The New Parent Trap

The first time I went to sleepaway camp, I was 10 years old. When I returned home, a month later, my mom opened my footlocker to help me unpack. On top was a tray of my belongings—flashlight, lanyard, marksmanship badge, a few items of clothing, and a stack of letters my parents had mailed to me, many unopened. Beneath the tray were the rest of my clothes, neatly folded, undisturbed since the bag had been packed. I had been too busy having fun to change clothes or read letters. When my…