I started my camping career at Camp Takajo as a nine-year-old back in 1970. I spent eight years as a camper, returned the following year as a counselor and remained on staff until purchasing the camp in 1988. As I reflect back on all of my years, I cannot remember more magnificent weather over visiting day weekend. For four consecutive weeks, our boys have kept a frenetic pace and are tired. Little rain has prevented us from having those breaks in our program that allow everybody to re-energize. However, this past weekend, our campers and counselors ran on adrenaline and kept the enthusiasm level at a peak.
One of the funniest moments of the day was told to me by a parent in my son Jack’s bunk. My wife might not find the humor in this story, but I am a brave man so I am going to tell it. Joan went into Jack’s cabin and, like many mothers, decided to inspect his cubby with Jack standing over her shoulder. Joan pulled out items of dirty clothing and said, “This has been worn too many times and needs to be thrown into your laundry bag. This is soiled and will collect mildew. It needs to be put outside to dry.”
Item after time was removed from the cubby and thrown onto the floor until it was bare. As Joan turned back to Jack and said, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Jack replied, “This is not my cubby.” Joan proceeded to fold Jack’s bunk mate’s clothing and put it neatly back on the shelve.
I cannot help but find the humor in this story (at least as I am writing it). I might find myself sleeping in Jack’s bunk tonight, but in reality, Jack and every other boy are capable of managing what is in their own cubby. I had so many wonderful conversations with parents today. Most were warm, and we recounted the happy memories their son has had over the years. Some were more emotional as we discussed the dynamics in their son’s bunk.
The single moment that captured the greatest emotion for me today was joining the 
Okees’ parents at the end of the day for a meeting to learn about our oldest boys’ Western trip, which departs next Wednesday. I have sat in on this meeting with campers and parents for the last 29 years, but this year was different. Sitting among the campers and parents was my son Max and my wife Joan. The general theme from the parents was that they were deeply saddened at the thought of this being their sons’ final summer in camp.
Not simply because it represents the innocence of one’s childhood coming to an end, but this realization forces a parent to think about their son’s summers in a new way. As parents, there is nothing more important to us than the health and safety of our children. This enormous trust that has been given to me is something that I honor and cherish. As I looked around the room and reflected on the camping careers of the 48 Okees, I reflect personally on my son’s Max’s experience. Born on June 10, 2003, Max made his debut on the shores of Long Lake just five days later as a newborn. Camp has been the one constant in his life every summer since his birth. It has been a ritual that will now come to an end.
I left today’s meeting feeling a sense of joy for the friends that Max has made and the growth and maturity that has taken place with them during these formative years. But, for the first time, I can fully comprehend the sadness I feel knowing that my son’s camping experience is coming to an end.
