Picture this: A fourteen-year-old standing in a camp parking lot in June.

This kid’s got no toothbrush, no sleeping bag, no swimsuit, and no change of clothes because he had no plans on coming to camp this week. He was only there to drop off his brother.

But there’s a sudden change of heart.

He looks at his parents and asks, “Do you think there’s any way I can stay at camp this term?”

This is the same kid who had adamantly told his parents after two previous summers, “I don’t want to go back to camp. It’s just not for me.”

Two years of coming home unenthusiastic about the whole experience.

And now he’s standing in a bustling and energy-filled parking lot, asking to stay at the place he’d twice decided wasn’t for him.

His parents look at him and try not to laugh. “I don’t think you can sign up for camp on Opening Day, but you can ask the camp director if you want to.” The fourteen-year-old now has a decision to make.

By the way, that kid was me.

How I Got to That Parking Lot

To understand why my parents were so surprised, you need to know about the two summers that came before.

Summer 2000: Twelve years old. Fresh-faced, excited, ready for anything camp could throw at me.

I got placed in a cabin full of boys who had a very different energy than mine. I enjoyed the camp activities. Loved them, actually.

But the social stuff? …not so much. I didn’t click with my cabinmates. I was a shy kid and having 10 other cabinmates was a lot for me to keep up with.

When my parents picked me up, my assessment was, “I don’t think I want to do that again.”

It was hard for me to separate the social side of camp from the fun I was having with the activities. And because camp is binary (either I go or don’t go), saying no was the easy way out.

My mom, being my mom, said, “It’s just a bit of bad luck with the cabin you were in. You can’t give up after one summer, we’ll try again next year and we’ll sign you up for a different session.”

Summer 2001: So back I went. Different session, different kids, similar experience. I was still the quietest camper in my cabin, and I still felt like an outsider looking in.

“I still don’t want to go back,” I told my parents after that second summer.

This time, they acquiesced. “Okay,” they said. “You tried it again so you don’t have to go back.”

After two summers, they were letting me off the hook.

My younger brother, however, was still going. And my parents tried to push me every couple of months… “are you sure you don’t want to go back to camp?”

The next summer, we made the familiar drive to drop my brother off for camp.

I was just along for the ride. No luggage, no plans, just a passenger on someone else’s adventure.

Standing There, Deciding

So there I was, watching my brother join the crowd of campers, feeling a different kind of energy about camp. Maybe it was something I wanted to try again.

My parents left it to me. If I was willing to ask the camp director about staying, and if camp had a spot for me, it was okay with them if I stayed.

I walked up to the director, the same person who’d been there for my previous two summers.

“Do you think there might be space for me this session?” I asked, somewhat sheepishly.

He smiled and looked at his roster, thought for a moment, and gave an answer that changed my life:

“I bet we can make this work.”

Just like that, I was in.

No gear? No problem.

I borrowed a swimsuit, a sleeping bag, and a toothbrush that first night while my parents drove back to Austin and packed a bag for me. They brought it out the next day and I stayed at camp for the next three weeks.

And here’s the thing: those three weeks changed everything for me.

I stepped up to meet the challenge that camp presented for me, and I held my own in the cabin better that year.

Camp finally felt like a place that could work for me.

The experience still pushed me to expand my social comfort zone, but I wasn’t counting down the days until pickup. I was meeting the moment.

That summer, I discovered what all those parents dropping off their kids knew already: that camp can still be transformative even if it doesn’t click right away.

Comfort vs. Challenge

Looking back, I know that I genuinely enjoyed the camp activities, but I decided to walk away because the social stuff felt hard.

It was the path of least resistance: giving up the things I loved (the climbing walls, the waterfront, the evening activities) to avoid the things that felt uncomfortable (making new friends, navigating cabin dynamics).

But when I chose to lean into the challenge instead of opting out entirely, I eventually got both: the activities I’d always enjoyed AND the friendships that had felt so elusive before.

And that wasn’t even the best part.

The outcome of “activities plus friendships” was outstanding, but the biggest win of all was the process of getting to the other side of the challenge.

Overcoming that obstacle was a big step for me in learning how to overcome obstacles.

And that’s one of the biggest opportunities at camp - every camper is going to be challenged in some way, and that challenge might be the very reason for him or her to keep going back.

The most valuable thing to give a child

If your child is standing in their own version of a parking lot—uncertain, unprepared, maybe even a little reluctant—that may just be their “call to adventure”.

We often say that the most valuable thing you can give to a child is a powerful personal narrative.

Imagine a person who grows up learning to believe that they are someone who can tackle challenges and overcome obstacles. Things might still get in their way sometimes, but very little can stay in their way.

They simply believe too much in their own ability to handle whatever comes up.

The hardest part is leaning in when the challenge is right in front of you. After my second year at camp, I opted out at first.

But my parents kept encouraging me, and I eventually pushed through to the other side.

It’s our job to give campers evidence that we see the strength in them, so they can begin to build a story in which they believe it about themselves.

Every child has what it takes, even if they happen to be standing in a parking lot without a toothbrush or a sleeping bag.

Erec Sir