I felt sick sending my kids to camp today. That pit of the stomach sick, gnawing and ripping at my heart as I wondered if this was the right time to give my children new challenges.
My children are used to a certain level of sheltering. A protection that can’t last forever, nor will it hold at all times for all things. With my sensitive son and his Tourette’s and OCD, and my daughter’s strength and wit and silliness, enrolling them in a non-traditional school was a no-brainer. My quirky family fits in well and our little oddities are welcomed with open arms.
Toss in my illness, and never-ending doctor’s visits, hospital stays, and treatments which cause stress on them both, and their social interaction ends up more limited than I would like. But it’s hard to host playdates when I’m hooked to an iv and I hate relying too much on the kindness of other parents as they offer to shuttle my kids back and forth from their homes and nearby parks.
All of this adds to the social awkwardness that gives our family an extra dose of that quirk we’ve carved into our community where we have no need to acknowledge or hide.
And then came summer camp. A wonderful opportunity presented to us with swimming and archery and drama and crafts and everything you’d expect, except it is outside of our hometown and very traditional. Things I never really gave a thought to when excitedly signing them up, until my son came home after his first day relaying a story to me about how he was called names and made fun of.
My heart sank, my gut hurt, and I realized I had not prepared them for ‘traditional’ camps or schools. For what passes these days as ‘normal’ out there in the world. We had so carefully carved out a community that fits us, fits them, that I feel I have failed in showing them the ‘other’ side of things and trotted them off to camp where we’re the only minivan in the valet line and very probably one of the only families attending a casual, progressive, and accommodating non-traditional school.
I felt like I threw them to the wolves.
Of course my son was steadfast and strong and brave. He had stood up for himself to the boys, and he had told his counselor. He even made other friends within his group so as to avoid the kids who immediately labeled him as different. But he was also hesitant to return. After talking to me he felt better about giving it another try, and left this morning happy and somewhat excited to attend.
My husband had a talk with his counselor, and we have no doubt the camp will keep an eye out, but the bigger issue was my failure as a parent to see this coming. I should have known better. I should have realized I couldn’t just plunk my kids into that atmosphere and expect them to conform and blend.
I’m proud that my kids are unique. That they are quirky and odd and brilliant and creative with hearts of gold. And I know I can’t shelter them forever from cruel comments and bullies and jerks and all the things that go bump in the night.
There was a large part of me that wanted to immediately yank my kids from camp and keep them with me all summer, and a small part that knew sending them back this morning was the right thing. Letting them learn, supervised, that sometimes people are assholes but those assholes shouldn’t ruin your good time. I would never let it get to the point where my child was sick over attending or anything more than typical kids being kids…but that didn’t make hearing what went on any easier. And this was just very tame kid social circle stuff.
I am, however, thankful my son knew enough to handle his own issues at camp and then talk with me about it all. He wasn’t afraid to confide in me, talk to his counselor, or go back and have fun. Clearly he’s taking it all much better than his mother.
And of course it didn’t stop me from telling him I would stand at the ready to string-up anyone who dared mess with my kids. My plan is to let meanies dangle from the camp flagpole by their underwear, which elicited many giggles and astonished looks from my children, shocked Mom would say (or do) such a thing.
But then we talked about how that would make ME the bully, and tactics they can use to fend off any kids at camp who seem to want to cause trouble.
There are so many things we want for our children. We all want them to get a good education, learn right from wrong, become good people, etc. etc. etc. But there is so much more we don’t want for them. I don’t want them to feel heart-break, or to be picked on. I don’t want them to dread school or a certain clique of classmates, or even new experiences like summer camp in another town. But all of those things means never falling in love, never finding new friends, and never venturing outside our comfort zones.
Which is why I dutifully packed up lunches and swimsuits and towels and sunscreen this morning and sent the kids off to camp. Everything in me wanted to just forget it, and keep them home. Because it was safer. Because it was easier. Because we have all just had enough lately. But I sucked it up, hid my tears, and watched them go.
They deserve to have fun, they deserve to find new friends, and they deserve a normal childhood with all its trappings and rewards.
And I can only hope I won’t fail them again.
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