The Sleepaway Camp

Me: Call the camp.

Lauren: And say what?

Me: Ask how she’s doing?

Lauren: We’re not supposed to reach out for the first few weeks.

Me: Make something up. Say you saw her in a photo wearing two different shoes and you’re concerned.

Lauren: But I didn’t see that! Fine, I’ll email them.

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A man committed a crime and was imprisoned. Just like that he was no longer home to be a part of his family’s lives. Nor could he call or see them at first.  He could write them letters from prison at least. The food in prison wasn’t great. Early wake up. No air conditioning. Communal bathrooms. 

Now this story I just wrote is kind of sad and you’d feel bad for this prisoner and his family. 

Except this story I made up is really about our nine-year-old daughter, Liv, who left for sleepaway camp.  Everything that fake prisoner went through is exactly what we have signed up for and paid significant money for our daughter to go through. 

Sure there’s fun activities and friendships and most likely no riots, but the basics are the same in prison and in summer camp. 

When our daughter left today, my wife Lauren, in between crying convulsions said – why are we doing this? 

I didn’t really have a good answer for her. It’s good for her independence? She’s going to make so many great friends? I guess that’s all good, but it seems like a very drastic process to put a nine-year-old who has only ever slept in her own bed, in a bunk with ten strangers in the mountains.

It probably would have helped if either Lauren or I had a positive experience in sleepaway camp.

Lauren’s went okay, but she didn’t love it. She was a homebody.

I really did not like sleepaway camp. I was an only child and was very attached to my parents. One year they dropped me off and I had a complete meltdown. That story still comes up in therapy occasionally.

So clearly Lauren and I have both brought our anxiety from own experiences to this new journey that Liv is on. We have kept it from her of course, and said only positive things about sleepaway camp. But deep down we’re both nervous wrecks about what will happen.

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Drop off 

We arrived at Bloomingdale’s parking lot in Westchester and it’s like the World’s Fair was going on. Four different camps had buses in this lot. People were everywhere. Liv was in a bad mood, most likely nerves. We got out of the car and walked her to a row of 10 buses. We found the third bus. Liv’s new friend Eliza was there. Last night, Lauren called Eliza’s mother and asked her if she would sit with Liv on the bus, but I’m not so sure that’s happening now that all the girls are together.

We took some photos and it was time for goodbyes. First, our eight-year-old son, Max, gave Liv a hug. I’m not sure if he’s happy or sad that his sister who isn’t always nice to him is going. Then Lauren and I hugged her and told her we loved her. She began climbing the stairs of the coach bus and we watched her slowly leave our sight. That’s when the waterworks started for Lauren.

Me: Can we go now?

Another mother: Oh no, you have to wait and wave as the bus leaves.

Me: But I can’t see her. The windows are tinted

Another mother: Just pick a spot and wave to it.

Me: Thank you. This tradition isn’t for me. Lauren, I’m going to the car.

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Later that day, we were settled at home. The house was quieter than usual.

Me:  When is it that we can call her? 

Lauren: On July 19th we have a slot.

Me: That’s it? What about Visiting day? 

Lauren: Cancelled because of Covid.

Me: So she just gets on a bus. And we don’t have any idea how she’s doing for weeks?

Lauren: There’s photos. But we have to sift through like 1000 of them to find one of her. 

Me: What if she’s miserable? I was miserable in sleepaway camp. 

Lauren You were always miserable. 

Me: And what if they tell her to smile for photos so she seems happy but she’s not. 

Lauren: She will be fine. 

Me: I’m not fine. You’re not fine. What makes you think something like this is going to be fine for her? 

Lauren: It’s just healthy for her to learn to be without us. To take care of herself.  Let’s see what happens. 

Me. You were just hysterical 10 minutes ago. 

Lauren: I got it out and now I’m better. 

Me: What’s that like to have normal human emotions? 

Just then, Lauren noticed a photo on her phone. But Liv’s back was turned. 

Lauren: It’s Liv. 

Me: How do you know?

Lauren: I know what she looks like from behind. 

Me: That could be anyone.  Keep looking. 

Lauren: I have to go to work.  

Me: Cancel it. Keep looking through photos until you die of exhaustion.

Lauren: I found another one.

We zoomed in and started analyzing her face. This is what our lives have come to that we are looking for signs by analyzing photos.

Me: She looks exhausted.

Lauren: She’s always standing with the counselors and not other kids. Do you think she’s having trouble making friends?

Me: She looks very thin. Do you think she’s eating?

Lauren: Why don’t you write her a letter every day? You’re a great writer.

Me: I’m good at making fun of myself, not writing letters to nine-year-olds.

I sat down and started writing a letter to Liv.  

Dear Liv: …

Lauren (interrupting) Nothing sad.

Dear Liv:

I hope you’re having the best summer ever.

Lauren (interrupting) Nothing about when you’re going to see her.

Are you playing soccer? What other sports are you playing?

Lauren (interrupting) Nothing about what’s happening at home.

Me: Can you just let me write please?

Who are your friends? Do they call you Liv or Livee?

Lauren (interrupting) Nothing about nicknames you call her at home.

Me: Enough. You’re torturing me.

Nothing too exciting going on at home. We miss you and can’t wait to see you. Sawyer and Smurf miss you giving them belly rubs.

Lauren (interrupting) The dogs, really? That’s the number one thing that’s going to upset her.

UPDATE:

Lauren: The camp lady emailed me back.  

I looked over Lauren’s shoulder and we read it.

Liv is doing amazing. She tried out for the soccer team and the coach loves her. She’s best friends with a few girls in her bunk. Her counselor braids her hair every morning. She’s not the best eater, but she manages to eat a little.

Lauren: Okay, so we can relax now.

Me: She’s lying.

Lauren: Wait, another photo.

We looked at the photo and Liv was standing next to her friends and smiling with two fingers up.

Me: She’s good.

Lauren: How do you know?

Me: I told her to put two fingers up if she’s happy. Now I can rest finally.

Lauren: I think I need a sleepaway camp away from you.

The truth is I can’t rest. I’m happy when we see pics but then I get really sad. I struggle with purpose. My kids give me purpose. Those moments I’m used to having with Liv everyday are special, and now I don’t have them. I know half of this exercise is her learning to be without us. The other half I guess is us learning to be without her. I’m failing at it in these first few days. I miss our baby.

Is the feeling mutual? Is she homesick? Well, some more photos just came in: