How appropriate that on a weekend where Cameron drove me up the walls, I took him to a climbing gym. So he could climb walls. And me too. In a much more fun way than being driven up them.
He didn’t climb very high, even once he got the idea that he’d be caught – either by the autobelayer or by the nice climbing gym staff member who was with us. He’d get his feet somewhere around my eye level, then refuse to budge. “That’s high enough! I’m coming down!” I’d hoped, but didn’t really expect him to climb high. Cameron’s too cautious for that. I gently pushed, suggesting where he could grab or put his foot to get higher, but didn’t insist or turn it into a big deal. I wanted him to leave Cliffhanger feeling secure, confident, and happy. Hilariously, he climbed higher without the ropes than with them, when we gave the bouldering ‘cave’ climb a try. When Cameron relaxed and stopped clinging desperately to the wall, he moved … well, like a climber. Kid’s got it in his genes.
I’ll admit, when we opened those glass doors to walk in, I felt a sense of dread. I knew we’d have fun, and I have some great memories from Cliffhanger, climbing with Megan and, later, Hannah. But I also have some downright awful memories of there, from climbing with Cameron’s biological father. It was decidedly odd to be there with Cameron. Odd — but also, wonderful. Because we had a blast.
We’ll go back, I’m sure. Because we left there with big smiles, and Cameron happily chatting about what he’d climb next time. And we’ll share it, next time, with Leif and Kate.