Assumptions. They lead to trouble, sometimes even danger, and almost always are a mistake.

I’m a little more careful now, but the certainty of youth generates a lot of them.

As a young husband, I thought that since my very pregnant wife had never been camping, it made perfect sense to take her and my baby girl to the high mountain country. A wonderful chance to sleep on the ground for a couple of nights so she could see what a great experience it was!

July, 1988.

Eight thousand two hundred feet above sea level. A tent for sleeping, a hand pump for water, and a pit for…well, you know.

Sometime before six, the predawn light filtered through the blue nylon walls. The sun was not yet up, but my one-year-old daughter was. As quietly as I could, I got her ready and left the tent.

It was early, too early.

But here’s where my extensive planning skills came to the fore — I had our baby swing, and our campsite had a tree with the perfect branch for it. I sat at the picnic table, barely awake, gently swinging her with a piece of string until she drifted back to sleep. Even the sun cresting the ridgeline couldn’t overcome the power of the swing.

Before long, everyone was up and about, and my daughter was out of the swing and playing in the dirt. (I highly recommend playing in the dirt.) Based on my vast years year of experience, I decided to let her freely explore our campsite. Soon she was investigating the rocks with all five senses.

With a child’s finely tuned radar for interesting things, she discovered a gift left by a previous camper: a pile of dry dog food nuggets that must have spilled into the rocks she had been playing with. I’ve read that the lips and tongue have some of the most sensitive nerves in the body. I’m sure those came in handy once she found the discarded kibble.

I don’t actually know how many she ate. Perhaps none. Perhaps several. As usual, it was my wife who noticed. Fortunately, nothing came of it, and my daughter and I were not harmed in any way.

My wife was a trooper, taking this new adventure in stride. It could have gone badly, but it didn’t. That wasn’t because of my assumptions; it was in spite of them. In fact, we spent decades taking our four children to everything from bare campsites to fancy campgrounds.

My daughter? Her family of six takes every opportunity to camp, but I don’t know whether she ever feeds them Purina.

(Someday, I may share more about her growing culinary interest in dirt and worms.)

I still make assumptions. I try to make fewer of them about the people I love — and I’ve noticed, looking back, how often someone extended me grace when I assumed instead of asking.

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