Dropped the kids off at the camps this morning – more accurately, dropped Janneke and Q at his, and then I drove T and Clarabelle on to hers. Janneke reported that Q walked straight away from her without so much as a look back, and seemed fine throughout the hour or so she sat and observed him from a distance. That’s the length of time it took me to run T to her camp, get copies of the paperwork I’d brought with me, say goodbye to her, and come back to pick Janneke up.
T’s drop-off is the one I’m an eye witness to, so I’ll let you know about that one: Clarabelle was especially gentle this morning. Not sure whether it was the prospect of being dropped off at a suspiciously kennel-like place that toned down her energy, but T led her around like Clarabelle had been drugged and weight thirty pounds less. Gentle as a lamb, and just as quiet. T disappeared around a corner and was ushered quickly off to where the kids were accumulating, up at the picnic area where they eat their lunch; Clarabelle was trucked off to a holding area, where the dogs are kept in a group - Clarabelle’s idea of paradise. (Assuming the floor was also covered in smelly, oily smears.) T was so confident, even in the face of having forgotten her back pack with its mid-morning snack – I told one of the young women working there that she could buy what she liked from the snack counter come snack time, and that we’d reimburse them. (All of which was actually her idea. But I signed off on it.) And then I was off, and the kids were on their own.
I dropped Janneke off at Starbucks so she could keep working on her article (which she’s doing at this moment, across the living room from me), and I went home to do some phone-calling – and to play The Waiting Game.
I zoomed off to pick up Q around 11:10, arriving about 11:25, and was able to sit in the distance and watch the last portion of his camp day: round-robin five-on-five small-field soccer. His group appears to be 11 to 14-year-olds, and he’s one of the stronger players there, though not the strongest, and not the most assertive. (That honor probably goes to a tiny little blonde boy, apparently from the Southern Cone (he uses “vos” instead of “tú”; though Q tells me he’s also nearly bilingual in English), whose skill is fine, but whose badger-like determination makes him a bigger presence on the field than you would think.) I watched a series of these games, all of them sudden death, and loved what I saw.
The coach working with this group of 14 boys (he played on one of the teams to make them even) is Cuban, and he is merciless with his speech speed. The kids are almost all Puerto Rican, so they have no trouble, but Q self-reported that he didn’t have any trouble, either! I was thrilled. As they played, he was constantly calling out advice and criticism – “Por qué driblas ahí? Por qué no pasas? Si estás solo – Por qué no buscar opciones?” “Cabeza pa’rriba! Cabeza pa’rriba!” “Tócala. Tócala. Eeeeeeso es lo que yo quiero.” I can’t recall it all – but it was amazing to see. Q was really no different in this practice than at home – a little lackadaisical at times, sharp and insightful at others, rarely aggressive as a defender. And the coach let him have it for those little errors, and Q nodded and tried to improve. Just a great time appears to have been had.
I brought Q home and ate lunch, then headed out to pick up T, who reported that she had had a wonderful time. I met a couple of her friends, who were telling me aaaaall about how much they love Clarabelle, and how much bigger she is than all their dogs. They were standing on an elevated platform, and were actually looking a bit down at me, and one of them, Victoria, Ts best friend there, she said, actually reached out and patted me on the shoulder a couple of times while we talked. Hey, I'm T's dad, I must be OK. Very Latin.
Clarabelle appeared to have come through the whole experience very well, if tired. Not thrilled to see me, not gloomy - it appears she never suspected she was being abandoned (a fear I have post-airplane for her), and that her time there was perfectly pleasant. They told me she'd had one minor dust-up with another dog, but that there were no injuries. No blood, no foul, I always say.
The only irritating thing was that one of the counselors always spoke to T in English. I noticed it, and asked T about it on the way to the car. T told me that yes, the counselors pretty much always spoke to her in English. "I'm going to ask them not to, OK? You wait here." "Papi," she said as I walked away. Then, in English: "Be, nice." (Comma for emphasis.) I assured her I would be.
And I was. Though, even after the point had been made, I made a point of saying that we'd come thousands of miles and spent a lot of money so she could improve her Spanish; that there were camps in Massachusetts where we could have sent her to speak in English with a lot less trouble; that her mother is Argentine and that I'm a Spanish teacher (saying this as quickly and perfectly and accent-less-ly as I could muster), that she speaks it very well, that she might need to get used to the Puerto Rican accent, but that she won't DO that if everyone just speaks English to her. The poor woman nodded, and smiled, throughout - and I was using a very you-and-me-are-in-this-together manner and approach - and in the end, I think I pretty much scared her straight. We'll see. But T had a fantastic time, and cannot wait to get back.
Why was I so worried? Projection, I guess. I would have been scared out of my mind as a kid. But these are different kids, with a lot more confidence than I had. (I posted on Facebook that one kid told Q that he looked like Brad Pitt, and that Q told me he’d shrugged and said, “Maybe.” Veeeeeery unlike anything that ever happened to me as a boy.)
Back at it tomorrow – and now I get to worry about whether they’ll burn out on these particular camps. I just can’t win.
Y’know what? I just bought a six-pack of beer, and it’s hot, and I’m thirsty, and I’m going to have a hard time sleeping again, I think, because of the worry about tomorrow. So I’m a-gonna have me one. Who’s going to stop me? You? Please. Don’t make me laugh.
Here’s a few pics:
This is the only photo I got of T's camp. They've just called her back down so I can say goodbye to her; you can see the picnic area up top, the grassy area where they do the training...I forgot the camera when I went back to get her, so I can't show you Victoria. (I probably couldn't anyway, legally.) But that kid is a hoot.
This is my favorite image from Q's camp. The coach has his right hand on Q's shoulder and is saying, "Todos ganaron. Nadie perdió, porque todos se divirtieron y todos aprendieron." He's just marvelous.
And I am out of beer. Ergo: Good night, moon! Good night, stars! Good night, Puerto Rico!
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