Ferrari Moms. A Meditation.

I post the following strange sighting from the summer. This grainy video was captured icognito in the lobby of Colonial Church in Edina. I shot it on a morning when that Mommies (mainly) send their brood off to a camp called, stranger still, Pyro. It was recommended by a Mom to my wife.

Now don’t get me wrong, the world needs Moms. I just wonder whether Moms, or at least “Ferrari Moms,” mix well with camp.

You see I was a very big camper in my day and I remember my Dad (mainly) dropping me off at the Downtown YMCA downtown at 6 AM (during the heydays of the Village People, no less). While other Dads would huddle at the drop-off site with their Big Gulps, fishing hats and flannel shirts to set the mood, slick Italian jackets with prancing horses were nowhere to be seen.

I think that is because I went to a camp called Menogyn, where we burned wood, muscle and brain cells coping with wilderness survival. In fact, we often planned our 21-28 day canoe trips with too little food and ended up with Goldmanesque tales of our experiences.

This Mom would never have let that happen. While I am not sure that she drove off in a sports car she did not leave her campers wanting for anything. I know this because I saw the size of the care package she left them for a mere three day stay.

I guess this means that my Dad should have bought that Ferrari when we lived in Milan instead of the Wine Cellar he imported and dropped me off at camp with more to chew on than my character.