JP Heads to Camp

In a little while, J.P. and I leave for Charlottesville, Virginia, where we'll spend the night before I drive him the rest of the way to Woodberry Forrest Sports Camp.  There, he'll spend the next three weeks, on his own, with 70 other boys playing and competing in a variety of sports.

I think it's the opportunity of a lifetime for J.P. and I'm proud of him for seizing it.  This morning, over coffee at 8th & Roast, I do find myself shaking my head, though, and wondering how we got here, from out many sojourns in the Baby Jogger City Elite stroller to J.P. leaving for camp for three weeks.

Last winter, at a Belmont U. basketball game, my fiend, Giles, texted me a link to the camp.  I showed it to J.P., who was with me at the game, and spent a minute or two looking at it.  J.P. has never been to a real sleep away camp, so I thought that was all there was to it.  

Later in the week, he looked up Woodberry Forrest on his iPad and showed the camp information to Jude. He mentioned to her a couple of times, actually, that he wanted to go.  I was surprised, but proud, when she told me what he'd said and, well, here we are, a few month later.  I'm having coffee on a summer Saturday morning and within the hour, J.P. and I will be off on our road trip.

To camp.

Perhaps because I never went away to camp, I've always had this romanticized notion of what sleep away camp is like.  Reading The Interestings, by Meg Wohlford, several years ago - a wonderful book - reenforced my ideas about sleep away camp.  Although Jude handn't been too wild about the idea of J.P. going away to camp in years past, she was on board this year, possibly because Giles' son, Cecil - one of J.P.'s buddies from USN - will be there.  

What do I want J.P. to get out of camp?  So much.  Maybe too much.  I don't know.

I want him to make lifelong friends from across the United States.  

I want him to gain the self-confidence and independence that can only come from being on his own.  No cellular telephone.  No iPad.  No way to contact us.  

I want him to establish his own identity with in a group of 70 boys.  I want him to lead.

I want him to compete.

I want him to have the fun, to have the time of his life.  

I want him to want to go back next year.

When I talked to Giles this week, he told me that Cecil was nervous, scared even, about going to camp for three weeks.  J.P. has told me he's fine with it.  Is he telling me the truth?  Maybe.  Probably.  Either way, here we are.

My boy, my oldest boy, whom I strolled through our. neighborhood with on so many occasions.  The one I call my protege, as we sit up at night watching NBA games on televisions.  He's going to camp.

And I couldn't be prouder of him.