By Aaron Selkow, Owner/Director
For the past few weeks, I’ve been lying to children.
I suppose that sounds worse than it actually is. Around this point in every session, the questions become impossible to avoid. They come at breakfast, while I’m walking past a table, standing outside of Pearl’s Place at night while kids are waiting for their fresh baked cookies, as I strolled past some kids on the bridge heading back from the lake, or yesterday when I was with a propsetive family looking at camp and I couldn’t avoid the inquiry from two campers who were playing air hockey in the Canteen. A camper will fall into step beside me, look up with complete sincerity, and ask the same question that hundreds of campers before them have asked over the years.
“So…when’s Tribal?” I always give the same answer. “I have absolutely no idea.” It’s a terrible lie.
Not because I’m bad at telling it — although I’m sure my face gives me away more often than I want to admit — but because nobody actually believes me. Our campers are much too smart for that. They know Tribal isn’t something that magically appears because a few program team leaders wake up one morning with an idea. They know we’ve been planning it for months. The truth is, we’ve been planning it for almost a year. Before last summer was even over, we were talking about what we might do differently next time. There have been meetings, calendars, supply lists, revisions, and clandestine gatherings to discuss (again) what makes a great “Chief” and who might be selected for that role this session.
By now, there may not be anything I know with greater certainty than exactly when Tribal is going to begin. The campers know that. I know they know that. They know I know they know that. And yet, every year, we all happily continue the charade.
Last night’s Community Campfire reminded me why. Before the Campfire closed, our Communications Team premiered another one of their weekly highlight videos. If you’ve been watching them this summer, I hope you’ve noticed what I have. Somewhere along the way, this group stopped simply documenting camp and started telling its story. Those aren’t the same thing. Anyone can point a camera at a soccer game or at some kids in Culinary. Storytelling is different. It’s deciding that the conversation on the walk back from Outdoor Adventure matters just as much as the Ziplining itself. It’s lingering on the counselor who quietly celebrates a camper’s success before the camper even realizes what they’ve accomplished. It’s recognizing that the moments we’ll remember twenty years from now are rarely the ones we thought were the biggest while they were happening. It’s giving a voice to a child, whether they are a seasoned Chestnut Laker who can explain all of the rituals and traditions with ease or a first-timer who has already grabbed a hold of camp and is not planning on letting go anytime soon.
I know what most parents will do when they watch the video. You’ll look for your own child. Of course you will. I’d do exactly the same thing. I hope, though, that after you’ve searched for them, you’ll watch it a second time. The second viewing is different. You stop looking for your camper and start seeing camp. You notice children who have become more comfortable in their own skin than they were two weeks ago. You notice friendships that now seem effortless, forgetting that they began with two strangers trying to figure each other out on Opening Day. You notice counselors who have stopped performing the role and simply become themselves. You begin to see that what happens here each summer isn’t really a collection of activities. It’s a community taking shape.
The version our campers saw last night ended with a wonderful little surprise that won’t appear in the version our families will see. That’s exactly as it should be. Camp deserves to have a few moments that belong only to the people who were there when they happened. That little surprise, however, made me think about something I’ve been wondering for years.
Why do we keep pretending? After all, by now everyone is doing the math.
There are only so many days left in the session. Tribal isn’t going to begin after everyone has packed their trunks. It isn’t going to interrupt Closing Campfire. Every cabin has narrowed the possibilities to just a handful of mornings. Some campers have elaborate theories supported by evidence that would make a detective proud. Others are convinced they’ve overheard secret conversations or noticed suspicious deliveries. Every golf cart driving somewhere unusual is apparently carrying clues. Every cardboard box is part of the mystery. Every counselor becomes an unwilling suspect. It’s wonderful.
And it’s wonderfully unnecessary. Because nobody is actually trying to solve the mystery. I’ve come to believe that what everyone is really trying to preserve is the anticipation. As adults, we don’t leave much room for anticipation anymore. We track packages on our phones. We check flight statuses before leaving for the airport. We read reviews before seeing movies and spoilers before finishing books. We have become remarkably efficient at eliminating uncertainty from our lives. Children haven’t. Or perhaps camp simply gives them permission not to.
C.S. Lewis wrote that, “The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…” He was writing about something far deeper than summer camp, but I’ve always loved the idea that anticipation is not merely the time before joy. Sometimes anticipation is part of the joy itself. I think that’s what we’re protecting. Not the date. Not the surprise. The feeling.
Because once Tribal breaks, something extraordinary begins. Songs start to be written. Cheers echo across camp. Friendships are tested and strengthened. Campers discover reserves of spirit, creativity, resilience, and heart they didn’t know they possessed. It is one of the defining experiences of a Chestnut summer.
But something else quietly disappears. The wondering. There will never again be another lunch this summer where campers speculate about whether “today’s the day.” There won’t be whispered conversations after we join in the Alma Mater trying to decode clues that probably don’t exist. There won’t be another Division Leader trying unsuccessfully to answer a direct question with a straight face. That season of camp ends the moment Tribal begins. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never minded being part of the charade.
As a rule, I don’t like lying to children. Fortunately, that’s not really what’s happening here. We’re all participating in the same story. The campers know there is a secret. We know they know. They know we know they know. And everyone agrees, without ever saying it out loud, that the story is better if we don’t rush to the next chapter. Frederick Buechner once wrote that, “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.” I’ve always thought camp understood that long before I ever read those words. The beautiful things are sweeter when we have a chance to look forward to them.
So watch this week’s highlight video. Try to find your camper. Then watch it again and notice everything happening around them. It’s one of my favorite snapshots of this summer, and I’m grateful to our Communications Team for preserving it.
As for Tribal? Well…
I still have absolutely no idea when it’s going to happen. At least that’s what I’ll keep telling the campers for just a little while longer.