I was driving around the grounds on my daily patrol, looking out for anything out of the ordinary. The campground was illuminated by countless fires that burned through the night. The place is always packed on Memorial Day weekend, and people love to sit by the campfire during the evening. I turned a corner and started looking left and right, when an amazing smell hit me like a punch to the stomach. I whipped around to find the source. It was campsite 21, and it seemed a family was getting ready for dinner. The smell reminded me of spicy curry and basmati rice. I imagined that an Indian family had made a meal using what they inherited from their home country. I almost released the pedal to get a better look at what the family was preparing on top of the grill, but a tree blocked my view and I had to keep moving because of a car coming up from behind. 

I continued to drive down the road for a few more minutes before circling around to check on the campsites on the other side when my quiet night was interrupted. Music was blasting from a speaker at campsite 37. It was excruciatingly loud and as I glanced in their direction in irritation, I saw shadows moving beneath a tarp. "Dancing and drinking at this time?" I muttered in exasperation. "These college kids need to be lectured!" I considered getting out of the car and scolding the ill-mannered young'uns myself for disturbing everyone around them, but it was still 9:12. Making a mental note of coming back here after quiet hours if the racket continued. I quickly stomped on the gas and drove on. 

I had almost finished my patrol when I came upon a family who seemed to have arrived just now at campsite 64. I felt a pang of sympathy for the father who was building the tent all by himself. I sighed in disapproval at the child staring at a tablet clutched in their hands, making no effort to help his father in the dark. 

"I suppose that's what it means to be the man in the family: doing all the heavy lifting themselves." I muttered under my breath in irritation. Most of the other campsites had settled down, and I made my way back to the cabin to get some rest before my patrol in the morning. 

I yawned as I drove through the grounds. Morning dew glistened in the grass of the campsites, and birds sang in the trees. As I approached campsite 21, I recalled smelling Indian food here last night. When I glanced at the people surrounding the campfire, I was confused. Instead of an Indian family like I had expected, campsite 21 was occupied by a Chinese couple. I was expecting an Indian person with experience of cooking meals originating from their country. Another part of me was embarrassed at making such an inaccurate assumption. I reminded myself that Indian food was popular in many places around the world, not just in India. I was suddenly glad that I didn't tell Mike about my findings in this campsite. I shook my head and continued driving, remembering the college kids who were making a racket at night. I decided to head in that direction next. 

When I arrived near campsite 37, I recognized the tent the students were partying under. I caught movement in the corner of my eye and when I turned to gaze at the newcomer, my eyes locked onto an elderly man with a cup of coffee. Under the tent, I saw two other elderly men sitting in foldable chairs and a woman washing the dishes from last night's party. For the second time today, I was very confused. Where were all the college drunkies from last night? It took me a second to process the information. The people partying last night were standing in front of me. These elderly people were the ones drinking and dancing late at night. I was exasperated with myself for making another foolish speculation and with the elderly people for partying late at night. 

Lastly, I came up on campsite 64. I remembered the father had worked alone to construct the tent while his child had sat by the campfire, making no effort to help. I was surprised to see that the child, a young teenage boy, was making breakfast at the long wooden table. I was distracted from the child's work by a sudden movement from inside the tent. As I watched, a woman stepped out from the tent, yawning and stretching. I didn't recall seeing the mother on the site last night, but perhaps she was in the restroom while her husband was working on the tent. I waited expectantly for a man to come out behind her, but to my surprise the woman closed the entrance to the tent and gave her son a hug. 

"Is it just the mother and the son?" I wondered. I was sure that it was the boy sitting at the campfire, not the mother. Which means that the mother was building the tent. I could feel my face burning with embarrassment. "Wonderful, another dumb interpretation by me!"  I muttered.  I realized that it didn't necessarily have to be the man in the family doing the muscle work. I stomped on the gas and drove away from the campsite as fast as possible. I'm starting to turn into my single-minded father!