In my darkest fatherhood hours, I have threatened to send my children to boarding school. The fantasy is tempting. No more emotional tug-of-wars with my boys over homework deadlines and reasons not to beat up their brothers. However, this warning of banishment has never worked because none of them buy for a second that I’d send them away. They know I feel a little empty when one of my boys is out for a sleepover, let along longer than that.
So, as we enter our third season of overnight camp, I struggle to find the balance between parental clinginess and paternal pride that my kids can survive without me.
For the first camp year, Benjamin (12) reveled in his independence. Away for fourteen days, he wrote to us only once to tell us he loved and missed us.
Liar.
He didn’t miss us at all. How else can you explain his surliness upon coming home? Overjoyed at seeing our boy, we showered his dirt-encrusted body with hugs and kisses from the bus to the house. Once in the door, he sulked in his bedroom, suffering from a near-fatal case of campsickness, the affliction of pining for unlimited play and constant camaraderie. He didn’t snap out of it for a week.
No doubt, benefits for Benjamin abounded. He had returned with stories of new friends, ropes course triumphs, and sports at all hours. He even appeared well nourished. It meant that he had taken steps toward that day when he would leave our nest. I just wasn’t ready to imagine that day, yet.
The next year, Benjamin went off for an entire month. This time, we made him sign an oath in blood that he would use soap and water at least once a week. We considered filling out letters with little blanks, Mad Lib-style, to ensure he would write updates to us. We didn’t pre-fill his notes, yet our pressure resulted in his sending four letters -- totaling six sentences.
When he came home, though, the campsickness proved less potent.
“You want to go for two months?” I asked him with subtle facetiousness.
“Four weeks is enough,” he replied. “I like being home.”
Needless to say, that was a gratifying moment for me.
Finances forced us to keep Benjamin home for the following summer, which he took with surprising maturity. Despite our respite from missing him, we knew the advantages of camp were worth saving for. We also knew we should think about sending Jacob, too.
For years, Jacob asked, “Why does Benjamin get sleep-away camp and I have to stay home?”
Sometimes we reminded him of the age differential and sometimes we said, “We like you better. That’s why we keep you with us.”
He appreciated the latter comment, but not as much as the idea of taking part in the rollicking good times Benjamin often recounted.
Factoring in Jacob’s demonstrated autonomy (he makes meals for himself and does the most chores) and generous help from the camp finance department, we decided to sign up both Benjamin and Jacob for camp, this season.
Then, there was another dynamic. An opportunity arose for Wendy and me to go away for a significantly funded academic program to boost our skills as educators. We grappled for weeks over the big questions. Had we stocked up enough parenting credits that would allow us time apart from our sons? Would it ruin his young life if we abandoned Ari (5) for more than a week? Worse yet, though Benjamin would be at camp the whole time we’d be gone, how bad was it to be away for Jacob’s homecoming?
We decided to book the trip. We still feel guilty, but we also know our kids will survive under the care of grandparents and our longtime babysitter. We’ll make sure to use video chats and phone calls to check in with our boys. We’ll show them that Mommy and Daddy still make time for each other and haven’t given up on adventure, even in our “advanced years.”
As we send off our two older boys to overnight camp this month, I find myself on the opposite end of the spectrum introduced to me several summers ago. I no longer feel the same achiness of being apart from our boys. It’s not that I don’t love them as much; it’s that my wife and I are experimenting with balance. This summer, we’re getting our own overnight experience.
Hopefully, after so much absence, we’ll all reconvene with fondness as we say, “It’s good to be home, together."
