Life is simple when you are eleven. You only want one thing — to get out.
My favorite day used to be the first one back from summer vacation. Until that Monday in August when an unexpected notice arrived. I barreled toward the bulletin board because I just had to see it with my own eyes.
Green letters on an off-white page announced a back-to-nature camp.
We devised strategies all afternoon to convince our parents to let us go away for five days. With minimal supervision, to an island of all places.
The school helped by promoting it as an opportunity for character building. Since our guardians collectively called our generation soft, their decision was unanimous, too. We played along, hiding our enthusiasm.