The Nighttime Incident and the Mysterious Log
Tales of Mystery Poop from Bunk 3.
Illustration by Sarah Lammer
Forty years old is staring me in the face from this coming December. Despite still feeling like a child in many ways, I do have one of my own, who just celebrated a first birthday. While pregnant, my wife and I agreed we would not find out the gender of our little one — which put us in the clear minority of expecting parents these days. But when people asked me what I was hoping for, I said, “boy.” Some took offense to this as they probably expected the gratuitous “As long as it’s healthy.” So I felt the need to explain…
I wet my bed the first night of sleep-away camp.
Let’s take a pause and just let that permeate your eyes, souls and hopefully whatever neurons control your levels of sympathy.
I’ll elaborate. Think about the possible ramifications that come with an act like this. A dozen eight-year-olds who have never met find themselves away from home for the first time. Mommy and Daddy are 200 miles away, which for an eight-year old, may as well be Australia…
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