From Camp Director to Camp Parent: Why I'm Suddenly Tempted to Call the Director Every Day

For years, I was the camp director.

I was the person parents called when they had questions, concerns, worries, or simply needed reassurance. I always made sure families had my phone number and knew they could contact me if they needed anything. My philosophy was simple: if a parent was trusting me with their child, the least I could do was be available.

Over the years, I saw every type of camp parent. There were the parents who called regularly for updates and wanted to know how things were going. There were the parents who dropped their child off and fully trusted us to take it from there. There were parents who analyzed every photo we posted online and called because their child was standing at the edge of a group picture and they were worried it meant they weren't making friends. And there were parents we barely heard from all summer.

No matter where they fell on that spectrum, I understood. Sending your child away is hard.

Now, for the first time, I find myself on the other side of that relationship. This summer, I'm sending my daughter to sleepaway camp. And while I thought my years as a camp director would make this easier, I've discovered something surprising: I may actually be one of the parents who wants to call the camp director all the time.

Don't worry - I haven't. But I could..

My daughter isn't even at camp yet, and I already have questions. Should I send the plug-in fan or the battery-operated fan? Why is it impossible to find the exact shade of tan the camp wants? Should I buy cot sheets or twin sheets? Who's going to be in her bunk? Where are they from? Will they become friends? Will she feel included?

The list goes on and on.

The funny thing is that none of these questions are really about fans, sheets, bunk assignments, or spirit gear.

They're about wanting to know that she's going to be okay.

As parents, we spend years knowing almost everything about our children's lives. We know what they eat for breakfast. We know who they play with. We know when they're sad, tired, hungry, excited, nervous, or overwhelmed. Then camp comes along and asks us to do something incredibly difficult: trust someone else to care for them.

And that's where being a former camp director actually helps.

Because I know what happens behind the scenes.

I know how much camp directors care. I know the conversations that happen when a camper is struggling. I know that counselors notice more than parents think they do. I know that entire teams of people spend all summer thinking about how to make campers feel safe, included, and successful.

Most importantly, I know that I chose this camp for a reason.

I chose it because of the directors. I chose it because of the people. I chose it because I believe in the community they've built and the values they stand for.

I know there will be moments when she misses home and moments when she forgets about home entirely because she's having so much fun.

I know she might not have exactly the right fan, the right sheets, or the right shade of spirit gear.

And I know she'll figure it out.

She'll borrow something.

She'll get creative.

She might even be disappointed that someone else has something she doesn't.

And that's okay, too.

Because that's part of growing up.

As much as I'd love to control every detail of her camp experience, I can't.

But there are things I can do.

Over the next few weeks, we're focusing on preparation instead of perfection.

We're practicing washing hair, brushing teeth twice a day, applying sunscreen, folding clothes, and taking responsibility for personal belongings. We've talked about the 2:1 rule - making sure she's always with another camper plus a counselor, or with two counselors, but never alone with just one counselor. (And yes, your camp should be teaching these expectations to their staff, too.)

We've talked about being safe around water, staying with her group, asking adults for help, and speaking up when something doesn't feel right.

Most importantly, we've talked about how to be a good friend.

How to include others.

How to introduce yourself to someone new.

How to be kind when someone is struggling.

How to ask for help when you need it.

Because long after the fans, sheets, and spirit gear are forgotten, those are the lessons that matter most.

There is a difference between preparing my daughter for camp and trying to control her camp experience.

My job right now isn't to eliminate every challenge she might face. It's to give her the tools she'll need when those challenges inevitably come.

Then I have to do the hardest part.

I have to trust.

Trust the camp.

Trust the counselors.

Trust the directors I chose for a reason.

And trust my daughter.

Because the truth is, the growth I'm hoping camp gives my daughter won't happen because everything goes according to plan.

It happens because, for the first time, she gets to navigate a little piece of the world on her own.

And honestly?

I know she's ready.

The bigger question might be whether I am.