“Now there is a camp for everything because society thinks that you have to be stimulated in order to succeed, in order to get one step ahead.” I could hear splashing water and screaming kids over the phone as they spent their afternoon at the community pool while my sister continued her anti-camp campaign. “It’s also easier now [for parents] to hire someone to take care of your kids than do it yourself. It’s like the parents who do Potty Boot Camp or hire someone to teach their kid how to ride a two-wheeler.”
I almost dropped the phone when I heard Potty Boot Camp, so I had to look it up. It was true; a woman in West Chicago had started a $200 five-hour potty training intensive. It required that both the parent and child commit to a full day with the teacher and then two more days at home. And what was her secret to get the kiddies onto the toilet? The toddlers had to spend the day eating salty foods and candy while slugging down high-sugar fruit juices. After I read about one parent’s experience, I started to squirm in my own seat, knowing what happened to me as fully potty trained adult on road trips when I could only frequent McDonald’s and mini-marts for my sustenance.
And the two-wheel training? Well, that was just wrong. “Parents are treating their kids like they’re another errand they don’t have time to run,” I said, remembering that my own mom (who, to this day, I’ve never seen ride a bike) had been at work when I finally learned how to ride a bike—the neighborhood kid had taught me.
I thought back to Emme, Sonja, and Mason, and how they would compare to my sister’s kids who spent the summer just hanging out as a family and having fun. Would the Emmes, Sonjas, and Masons get into the Ivy Leagues, and if they did, would it be because of their respective camps, with the ultimate question being, would it really matter? Did going to marine biology camp at fourteen really mean that one could get a leg up on their career? I had never been to writing camp as a child, but had become a writer because of my own interest, the interest of a few good high school teachers, honors English classes, and a great journalism school that taught me the basics. I decided to keep track of these kids to see what would happen, and then, when I went back to my hometown this summer to see my niece and nephews, I’d make sure to teach them, at the very least, how to make a lanyard.
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