Some people enjoy punishing themselves by seeing how little they can survive on for an entire week. Outdoors. In a forest. I am not one of those people.
I am what is called a "glamper," meaning I need to have a mall within a mile in case I run out of Victoria's Secret Sensual Blush body wash while I'm camping. Another prerequisite to my going camping is a tent with an air-conditioner and a guarantee that there are no bears or snakes within a fifty mile radius. My son however, feels that soap would weigh down his pack and is therefore not a necessity.
He and his mountain-man buddies left town on Day 27. They're driving four hours away through northern Utah and southern Wyoming to arrive in Utah's High Uintas mountain range. They will park vehicles and say goodbye to them for a week as they hike through the wilderness. They've been warned that if they are weak, they will be left behind.
I am no longer his protector. I'm not crying. Really.
Part of the crew.
Last minute rearranging and texting. No cell signal where they're going.
Securing the load.
Knowing that I will not see my son for a week, and that he might get eaten by a bear, get attacked by a wolverine, or get a blister, I attempted to secure an intimate last minute hug from him. Instead, he grabbed my forearm, said "Brotha," and yelled "Freedom!" as he turned his back on me.
I turned to Computer Geek, grinned, and said, "Yes, freedom!"