As my boys sat around waiting for me to get myself ready for my working day today, they played a game of black jack. I said to my 8 year old, who, mind you, was having a great run of luck, that he should take his playing cards to camp and teach his mates the game. He was excited about the prospect, so I threw in a pack of ‘Chicken in a Biscuit’ savoury crackers for him to have a midnight snack with his card game on camp.
My ten year old said “No Mum, you’re not allowed food in the cabins.”
“Really?” I said, “What happens if the food is horrible and your brother’s hungry?
“Well, from my previous camps, I just know they won’t let you have it.”
“Well, he can still have it on the bus. Share them with his mates.”
“I guess.” my 10 year old said defeated.
“You eat them whenever you want, ok? And share them with your friends.” I said to my 8 year old.
So as I sit here with one less son in the house I imagine him on a bed with a couple of mates playing a game of Black Jack eating his crackers with a few torches to keep the light on the cards and the teachers unaware of an underage gambling syndicate going on under their supervision. Now, that’s what childhood memories are made from!