Our oldest daughter, now grown, would have nothing to do with day camps much less away-camps. When she was 9, she announced, "There's no way you and Dad are gonna bus me out into the woods. I don't care how much money you pay me."

Sometimes no bribe will work when it comes to sending your kid to camp. But I got lucky with our son. When he was 9 years old he came to me and said, "I wanna go away to camp."

"Opah!" I exclaimed. And I sent my little man off to Greek camp for one week. I gave him two stamps to write home — he never did.

At age 9, our youngest daughter said no to a camp away from home. But she agreed to go to an adventure day camp with her girlfriend. However, it cost me a $5 increase in her weekly allowance when her friend backed out at the last minute.

Drop off was at 7 a.m. sharp. In a school's parking lot a bus waited for campers to arrive. "You never said anything about a bus," she cried.

"Hm ... I didn't?"

Our daughter's dislike of buses came from riding a bus for school field trips. Every time the bus slowed down, shifted or came to a stop, her neck would whiplash, and her head would hit the bus's window.

A wagon train of minivans and SUV's pulled into the parking lot. Doors swung open, and boys jumped out. "Where are the girls?" she asked. "I'm not getting on a bus with just boys!" It cost me a pair of pink Crocs to get her on the bus.

"Did you have fun?" I asked when I picked her up.

"You put underwear in my backpack!"

"The camp's list said to include a clean pair of undies."

"They fell out of my backpack and landed on a tree limb. Everyone saw my underwear."

"Sorry."

"How could you do this to me! It was like war. My head hurts, and my chest hurts. I'm not going back there."

It rained most of the week. Temperatures were a cool 75 degrees in the mornings. By day's end, temperatures rose to 100 degrees with 80 percent humidity. At the end of the day, my little soldier's clothes were soaked, torn and stained with grass and dirt. Her hair and face camouflaged with sweat and earth.

On the last day, parents went to camp with their kids and hiked the terrain their little campers took each day. "Now you're gonna see what I went through for five days."

Oh … my … god. It was like war! My daughter led me up and down slippery slopes. I climbed an enormous boulder she called Rock Mountain. We came to a tree with a rope dangling from it. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Just watch," she said. My daughter grabbed the rope and pushed off. She flew through the air and across a roaring river, well, actually, it was a stream, and onto dry land. Then she threw me the rope and called out, "Your turn."

"I'm not wearing the right shoes," I yelled back.

"I had to do this every day. Blindfolded!"

All right, I said, and I grabbed the frayed rope and pushed off. "Aaaaaaaaaaah! Please don't let me die!"

As my daughter ran to help me, her new pink Croc slipped off her foot and fell in the water. "Oh, no! My Croc!" The power of the stream propelled the Croc away and out of her reach.

"Let it go," I yelled. "I'll buy you new Crocs."

"No!" I can get it," she cried. Balancing herself on a rock she reached forward and fell smack on top of another rock.

I could tell she was hurt. "Don't move! I'm coming to get you."

"Stay back. I'm OK, Mom!" she cried. Then, as if she struck gold, she grabbed the Croc and waved it in the air, "I got it!"

At that moment, I learned something about my daughter — she's a survivor. Just this week, she got on a bus and went away to camp for one week.

To find out more about Mimi Kopulos and read her past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

COPYRIGHT 2008 CREATORS SYNDICATE, INC.