I have a pretty good idea where many of you are as you read this.
You may be driving your son to soccer practice, picking him up from a tennis lesson, trying to figure out how two children are supposed to be in three different places at the same time, or wondering how another weekend has already filled up with games, practices, birthday parties, and everything else that comes with raising children. I smile just imagining how many hats you’re wearing right now.
It’s quite a contrast from July. During the summer, your pace slows down while ours accelerates. You’re clamoring for another picture, another blog, another glimpse into what your son is up to. Now your boys are back home, school is in full swing, fall sports have taken over the weekends, and I suspect Camp Takajo isn’t exactly at the top of the dinner-table conversation. Nor should it be.
Your son is back with his friends. He’s settled into school. He has rediscovered the comfort of his own bed, his favorite spot on the couch, and the wonderful realization that he can open the refrigerator whenever he wants. For most boys, the thought of moving back into a bunk in Maine next June feels very far away.
My pace, meanwhile, has changed in the opposite direction.
The sailboats are tucked away and the fields are quiet. As magnificent as this facility is, without your boys here, it lacks its energy. It reminds me of taking the air out of a basketball: you can still look at it, but it doesn’t dribble. It just sits there, still and deflated. That’s what camp feels like without kids at play.
I’ve already been back to camp twice since the summer ended, and I’ll be there again next week. I’ve been walking the facility with our team, going through the bunks, walking the fields, and making a list of everything that needs our attention before your boys return. I have to smile at the evidence left behind by eight or nine boys who essentially had the ultimate sleepover party for six-and-a-half weeks. Camp takes a beating during the summer. Screens need repairing, doors need adjusting, fields need attention. There are plenty of proverbial broken fences to mend.
But, we’re not simply repairing what was used last summer. We’re already thinking about how to make Takajo better next summer. Do we need another flag football field? Should we purchase more speedboats? Where should we reinvest in our program? I’m reading the activity reports from counselors who were in the trenches with your boys every day. Some of our best ideas come from the people who watched the program in action all summer long.
And, sometimes, the improvements are less exciting but every bit as important. I’m polling counselors about our food service. How can we add more protein to meals? Are the snacks we provide each day giving boys the energy they need to maintain the pace of a Takajo day?
We’re already working on hiring staff as well. We’ve been in touch with counselors we hope will return, and we’re on college campuses meeting prospective staff members, talking with coaches and educators, and looking for the very best people we can find. The quality of a child’s experience ultimately comes down to the people who are there with him.
So, while camp may be quiet, next summer is already beginning to take shape.
We’ve been fortunate to hear from an extraordinary number of families hoping to join us. Many spent time with us at Rookie Day or toured camp this summer and got a glimpse of what Takajo might look like for their sons. Before we know how many new boys we can welcome, we need to know how many of our current boys will be coming home to Takajo.
We know most families are planning to return, even if filling out a camp form for next June isn’t exactly at the top of the list while juggling school, soccer practices, tennis lessons, and everything else that fills your days. But when you find a moment, give us the official nod so we know your son will be back.
There is one other thing I hope you’ll find a moment to notice amid all that activity.
As a parent, I know how easy it is to want to look for evidence that our children are growing, but growth rarely announces itself. There is no morning when your son walks downstairs and declares that he has become more self-reliant. He probably won’t tell you that living in a bunk with eight or nine other boys taught him something about compromise, or that working through a difficult moment without his greatest cheerleaders nearby gave him a little more confidence in himself.
You notice it later. You see it when something doesn’t go his way. You hear it in the way he speaks to a younger sibling. You recognize it when he walks into a new environment with a little more confidence. Maybe a friend is struggling and your son instinctively knows to put an arm around him. These are small things, but they add up.
For six-and-a-half weeks, your son lived as part of a community. He had hundreds of opportunities to become a little more independent, a little more resilient, and a little more aware of the people around him. Our hope isn’t that he came home as a different child. It’s that he came home having grown.
I’m going to continue to check in periodically and provide updates. In the meantime, good luck picking out great Halloween costumes and enjoy rooting for your favorite Major League Baseball team.
