I’m sitting here, and I don’t quite know where to put myself. How did we get here?
I spent the entire year preparing for this summer, meeting families; talking to prospective counselors, nurses, cooks, and coaches. There is so much planning and anticipation leading up to that moment when the first buses roll down the camp road. And then, in the blink of an eye, it’s over.
I love what I do. Morty Goldman used to say that your vocation should be your avocation. You have to be passionate about your work. I’ve been incredibly fortunate to spend my life doing something that means so much to me.
The trust that hundreds of families place in me when they put their children in our care is something I never take lightly. And I could never fulfill that responsibility alone. We have extraordinary people here. There’s nothing more valuable than loyalty and pride, and you can’t manufacture genuine care. Our staff works incredibly hard because they care deeply about your boys.
Buildings matter. Programs matter. Facilities matter. But, people are what make this place work.
And through all the planning and decisions that fill my year, the most important question never changes: How do we provide an enriching experience for children that fosters growth and development, and how do we meet the challenges boys are facing today?
Think about what we ask of these boys. They step away from virtually everything they know: their parents, siblings, home, friends, teachers, coaches, and community. They step onto a property that, for many, is completely foreign and put their trust in strangers who quickly become their caretakers and confidantes.
Families choose a summer camp thinking about basketball, baseball, waterskiing, sailing, and all the fun their son will have. But underneath all of that, something much more important is taking place. Our youngest boys are learning how to navigate the social arena without their greatest cheerleaders constantly by their side. They learn to advocate for themselves, communicate, use their words, resolve disagreements, and coexist with their peers.
As boys get older, the challenges change. They begin navigating preadolescence and adolescence, trying to figure out who they are and where they fit among their peers. They learn how important it is to surround themselves with good people, and how quickly one poor decision can lead to another.
Camp gives boys the opportunity to make mistakes and own them. You can hate the sin and love the sinner; we can hold a boy accountable for a poor choice without defining him by it. There is no going home at three o’clock to retreat to your bedroom, refresh, and start over tomorrow. In a close-knit community, you have to face one another, use your words, make things right, and move forward. That is growth. And this summer, boys of every age and in all different stages did it.
Last night, as I scanned the dining hall during our Final Banquet, those ages and stages were all around me. Our younger boys were laughing with their friends, full of spirit, unable to possibly absorb what our Okees were experiencing just a few tables away. For years, our oldest boys knew there would always be another summer, another Olympics, another Big Trip, and another night in the bunk with the boys they grew up beside.
And then, suddenly, there isn’t. They are disappointed, but they are also content. They know they gave this summer everything they had. In so many ways, little boys came here years ago and young men are leaving.
It’s hard to explain the feeling after that last bus pulls out. There was combustion here all summer, screams from the fields, laughter from the bunks, and music on Hobby Lane. Boys jumping into Long Lake, counselors coaching, comforting, teaching, and caring for your children, and then it disappears in an instant.
Hundreds of lives came together and somehow became a family. Now, that family scatters across the country and around the world. What holds it together? Maybe, it’s simply that we were here together. We shared something that nobody outside these gates can completely understand because they weren’t here for it.
When your boys get home, they are going to be exhausted. Give them some time. Let them collapse on their favorite couch, eat at their favorite restaurant, sleep in their own bed, and slowly reintegrate into life at home.
The stories will come. And over time, I hope you’ll notice something else. Maybe, your son handles disappointment a little better. Maybe, he’s more independent, more resilient, or more confident in who he is.
Thank you for the trust and confidence you placed in me and my staff. There is no greater responsibility than caring for your children, and we never take that responsibility for granted.
You may not see everything that took root this summer when your son steps off the bus. But, give it time, because it’s there.
