(Jean Chamberlain Froese Photo)
Young leaders from Ontario Pioneer Camp gather for this 2022 photo. Jonathan Froese, then 17, is seated in front, second from left. Hannah Froese, then 16, is seated in front, fourth from left.
(The Hamilton Spectator – Saturday, August 10, 2024)
One day early this summer my teenage son asked to host a party. Friends from camp lived far away, so they’d stay overnight, he explained.
How many for the party? “Not many,” he told me. “About 30.”
“Uhuh,” I said. “And the overnight?
“Not many,” my dear boy repeated. “About 15.”
He talked to neighbours. Gave reassurances. I nodded. I wanted to be a good sport, you know? I imagined our house stretching. Exploding. Burning down. At minimum I knew something would break. (It did. My boy, apologetic, covered its repair.) I also knew I’d scream all night at someone. (Namely my boy.) So my bride and I left. Stayed the night elsewhere, nearby.
I’ve broken things too. Who hasn’t? Once, at summer camp, I dropped a strikingly-beautiful piece of Blue Mountain pottery, a fine jumping dolphin, onto a cement floor. It broke into a million pieces. My tears also fell hard.
It was a family gift I’d bought offsite, some distance away, now broken forever. The lake and forest and stars couldn’t help put it back together. But at week’s end, a giant young man named Tiny Tim, my camp counsellor, hugged me and gave me a new jumping dolphin, an exact replacement, new and intact, that he’d found and bought for me.
Yes, there’s something about friendship and camp, even when things go sideways. Things you might remember for life.
This weekend the Paris Olympics, another sort of camp, finish. But before going there let me say that if you ever get the chance to send your kid to summer camp – an overnight camp preferably in the middle of nowhere – do it. If you can help another kid go, do this too.
It’s a place where young people figure things out. Together. For better or worse. By pulling their weight. Rising early. Adjusting to the day. The weather. By sharing at campfire. Creating fun. By supporting each other. Loving each other, really. Challenging themselves on that lake, in those woods, under those stars, respecting creation. Without phones. Older kids leading (did I mention loving?) younger ones, everyone stretched to see surprising things about themselves.
This summer my kids, now university-aged, are camp leaders again. It’s helped them mature greatly, pointing them to that responsible, adventuresome life. They can thank their mother and her strong endorsement. At camp I just break things. Which isn’t a bad way to think about the natural order of things before the world’s tiny giants – that’s you and me on a good day – help repair what we can.
But about the Paris Olympics. They had their distractions. Will we ever forget Canada’s women’s soccer drone-cheating scandal? And what of the opening ceremonies including the drag queen parody with the striking resemblance to Da Vinci’s well-known “The Last Supper” painting, and the predictable backlash?
Talk about not reading the room. Yes, western nations like France are largely secular. Still, thoughtful faith and spirituality are deeply important to many people around the planet. This is the beauty of the Olympics. It’s for the entire world in all its colours and shades. Which includes about 2.4 billion Christians, the world’s largest faith.
“We’re French. We have our culture and freedom!” rationalised one ceremony organizer. Gosh. I couldn’t help but think of some half-baked teen still figuring out life, and the comical title of a parenting book called, “Get out of my life, but first can you drive me and Cheryl to the mall?”
Yes, we all have our God-given freedom. But as my own father asked me once, “Is it really that hard to grow up?” Maybe we won’t all be coached to run the good race and fight the good fight. But surely we can respect each other with a measure of good sense. That’s proper pluralism.
Because it’s common for people, for any one of us, to be broken in this world. Even as any one of us can be healed and restored.