Return from Activenture

I’m not entirely sure why Paul, Charlie & I were all chomping at the bit to pick up Max after his week’s stay at Activenture, the residential holiday camp for young teenagers with special needs. Even Charlie had placed his sibling rivalry to one side and was looking forward to Max’s return. After an initial period of anxiety and concern at the beginning of his week holiday, we all managed to relax and enjoyed the taste of freedom and couldn’t help but feed on the calm. Once we’d got used to the idea that he was away and we’d heard that he was doing brilliantly, we started to embrace new possibilities. We treated ourselves to a few meals out (blessed with the absence of Max’s dominant mood swings and lust to overeat) and Charlie and I had a day cruising along Oxford Street taking our time to explore the delights of the Apple Store and HMV, something that would have been impossible with Max.

He was still constantly in the back of our minds and in a way it was a solid reassurance that he is a strong and vibrant member of our family. I think we all felt that an important piece was missing from our clan – in truth we just missed him. But please- don’t get me wrong! I certainly had mixed feelings as we drove into the Activenture car park to pick him up. I had thrived on the calm, relished the lie-ins and the break from routine. I had been granted a temporary bonus of ‘me’ time which was most welcome.

As soon as we arrived and identified ourselves, Max’s name was called and echoed down the corridors by the many young and enthusiastic carers standing about. It wasn’t long before a tubby little bundle blasted its way out from the common room and into our welcome arms. Max was beaming with pride and joy, clearly delighted to be reunited with us- and we him. We all took deep breaths of pleasure as we had a family hug. I could tell he was proud of his achievements, very pleased to see us but had also grown up a good deal as a result of his experiences in the last week.

We said our goodbyes and thanks to the brilliant staff who after a full-on throttle of a week must have been running on empty and gagging for a quiet moment to themselves to enjoy a swift half, or catch up on depleted sleep. We collected Max’s suitcase (which remarkably had all his belongings still present and intact), diary of the week, medication and surplus (yes! Surplus) pocket money. We were shown the exotic flag his team had made for the theme of the week, the Olympic Games. Max’s team was Ireland; the teenagers had used a bed sheet to create one of several colourful flags resulting in an impressive and colourful display.
He was brimming over with tales of gigantic breakfasts, and camp fires, discos and swimming parties. To be honest we thought he’d get into the car and within minutes be fast asleep with exhaustion – but no! Verbal diarrhea surrounded us for the entire journey. It was wonderful to hear Max excitedly splutter out tale after tale of merriment. It has to be said it was mostly about food, the sausages, waffles, sweeties and toast (I’m certain a green vegetable was consumed at some time) but never-the-less a welcome relief to know that he enjoyed himself and not only that – asked to go back!

I’m not sure that we picked up the right child. We arrived with our grumpy old man, hormonally sullen, stubborn and argumentative and left with a charming polite and calm young teenager. I still can’t quite believe that Max’s new found independence and maturity did not evaporate within the first twenty four hours, the charm stuck. A new smiley boy came into our home, a delight and surprise.
Believe me; we’ve already booked for him to go back!