Be Yourself, Just Not Right Now.

"Noooo, no vacations," shrieked my child. Until this summer, when we said were going on vacation, what we really meant was, we have a family obligation. We had never taken a summer break that was not centered around a wedding or a funeral. For a 4-year-old, these kind of vacations are tough. There are almost no other children. All a 3 foot tall, 4-year-old can see is an endless series of backsides. Would you like to stare at butts for hours?

Further, it's easy for me to see why a kid would find it challenging to mingle with relatively unfamiliar relatives. They expect hugs. Some want kids to act like little adults. Many expect immediate answers to probing questions. How old are you? What grade are you in? What's your favorite color? Do you like cake?

I get it. "Wait, we're not taking a vacation," I said, "we're taking a trip." Between the lovely wedding of our dear niece and the funeral of my step-brother, our family went on our first trip. We went to family camp. Not our family camp. Lots of other families camp.

The first day, I was pumped - a real Minnesota vacation with a lake for swimming, water-skiing, tubing, and jet skiing. They would have putt-putt golf, a giant slip 'n slide, and inflatable obstacle course. We could do crafts, eat ice cream on the beach, visit the Judy Garland museum and sing goofy camp songs.

I expected the kiddo to be quiet and maybe hide behind me for the first day or so. After all, the butt-wearing, question-asking adults were strangers to all of us. I suppose the pressure was high.

We tried to redirect. Would you like to play putt-putt golf? Would you like to go swimming?

I didn't expect to hear the kid shout through tears, "I will never go to the craft barn - EVER."

I confess. I might as well have said to her, Be yourself, just not right now.

It's true. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to fit in, right away. I wanted the kiddo to feel comfortable right away or at least suck it up for the team.

I prayed to accept and not make excuses or justify my child's behavior. I didn't do this perfectly.

Over the next few days of intense and tiring camp experience, the kids who acted perfectly were starting to show out more and more. Show out is a term that my friend, a preacher's wife from Valdosta, Georgia, used to describe my behavior when I raised hell with the cooks at eating disorder treatment because they overcooked the mixed vegetables. (I was having a bad day at the psychiatric hospital, and the vegetables were mushy.) She said, "I just knew you were gonna show out." To show out is to show your true colors as being out of control, obnoxious.

The kids would show out and the parents would cringe. Over and over, parents looked at me in the same helpless way I had looked at them when our kid showed out. Then they looked at their kids as if they could say, "How could you act this way in front of this stranger? You are making me look bad."

I began to snort with perverse delight each time I observed the Show Out ritual. I felt at home with everybody. Also, each incident affirmed my theory of the unspoken family camp motto. Be yourself, just not right now.

Truly, real kids scream No!, don't want to share, don't like radishes, and don't want to wait their turn. They change their minds, throw sand, and say they hate their siblings.

Real teen boys dive from the very top of the gigantic inflatable slide while the real teen girls giggle. Showing out is a major turn-on for teenagers.

What's more, none of them want to talk to adults, even the ones who think they are cool. I tried to bring them out by telling them, "When I was your age and my parents were my current age, 38, I thought they were old. But I am here to tell you that I am not old." They smiled and continued to treat me like one of them, Mrs. So-in-so.

Most parents I know want their kids to be themselves. They don't want to squash the spirit of their children or shame them for being kids. They want them to be free to express themselves, to be themselves, just right now.