Campfire Tales | Practicing Character

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

I’ve been thinking a lot about character this week. Not because it’s suddenly become a topic around camp. Truthfully, it’s always been a topic around camp. It’s one of those things that, if you’re lucky enough to spend your life working with children, you can’t help but think about. After thirty-plus summers, I’ve watched thousands of campers grow up. I’ve seen children become teenagers, teenagers become adults, and adults become parents who now send their own children to camp. Somewhere along the way, I stopped paying attention to anything but the big moments. I started noticing the little ones. In fact, I’ve come to believe that the little moments are usually the ones that matter most.

The game-winning basket is exciting. So is the standing ovation at the end of the Camp Show. Rope Burn at Tribal. Community Campfire. Those are the moments that naturally become memories. They’re wonderful, and I hope every camper has plenty of them. But I don’t think they’re the moments that change children. I think children change in much quieter ways.

They change when they decide to move over on a bench at the Campitheatre so another camper has somewhere to sit. They change when they don’t make it to the top of the climbing wall on their first try but decide to give it another shot anyway. They change when they notice someone who looks lonely and invite them into the GaGa game. They change when they tell the truth after making a mistake, or when they discover that helping another person actually feels better than winning. Those moments happen here every single day. Most of them won’t ever be photographed. They won’t make the highlight video. They probably won’t even be remembered a week later. And yet, I suspect they’re the moments that matter most.

People occasionally ask me how camp builds character. It’s a fair question, although I’m not sure I love the way it’s phrased. The older I get, the less I think character is something anyone really teaches. We can certainly talk about it. Parents do. Teachers do. Coaches do. We do. We can encourage it, celebrate it, and recognize it. But I don’t think children become people of character because an adult gave a particularly inspiring speech. I think they become people of character because they practice.

And that’s one of the things camp does better than almost anywhere else. Parents spend years raising their children. Schools play an enormous role in helping them learn and grow. Camp doesn’t replace either of those things, nor should it. What camp offers is something different. Children spend all day together. They solve problems together. They disappoint one another. They forgive one another. They laugh together, eat together, clean together, lose together, succeed together, and wake up the next morning to do it all over again.

Every single day presents dozens of opportunities to make little choices.

• Will I include someone?
• Will I keep trying?
• Will I encourage a friend who’s struggling?
• Will I put someone else’s needs ahead of my own?

One choice doesn’t define a child. But thousands of those little choices, repeated over time, begin to shape the kind of person that child is becoming.

A few nights ago, I stood in our basketball stadium and introduced something new to our campers on behalf of our leaders (and a special “Shout Out” to our wonderful Wellness Team for being such a big part of the overall effort to rebuild our Character Development program this summer!). Every camper received a simple “Wear Your Character” bracelet. It’s nothing fancy. In fact, I hope by the end of the summer it looks like it’s been through camp. I hope it’s scratched, stretched out, and definitely dirty. Because the bracelet itself isn’t what matters. What matters is what it represents.

Throughout the summer, campers will have opportunities to earn three different Character beads (along with other special ones, such as those for their Tribal Team). Not because they’re the fastest runner, the best athlete, or the loudest cheerer. They’ll earn them because someone noticed the way they chose to show up. An Inspiration bead recognizes a camper who lifts someone else up. A Determination bead recognizes someone who keeps going when things become difficult. An Acceptance bead recognizes someone who helps another person feel like they belong. Those three words — Inspiration, Determination, and Acceptance — weren’t chosen by accident. Before camp began, our leaders spent a great deal of time talking about the kind of community we want Chestnut Lake Camp to be. We weren’t looking for a catchy slogan or a new program. We were trying to find simple language for things we’ve always believed mattered. The bracelet simply gives us one more way to notice those moments. And just as we were creating something new, our long-time campers and staff knew that this was also a tribute to the “old” Chestnut where beads were given to campers at times throughout the summer.

I’ve smiled over the last couple of days watching campers wearing their bracelets and being asked about the beads. Perhaps most importantly, they’ve begun to notice these character qualities in one another. That’s really the whole idea. Once children begin looking for inspiration, determination, and acceptance, they start seeing them everywhere. Better yet, they begin looking for opportunities to practice them themselves.

Last night we gathered for Tribal Campfire. Hundreds of campers and staff discovered whether they’re Minsi or Unami. They’ll soon receive their tribal beads and shirts, sing their songs, and officially become part of a tradition spanning many years for Chestnut Lake campers. People often think Tribal is about competition. It isn’t. Competition comes later. First comes belonging. I’ve always believed that’s one of the most important lessons we can offer children. Before we ask them to challenge one another, we make sure they know they’re part of something. Children who feel like they belong are more willing to take healthy risks. They’re more willing to fail. They’re more willing to try again. They’re more willing to cheer for someone else’s success because they aren’t spending all of their energy wondering whether they fit in.

One theme this summer is “It’s Always Summer”. For me, that has never meant trying to make summer last forever. It means believing that the best parts of camp don’t have to end when camp does. They can show up back at school, on a team, around the dinner table, in a college dorm room, or years later in a workplace or a family of their own. One day, those bracelets will wind up in a drawer somewhere. The cord will eventually wear out. A bead may fall off. I doubt many campers will remember exactly when they earned each one. But I hope they remember something more important. I hope they remember what it felt like to encourage another person. I hope they remember what it felt like not to give up. I hope they remember what it felt like to make someone else feel welcome.

