My 12-year-old daughter sent me a smiling photo from scout camp to prove everything was fine. At first, I felt relieved. Then I noticed something disturbing in the background: a person who wasn't supposed to be there. I called my daughter twice. When she didn't answer, I called the camp.
My daughter, Ava, is twelve, and until this summer, she had given me almost no practice at being suspicious of her.
She was the kid who reminded me when I forgot to sign school forms.
She got straight As without being pushed.
If she accidentally took somebody else's pencil home, she brought it back the next morning.
She had given me almost no practice at being suspicious of her.
So when she begged me to let her spend a week at scout camp with her troop, my main concern wasn't whether she'd get into trouble.
It was whether I could handle her being gone.
"Mom, I'm twelve," she told me for what felt like the hundredth time.
"I know how old you are."
"You keep acting like I'm six."
