Turns out, the camp people were pretty much good with it too. Camp justice, well, it’s a lot like street justice, I guess. My son handled himself, handled his problem. Just like the camp councilors were trying to teach the kids to do. Well, not just like. But, close enough. It seems they didn’t believe in that metaphysical can’t make anyone do anything bulshit either. Istanbul’s new $12 billion airport—which opened its doors in 2018, and is slated for completion in 2025—will serve 150-200 million passengers when it’s done. That’s 50%+ more than Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson, the busiest airport in the world for the past two decades, which serves about 110 million passengers per year.
My son told me when I asked what happen, that the same kid who had been bothering him before had now taken to walking behind him in the halls and stepping on the backs of his shoes. One time when this happened, my son’s shoes ripped. Now, normally, I drove into the line of parent cars for the morning drop-off like everyone else; just barely braked rolling in front of the student entrance, coming to a slow roll at most, while my son threw open the passenger door, quickly jumped out, and then dashed inside for school. I parked. And I walked my son to class. Once through the classroom door, my son–he had an idea what was about to happen–quickly moved for his desk as I announced my arrival loudly: Which one is the punk ass bitch kid who’s been messing with my son?