Because those aren’t really camp lessons. They’re life lessons. And when I think about what I hope our campers carry home from Chestnut Lake, it isn’t just songs, cheers, traditions, or stories — wonderful as all of those things are. It’s the quiet confidence that comes from practicing, over and over again, becoming the kind of person they want to be. If we can help children do that, even just a little, then we’ve done something that reaches well beyond a summer in the Poconos.

Campfire Tales | Seen

By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director

Seen

Yesterday was my 56th birthday.

When you’ve spent as much of your life at camp as I have, birthdays begin to feel a little different. By my count, I’ve now celebrated 51 of them at summer camp. It’s hard to imagine another place I’d rather be. There is something wonderfully special about spending your birthday surrounded by children who are laughing, counselors who are pouring themselves into making camp magical, and colleagues who have become part of our extended family. Throughout the day, I wore the same birthday shirt that every camper and staff member wears on their birthday. Hundreds of campers wished me a happy birthday as I walked around camp. There were songs, hugs, pictures, an incredible birthday cake decorated in Philadelphia 76ers colors, and even birthday cake for the entire camp at lunch. By any measure, it was a birthday I’ll never forget.

But none of that is what I’ve been thinking about today.

Last night, during our Friday night Community Campfire, I was invited on stage to receive a Community Service Award. It caught me completely by surprise. Over the years, I’ve quietly received a few nominations from campers, but they’ve always been handed to me privately. This time, because it was my birthday, one of our campers wrote something so thoughtful that our leadership team chose to read it in front of the entire camp. Standing there, I honestly wasn’t thinking very much about myself. Instead, I found myself thinking about what those awards have come to represent at Chestnut Lake.

Community Service Awards have become one of my favorite traditions, not because of the handful of names that are read aloud each Friday night, but because of the hundreds of names that aren’t. Every week, campers and staff members take a few quiet moments to recognize someone who made a difference in their lives. Sometimes it’s a counselor who offers encouragement when it’s needed most. Sometimes it’s a bunkmate who quietly welcomes someone new. Sometimes it’s a camper who demonstrates kindness when nobody else notices, or a staff member who simply makes another person’s day a little brighter. They write those nominations in their own handwriting, explaining why that person mattered to them. Our campus leaders select a handful to be shared publicly each week, but every single nomination is delivered to the person for whom it was written.

Think about that for a moment.

Even if your name is never read in front of the camp, someone still took the time to notice you. They saw something in you that mattered enough to sit down, think about it carefully, and put it into words. They wanted you to know that your kindness, leadership, encouragement, friendship, or compassion made a difference. In a world where so many young people wonder if they are truly seen, I can’t think of many more meaningful gifts than that.

As camp directors, Ann and I spend a great deal of time discussing some of the Chestnut Lake values, such as Character. Leadership. Confidence. We hope those words become more than posters on a wall or beads on a bracelet. We hope they become part of the way our campers think about themselves and about each other. The Community Service Awards have become one of the clearest expressions of those values because they don’t celebrate talent or popularity. They celebrate humanity. They remind us that the most important people in a community are often the ones who quietly make everyone else’s experience better. As I stood on that stage last night, I shared something with the campers that I have continued thinking about ever since.

If I can receive a Community Service Award, then every single person at camp can receive one. I don’t mean that modestly. I mean it sincerely.

The people making the biggest difference in camp aren’t usually the ones standing on stage. They’re the counselor who notices the camper who seems a little quieter than usual. They’re the division leader who spends an extra ten minutes helping a homesick child settle into bed. They’re the friend who scoots over on a bench at the picnic table in the Grove to make room for someone who looks like they need a place to sit. They’re the Varsity camper who takes a younger child under their wing. They’re the maintenance staff member who quietly fixes something before anyone knows it was broken, the nurse who comforts a frightened camper, the specialty counselor who celebrates a child for trying something difficult instead of simply succeeding. Those people make our camp what it is.

One of the things that has struck me most during this first week has been how often I’ve seen those moments unfold. I’ve seen them in our new garden program, where campers eagerly harvested food that, until recently, was just tiny seeds in the ground. I’ve seen them on the pickleball courts, where a group of campers at our first-ever Pickleball Specialty Camp yesterday refused to let the heat diminish their enthusiasm for a sport they are quickly falling in love with. I’ve seen them during evening programs, on athletic fields, in bunks, and simply walking from one activity to the next. The headlines of camp are often found in big events and exciting traditions, but the heart of camp has always lived in the small interactions between people who choose, over and over again, to make someone else’s day better. Perhaps that’s why the Community Service Awards mean so much to me.

They remind us to pay attention. They remind us that kindness is rarely loud. They remind us that leadership is often quiet. Most importantly, they remind us that every child deserves to feel seen.

This year we’ve decided to do something new. In the coming days, if your child received a Community Service nomination this week (whether it was read aloud at the Campfire or handed to them after the program ended), we’ll email it home for you to read. Long after the summer ends, I suspect those handwritten notes will become some of the most meaningful souvenirs they bring home from camp. As for me, I’ll carefully tuck my own nomination away with a handful of others I’ve received over the years. Not because I think I earned special recognition, but because every once in a while it’s nice to be reminded that someone noticed.

The truth is, that’s something all of us need from time to time. Whether we’re fifty-six years old or ten. Whether we’re the camp director or a first-year camper. We all want to know that somebody saw the best in us.