I will tell anyone who will listen about the tragedy of my youth: never having gone to Camp Haiastan — not as a camper, not as a CIT and not as a counselor either.
It’s a part of my childhood that stands out to me, and while I made up for it with my involvement in the AYF (“ANOTHER meeting?!,” I can remember hearing my parents say), I knew someday I’d find my own way to be part of Camp Haiastan. It turns out, I just had to take the long way around.
Fast-forward a lot of years, and I have camp-age children of my own.
This year was the first when both would attend a two-week session, and although we already had some camp years already behind us with my older daughter, and I’m on the Camp Haiastan Board of Directors, it’s never comfortable to be separated from your child for the first time — or really any time.
When we picked up the kids at the end of the session, they were tanned, happy and sleep-deprived (no thanks on that last one, by the way — we pay the price for a full week!).
During the drive home, both nearly simultaneously asked if we were going to Olympics. Their tone of voice made it seem like they were expecting a “no,” but they obviously only know me as “Mom,” not the former AYFer who planned out Olympics as soon as hotels were announced (Don’t look me up on the new AYF Olympics Database; I was an athlete in spirit. We all have our own roles to play).
So when I told them, yes, we’re going to Olympics, it was nothing but cheers and joy.
I didn’t realize it then, but they had already started to build the mental list of people they would see at Olympics. Not friends, but counselors.
We planned to arrive on Saturday, and days in advance, my son repeatedly confirmed we would make it in time for softball.
He had to see Unger Mark (PHI) play.
My kid packed his glove and ball and brought them with him to Olympics.
We made it in time to watch Philly play, and when my son went over to say hi to Unger Mark, he got the greeting he had been looking forward to.
Unger Mark did not disappoint.
Over the course of the weekend, this kind of interaction kept happening.
We were on the lookout for counselors. It was the highlight of our weekend.
Unger Richie, Unger Mark, Ungerouhi Sophia (and your sister, Ungerouhi Maral, even though we didn’t see her at Olympics), Ungerouhi Lila, Ungerouhi Sena, Ungerouhi Alina, Ungerouhi Marissa, Unger Israel, Unger Benson Boone (we know your real name, too, Unger Sebouh!) and so many more.
At every reunion, my kids lit up. Like they were seeing celebrities.
Counselors gave them hugs, asked about their summer and made jokes — they knew each other.
A connection.
I can’t explain what this means to me as a parent. It fills my heart in a way that’s hard to put into words, except to say it makes me smile and feel hopeful.
Ungerouhi Ani, who stopped her conversation to hug my daughter and spend a few minutes catching up. Unger Nishan, who left his group of friends to come over and talk to my son through the chain-link fence that separated them at track and field. Ungerouhi Mel, who walked my daughter to the elevator close to midnight at the Sunday night dance and had “one last goodbye” before we left the next morning.
AYF Camp Haiastan counselors, I don’t think you understand the impact you are making on the lives of these kids.
A two-week session can feel long. I imagine it’s not always easy. It’s probably not always fun. But I hope you know how much it’s appreciated. How much it means that you make my kids feel important, cared for and special.
These are arguably the best summers of their lives. And you are a part of them.
I hope that means as much to you as it does to them and to me, too.
So I hope to see you at Camp Haiastan’s 75th Anniversary Gala on Oct. 10.
I hope you bring your parents, your siblings and your friends and show them what you’re building.
AYF Camp Haiastan counselors, I don’t think you understand the impact you are making on the lives of these kids.
A place that lives on in campers long after departure Saturday has passed. Long after the memories have been made. Long after you age out and can no longer be at camp in the same way.
This camp will exist because you’ve made it what it is for future generations.
And maybe someday they will take your place, and you’ll be writing a note just like this about your kids, the campers, and my kids, the counselors.
This camp will exist because you’ve made it what it is for future generations.
