By Rob Perez<\n>Columnist

Dear Julia,

This, I understand, is your final year at Camp Huckins. Your farewell tour. Your last lap. Your swan song. The final installment in an impressive streak of disappearing into the woods.

On purpose.

Some say two weeks at Camp Huckins is an idyllic setting to make memories that last a lifetime. Others think it’s a great place to get Lyme disease. It could be both.

As your godfather, I offer spiritual guidance. I also offer lifestyle guidance. You’re welcome. So, before we begin, I have to tell you something.

Your parents are in Paris. Without you.

I’m not kidding. They saw an opening and took it. They’re sitting at some French café or bistro or pâtisserie, being looked down upon by a French waiter who serves them only because he needs money.

This is why you can never leave parents unattended. They can’t be trusted. You can’t trust parents any farther than you can throw them. And I know your parents. They’re very difficult to throw.

Had you not been so preoccupied with the rumored nuptials of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, you might have seen the signs. Your mother spends twenty minutes a day on Duolingo mispronouncing French. Your father now wears a beret. This didn’t happen overnight.

The question, of course, is: what’s to be done about it? Well, since you’re at Camp Huckins, I’m afraid your options are limited. You can get in a canoe or you can go on a hike.

Let’s consider the canoe. Have you ever carried one on your shoulders? It looks cool but it feels very, very bad. Also, the second you balance that canoe, every mosquito somehow knows your hands are busy and chooses that moment to feast on you. Have you ever tried swatting mosquitoes, plural, while balancing a canoe on your shoulders? It’s no bueno. Once you’re on the water, should you have a seven-year-old aboard who keeps leaning over this side… that side… you don’t wonder if you’re going to capsize but when. Finally, if you’re in the back of the canoe, you’ll be expected to steer. Nobody explains how. You will simply be expected to know. Then you’ll be yelled at for steering poorly. So maybe skip the canoe.

So I suppose you’re going on a hike. I should tell you – a hike is not ideal.

Unlike a trip, it begins at Point A… and, if all goes according to plan, concludes several hours later at Point A. They say it’s about the journey. Admiring nature. But I just went on a hike and spent most of the time looking down, trying not to trip on roots, loose gravel, rocks, trees that were once vertical but are now horizontal. I almost tripped on a grouse. I’m telling you, nature wants to take you down.

You know who else enjoys the great outdoors? The creatures. A bear wants your lunch. A wolf wants your heart. A moose wants your hat. Mosquitos want your blood. Gnats want to enter your body via your eyes, nose, mouth, and for reasons unknown, your ears.

Also, many people enter the woods with an encyclopedic knowledge of the great outdoors. You’ll hear them using words like deciduous and coniferous when they’re really just talking about a tree. I am unburdened by such knowledge. Thus, when I go on a hike, I can point out to our seven-year-old, “That, over there, is some kind of water. That, up there, is a tree. This, right here, is a rock. Nope. It jumped. That means it’s a frog. Probably.”

So perhaps the best thing I can say about a hike is that you don’t do it in a canoe. Which brings me back to your parents. They’re still in Paris. Without you. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life but they now owe you one. A big one. Wield this leverage with dignity. And start thinking about where they can take you next. Asia, maybe?

Love,

Your favorite Godfather