Will he know when to get into the chow line or will he be off in his own world, wandering the camp, and talking to himself? Will he remember to change his clothes and pack them when it’s time to come home? Will he freak if he sees a spider in the outhouse? Will he remember to put on deodorant every day? Will he actually use the bar of soap he took with him and wash his hands at least once while he’s out there? My imagination is on overload as I envision all the horrible things that could happen to him while he’s away from my side for a mere 42 hours.Īnd it’s not just the thought of him getting lost in the woods or drowning in some nearby stream. I even packed an emergency kit for him-complete with whistle and compass-and told him to sit his butt down and wait for help in case he got lost. “Choose the yellow one,” my head said, “it will be easier for the helicopters to spy.” When I packed his rain gear earlier I looked at the blue poncho and then the yellow one. Worrying.Ī million what-ifs running through my head… Sean, my 14-year-old autistic son, is off to camp for the first time without my husband or me.