Tan feet

There is something so satisfying to me about having a tan on my feet.  Maybe because they're usually either white as Wonder bread or have that weird sandal tan.  This past weekend I went to a little place just upriver from Rishikesh with about 25 kids and two other adults.  

For my first camping experience, it was pretty posh.  I had my own large tent with a wicker mat on the ground, a cot, and two blankets.  I will assume that this is what camping is always like...

Basically, the weekend was great.  While the underclassmen went rafting, I stayed with the seniors and sat on the "suspiciously-like-the-ash-of-dead-people-but-too-upriver-for-it-to-be" sand, soaked up the heat and light of the sun, and even stuck my feet in the freezing cold river all while the kids went rapelling, kayaking, and swimming.  Yeah, that's pretty much what teaching is all about.

After lunch (served buffet style- again, I assume camping always involves this), I went with the seniors on the rafts.  The rapids were fun, but not quite as exciting as in Costa Rica where at one point our raft got slammed on a rock and the river came pouring in.  But, fun.  After rafting, I joined a game of volleyball with the kids and discovered that I'm fairly good at the game AND trash talking, especially when playing against students.  The night ended with a campfire.  I heard at least one student say, "I'm pretty sure this was the best day ever."  

My night kept going, however, as over the dying coals of the campfire I had a deep philisophical discussion with a student claiming that my practice of teaching ethics amounted to facism.  Those of you who share many friends with me know that I have had much history in arguing with people who argue in circles over the years.  This kid ranks up with the best, but still no match for me.  Despite his claims that he has no ethics and he will do whatever he wants, we ended with agreeing that he does have ethical standards, but they are at the level of a 3-year old.  I didn't phrase it like that, but the bluntness of your axe rarely wins the battle.  The next morning I asked him, half jokingly, "So, did I keep you up all night thinking about your ethics?"

"You!?!" followed by a scoff was his only response.  Rude, but I didn't care.  

My muscles were sore from having fun and my feet were tan.  I was satisfied.