Summer Camp Nerves

On Sunday, June 30, we dropped Ella and Sophia at summer camp for a week away. I think it was harder for me than it was for them.

Those who know me well might wonder how that is possible, given that I preach endlessly about wanting to have independent, confident kids, and about how much I loved sleepaway camp. Still, I didn't expect to feel like I did.

Ever since we dropped Ella at the YMCA Camp Santa Maria for a week last summer, Sophia has been asking to go too. Our youngest daughter turned seven in February, thus qualifying her to attend a weeklong session. I thought she was a bit young to be away for that long, but she made it very clear on many occasions that she was ready to keep up with Big Sissy. So we signed her up.

Camp Santa Maria is located in the heart of the rocky mountains in Grant, Colorado, a two-hour drive from Fort Collins. It's small enough to feel familial, yet is expansive enough to allow kids to experience the true grandeur of the great outdoors. In other words, it was the perfect place fo Sophia to begin her life as an enthusiastic camper like Mom and Dad both were.

The Pathfinders consisted of 7-10 year old girls. This would be the only year Ella and Sophia could possibly be in the same cabin. Tanya and I did not request that they be together or apart; they'd have to deal with whatever situation they were handed. We let Sophia know ahead of time that she and Ella may not be together, to lessen the shock if things turned out that way. But a couple of nights before camp was to begin, Sophia told Tanya, "Mom, I think it would be better if I wasn't in Ella's cabin. That way, I can make my own friends." We were proud.

Under a light rain and surrounded by the unmistakably pure smell of mountain pines and moist dirt roads, we walked the kids down to their cabin—Logan—and set their duffels by their beds. With the aplomb indicative of an experienced mother and former camper herself (Tanya attended camp in New Hampshire every summer for 14 years as a kid), my wife dutifully helped Sophia set up her bed, as well as helping to organize her toiletries and shoes, and generally ease the transition into her temporary weeklong home.

"I could tell she needed a little help getting started," Tanya told me later that evening. "It can be scary that first time."

No doubt. I was already starting to freak out.

Sophia's bed...Lola's already asleep

Sophia was the only 7-year-old in a bunk full of 9- and 10-year olds. She didn't seem worried; her best friend and playmate is also ten. But as I glanced around the cabin, I spotted a sign that my "baby," despite her high social aptitude and intellect, still might have some catching up to do with her older bunkmates. While the rest the girls  had simply laid out their pillows at the heads of their beds, Lola, Sophia's precious stuffed bunny, leaned quietly against her dolphin pillow pet on hers.

I exhaled when the girl in the bunk above Sophia's reached her hand down and introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Gabi." Sophia shook her hand timidly, but her face lit up with a grin that, ordained with vocal capabilities, surely would have offered, "Everything's going to be okay."

Ella beginning a week of forgetting her parents

Ella had already begun the time-honored ritualistic summer camp activity of ignoring her parents by diving into a rapid-fire socialization session with her excitable peers. I let her do her thing and turned toward Sophia across the cabin. While Tanya chatted with the smiley teenage counselors, Sophia stood quietly by her bed, looking more like the slightly anxious kid she can be sometimes be, and less like the confident little lady who begged us to let her go to camp with Ella. She didn't cry or ask us to stay, or exhibit anything more than the expected butterflies that presage new experiences. I hugged her tightly, and whispered in her ear how proud I was of her bravery to try new things. Like she had done when Gabi broke the ice a minute earlier, Sophia smiled demurely.

Tanya and I said our goodbyes to the girls and left the cabin. After the door shut behind us, Tanya and I looked at each other. "So, that's it?" I asked. "We're alone for a whole week?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"I can't believe how nervous I was. Am," I said. "I know she'll do great"—not mentioning Sophia by name, but we both knew to whom I was referring—"making new friends and having fun. But I can't help but feel protective. She's the only 7-year-old!"

The Counselors

"They'll probably think she's pretty cool," Tanya said. "They'll take her under their wing. She'll be fine."

We walked toward the parking lot, up the wet, rocky path through the softly dripping pines. We drove eastward toward Denver, leaving our kids for one full week away, without Mom or Dad to soothe or hug them, or to mediate the inevitable conflicts. I wondered how long it would take for Sophia to get comfortable. Tanya supposed sometime around bedtime, maybe the next day's breakfast.

I was okay by Tuesday.

Sophia: happy to be there