I was talking to some of our Senior campers this morning, and they remarked that they have never been so physically tired yet so ecstatically happy, both at the same time. There has not been a day at Camp Takajo this summer when these boys have not been physically pushed to be at their best. What was most refreshing during our conversation was that the boys acknowledged they feel healthier and happier without having access to their phones as much as they normally do at home. They commented that they are living in the moment rather than reflecting on someone else’s.
These boys shared with me how much time they devote to screens every day at home. At Takajo, our boys have an opportunity to master the lost art of face-to-face communication. They value the importance of looking into someone’s eyes when engaged in a conversation. They share stories around the dining room table or lay on their beds reflecting about their day before falling asleep and embrace the fact that they are not distracted by technology. I have always viewed camp as a healthy place for a child to spend his summer.
As much as I love sports and enjoyed playing throughout my childhood and into college, I have never considered it as the primary focus of our program. I believe the most important thing we teach children is life skills– how to live with others, patience, empathy and compassion for one another. Long after your son’s playing days are over, the skills that will matter most will be his life skills. Clearly, a child comes to Takajo looking forward to playing sports, taking advantage of the waterfront, shooting archery and building projects at hobbies, but throughout your son’s day, he must learn how to navigate through challenging social scenarios.
Throughout my day, I spend significant time talking to our boys about brief moments in time when things might not go their way. Very often, you may bear the brunt of that when it is expressed in a letter or phone call. I recently sat down with a 12-year-old boy who has had great success at camp over the last few years but struggles with missing home. This boy is kind, compassionate and well-liked. However, I can almost predict the time in the season that he will have his dip. While sitting together last night, I reminded him of an analogy that helped put the fear of missing home in its proper perspective.
I said, “Imagine waking up one morning only to see a horrible rash all over your face. The panic sets in, you wonder if that rash will ever disappear, or will it affect your looks forever? A visit to the doctor and a prescription for some cream, the rash disappears, and you feel like yourself again. Around the same time a year later, you look in the mirror, and this same rash has reappeared. This time, you don’t become emotional because you have the tools and wisdom to avoid the anxiety.”
The point that I made to this camper was that he has gained the tools to manage his source of apprehension, and he should not be startled when this emotional response reappears. Just as the cream manages the rash, being engaged in activities and immersing yourself into the program manages the anxiety of being away from home.
