As we drove to the airport, all he said to me at first was, “Are you ready to go?” “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied gingerly. The rest of the ride was pretty quite. Dad was being unusually reserved. “So, what do you think it’s going to be like?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Dad said honestly. “I’ve never been to the house where Mr. Chrysanthemum currently lives at. But I’ve checked out the camp. From what Arthur tells me, it is a wonderful place. You will be taken care of,” he replied, trying to sound reassuring. I must’ve given him a strange look, because then he said, “I’m just going to be really busy this summer, and I’d like you to have good experiences. It’s adult stuff, and it’s complicated. Look, honey, I know how much you hate to hear that. I know that all kids hate to hear that. But you’re probably the most mature child out there, so it’s not like I can’t trust you. But children are supposed to confide into their parents. Not the other way around.”