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Setting: It’s late summer and a school group is kicking off their school year with a two-night camping trip in a beautiful state park. Dozens of tents flap in the breeze. The surface of the lake shimmers in the sunlight.
Cast: 87 energetic children ages 9 – 14. A dozen or so adults (stalwart teachers and shell-shocked parents)
Scene 1 – Teenage Girl with black bangs so long she can barely see and purple fingernail polish stands in line for food. She wears yoga pants that are rolled down at the waist and a university sweatshirt. Teacher serving food wonders whether she got the sweatshirt from her brother or her college-age boyfriend.
Teenage Girl: What’s for breakfast? Is that oatmeal? Gross. Oatmeal is disgusting. (Flicks hair over shoulder)
Teacher: Have you tried it lately?
Teenage Girl: Yeah, like 2 months ago. (Rolls eyes)
Teacher: But did you try it with raisins and brown sugar?
Teenage Girl: Raisins? They’re even grosser.
Teacher: What?! Raisins are nature’s candy.
Teenage Girl: (Contemptuously) Like, whatever.
Scene 2 – Pre-teen Girl with dirty blond hair, a “princess” t-shirt, and a tough attitude sits on a swing. Parent chaperone approaches her.
Pre-teen: What do you mean I hafta listen to you? It’s 2:30 and my Dad said I don’t hafta listen to you teachers after school hours.
(Parent chaperone looks stunned and does not respond.)
Pre-teen: I’m bored! I wish I were home!
Parent Chaperone: (Recovering herself) What would you be doing at home?
Pre-teen: Lying around.
Parent Chaperone: Possibly being bored?
Pre-teen: Yeah.
Scene 3 – Three 9 year old boys are in their pajamas and sleeping bags inside a tent. The parent chaperone has just convinced them to turn off the light.
Boy 1: Please. There’s no Jonas Brothers on my i-pod.
Boy 2: Let’s tell scary ghost stories!
Boy 1 and Boy 3: Yeah!
Boy 2: Wait, do you believe in ghosts?
Boy 1: Yeah.
Boy 3: Uh-huh. So, there are these 3 boys…
Boy 1: What about vampires?
Boy 3: I’m trying to tell a story! Stop talking! So, there are these 3 boys…
Boy 2: Wait, wait. Does this story have a moral? I hate stories with morals.
Squeak. Rattle. Rattle. Squeak. Rattle. Rattle. Squeek. I looked up. Liam was planted in front of a friend’s supersaucer.
“Aren’t you a little old for that?”
Without looking up, he flicked the spinny-thing. He shrugged.
“Simple things amuse me.”
I had one of those moments – oh-so-fleeting – of pure happiness.
I was speeding home from a relaxed all-day barbeque with friends. My husband and the boys were in one car; Nora and I were in the other. We cranked the windows open and Abba’s “Dancing Queen” floated around us. The sun dipped towards the horizon. Rows of newly mown hay perfumed the air. A couple of donkeys and a herd of cows grazed in a field. “This is Vermont,” I thought.
I turned the radio down and caught Nora’s eye in the rearview mirror. “We had a wonderful day today, didn’t we?”
A small smile curved around her thumb. She murmured something.
“What’d you say, honey?” I asked, silently willing my five-year old to validate my unspoken sentiments.
“You’re welcome.” she said, as her eyes closed and her hand fell away from her face. “Thank you for coming.”
OINKtales 
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