After seven long years of anticipation, our oldest son, Hobbs, finally attended his first session of sleep-away camp. While I have spent years telling other parents that camp is the ultimate gift for their children, when it came to sending my own son, my logic completely dissolved. I was vastly more nervous than I ever expected to be. But the Camp Director in me fought for the Mom in me; we actually had my parents drop Hobbs off on opening day so he would get the pure, unaltered Pinnacle experience. I forced myself to stand back, watching with tears blurring my vision as he crossed that bridge into camp.
At drop-off, I could see the nerves written all over his face (which, of course, only fueled my own anxiety). Part of the deal for Hobbs attending Camp Pinnacle was that I promised to give him a true, authentic, first-time camper experience. That meant absolutely no mom check-ins, no sneaking him extra hugs, and zero intervening. No other kid gets to have their mom walking around camp, and we wanted him to have the dignity of his own independence.
That promise proved to be much more challenging than I anticipated.
Every single time I walked into the dining hall, my eyes shot straight to his cabin’s assigned table like a homing missile. I’m not proud to admit it, but during the first evening program, I literally hid in the bushes just to catch a glimpse of him, desperately trying to see if he was smiling or making friends. It was a miracle I was able to focus on anyone else’s child that first 48 hours because I was so utterly engrossed in how my own boy was adapting to cabin life. (Spoiler alert: He could not have cared less where I was. The separation anxiety was entirely mine.)
Each day, I forced myself to back off a little more. I was still looking for him out of the corner of my eye, but the bush-hiding stopped. Instead, I found myself tethered to the Campanion app. I treasured every single photo, immediately texting them to my sisters and silently praising our media team. I have always known how important these photos are to parents, but experiencing it firsthand as a lifeline for my own daily survival was overwhelming. In fact, it hit me so hard that I immediately ordered upgraded lenses for our media team! I realized that every parent deserves to see their child’s joy in high definition. One glance at those photos (okay, fine, I stared at them for hours), and my heart finally eased. He wasn’t just surviving; he was thriving, making friends, and building his own confidence.
During the second week, I caught wind that Hobbs had fallen out of his raft during the Nantahala River rafting trip. He was immediately rescued by another boat and handled the white water like an absolute champ. My heart swelled with pride that he hadn’t cried. Later that night, the “Noodle People” (beloved camp legends who playfully raid cabins with pool noodles) visited his cabin and presented him with his very first Camp Pinnacle hat.
When I saw him wearing that hat proudly at breakfast the next morning, I burst into tears right there in the dining hall. At Pinnacle, you don’t just buy a hat; you earn it by living out the 5Rs (Respect, Responsibility, Reasonable Risk, Reaching Out, and Resilience). Our counselors create these disruptive, magical moments to crown campers with kind, specific words, helping instill a permanent narrative of confidence. Seeing that hat on his head, I realized he had achieved something entirely on his own, without my help.
At the end of the session, we held our traditional goodbye circle after the final campfire. It’s always a beautiful, chaotic scene of campers thanking counselors, crying as they hug cabinmates, and younger kids running around soaking in the final moments of summer. I spotted Hobbs immediately. He was standing next to his counselor, tears streaming down his face.
My maternal instinct kicked in; I worried the grueling two-week schedule had finally caught up to him, and he was just exhausted. I walked over to give him a hug (our very first real hug in almost two weeks), fully expecting him to collapse into my arms and tell me he was ready to come home to his own bed.
Instead, he hugged me tightly, looked up through his tears, and said, “Mom, I’m not ready to leave camp.”
I smiled, trying to soothe him. “Hobbs, we live right across the street! We’re going to see your counselors all the time, and you can still do the activities.”
He looked at me, shook his head, and gently corrected me: “Mom, I’m going to miss my new friends. They don’t get to stay.”
In that single sentence, my heart broke and healed all at the same time. I realized that in just two weeks, the magic of this place had done exactly what it was designed to do. He had grown a little older, a little braver, and his world had become beautifully bigger than just our family across the street. He had found his people after an extremely rough school year. And as hard as it was to let him go, I have never trusted Camp Pinnacle, these staff and campers more.
I’ve been lucky enough to experience Pinnacle from almost every angle: as a camper, a counselor, a director, and now, finally, as a parent. With each new chapter, my love for this place only deepens, and I continue to feel truly honored to be a part of this transformative experience for everyone involved.
I cannot say it enough: Thank you for continuing to trust us with your children. We love spending our summers with your family.
