebrated Mother’s Day with style. ]