… I deem myself recovered from Dads’ Weekend at my son’s camp. I hesitate to post about him for fear of oozing treacle (other than to say I am insanely proud of my boy at his first-ever sleep-away camp. There, no more, I promise).
But I will say this about the camp itself (a YMCA-run outfit in western Massachusetts): what leapt out was a lack of cynicism. The boys I met and observed ranged in age from 11 to 15, and the counselors were college kids. In other words, they’ve all been raised in a post-Letterman, post-Seinfeld world. In that world, every earnest comment must be immediately undercut by a meta-snark; every honestly expressed emotion must be smirked at (“Good talk, son“); determined effort is uncool, slouching indifference is cool as hell (gee, I’m surely the first oldster ever to complain about that attribute of teenagers).
This camp has sliced through all that. How I don’t know – electronic devices are verboten, and that seems a good start – but God bless ’em for it.