Our owner, Steve Baskin, has a famous letter from his first summer at camp. His mother received the letter in the mail a few days after dropping her 8-year-old son off at camp in Texas. Though only 8, I dare say he had a flair for the dramatic:
“Dear Mommy,
The stains you see on this page are the tears falling from my eyes. No one likes me. I am so sad. If you truly loved me, you would come and get me.
Your son, Steve”
Oddly enough, his mother did not immediately jump in the car to save him. Instead, she smiled to herself, placed a quick phone call, and then went about her day.
Was she an ice woman or a machine? Neither. Instead, she was the mother of four, and Steve was her third. She had received “the letter” before, and she recognized it.
She knew what we often forget: that growth is messy, uncomfortable, and sometimes looks a lot like a struggle. In fact, real transformation requires a bit of a breaking-out process.
We saw a literal version of this on Sunday evening when we discovered a wasp nest. The next day, campers observed it during our Nature activities. The nest contained several larvae preparing to hatch, and we watched them crack through their cocoon caps and wiggle around before emerging as mature wasps (don’t worry, epis were close by and campers were kept at a safe distance!).
I watched several groups come and go while this comb hatched several wasps throughout the day. While I observed this metamorphosis, I noticed a parallel development happening at the exact same time.
I spent Sunday evening speaking with two different campers about their camp experience thus far. Both had a few good things to say about their day, but were seeking me out with one specific goal in mind—they needed to go home. They were homesick, and they would not survive one more day at camp. They needed an escape, and I held their ticket out.
This isn’t unusual; in fact, we see it as part of the metamorphosis of a camper. Home is a pretty special place full of wonderful people you know love you and reassuring routines. Camp, on the other hand, is initially full of people you do not know (strangers?!) and unfamiliar experiences. When you are unsure of yourself, you long for your parents, your room, your pets, and anything that is “normal.”
I reassured these campers that I would absolutely let their families know they wanted out, but that sometimes our parents know us better than we know ourselves. They know we can succeed at camp and would never leave us here if they thought we couldn’t. Moms and dads spend a long time looking for the perfect summer home for their child, and these families knew Camp Pinnacle was the right place.
For most, if not all, knowing I will let their parents know how things are going is the cure. Some just want an email from home proving they heard from me: “Fayssoux called to let us know you’re struggling. We believe in you!” For these two campers in particular, that was it. Knowing that home wasn’t far away, that their families trust Camp Pinnacle, and that I would call home if they needed anything was all they required.
Today, I watched those same two campers flourish. I watched one play volleyball with cabinmates cheering him on, and the other singing and dancing in theatre without a care in the world. The highlight of my day was watching them both dance in a conga line at dinner—huge grins on their faces as the kitchen announced we were having banana pudding for dessert.
I’ve been doing this for a while (13 years), but the transition never ceases to amaze me. I love watching campers find confidence and independence – it truly is the reason I do this.
Thank you for sharing your wonderful children with us. More importantly, thank you for having the courage to give them the space to grow and flourish. I know they will be excited to tell you all about it this Friday.
