As you rest your head on your pillow, your mom sits on the edge of the bed near your feet. She sings an old song that makes you drift to sleep. As your eyes fall shut your head is filled with thoughts of riding a friendly dragon, and great magical adventures. As you listen to her voice you feel calm, you feel safe. Twelve years later you sit on the cold hard ground, in the middle of a crowded, messy cabin. You hear giggles and crickets, and the sound of sleeping bags rustling, as your 10 campers fall asleep. Each night, you'd sing the very same song to them as they drifted off to sleep. You've never been a good singer, and you have a very average singing voice, but the words fall freely from your mouth. The lyrics of the song had become second nature, your mom had sung it so much it's etched into the side of your brain.
You begin to sing softer and softer, and your co-counselor, who has been your friend for as long as you can remember, starts to strum the strings of her guitar slower. You look at her, and remember meeting her as a kid. Her hair was perpetually braided into two pigtails, which were topped by the same band hat every day. Her bag had an endless amount of broadway theater pins, and you thought she was probably the coolest person alive. When the song ends you stand up and walk around the cabin, avoiding stray socks, and abandoned underwear with every step.
Now I was the one who walked away after the song, instead of the one dreaming of dragons and pirates, and making friends with mythical creatures. Now looking back you realize your mom was desperately awaiting your sleep, as you now hope your campers have finally fallen asleep. As you look at each kid, some holding their stuffed animals tightly, some with their thumbs in their mouth, you feel old for the first time. You even begin to miss the soft hum, and how it would slowly fade as you fell asleep. You're too old now to have a pet dragon.