Sent From My iPhone

This past weekend I had a long conversation with an exceedingly wise couple about the “old days” of camping. They have put several children and numerous grandchildren through camp over the years, so they clearly “get it.” The discussion centered around how easy everything must have been for camp directors way back when: no cell phones, no video games, no iPods, etc. Sometimes I wonder if the camp directors of yesteryear truly had it easier without that stuff, or if I was just happily oblivious to the relative issues of the time during my camperhood. I think the truth and answer to that question can be found somewhere in the middle – between handwritten words and Angry Birds. Either way, I have some of my own thoughts on this subject. Shocker… I know.

I have never found myself in the midst of an ongoing cell phone debate like the one I am managing this summer. At Chippewa we don’t allow our campers access to phones for a couple reasons. Their prohibition was initially – and directly – related to our strong desire to hone that vital sense of independence in our campers. That reasoning is still sound, but now I find myself tangled in a new and perhaps stickier societal mess. One that has driven me to expand my logic, and to create a new sense of purpose and intention as relates to technology. That new mess can be summarized in one word: addiction. Children are becoming “addicts” at as young as ten. They are addicted to their phones, and I am beginning to believe that the cell phone has become a gateway to antisocial behavior. How ironic…

These little devices are just too good and too enticing. I think that even the most well intentioned child is at risk for this addiction; one that will have her reaching for a smartphone before just about any object of importance and meaning. I had a long discussion with a group of campers the other night about phones, social media, school, and life in general (accurately ranked in order of importance). They flat-out told me that they saw their phones as being an unhealthy crutch, but that the desire was just way too intense. They become distracted by their phones, they worry when they don’t have them in hand, and they are always seeking out that next snap chat buzz, or the quick rush that follows a “like” notification in response to their most recent Instagram post. These are addict behaviors. A recent CNN report offered up that the average teen sends between 50 and 100 texts per day, and some as many as 300! 70% of these teens admit to hiding their online behavior from their parents. I got my first cell phone as a freshman in college and I am clearly addicted to mine. What becomes of the child that gets her first phone at 13? Younger?

I know that this subject has become super cliche, but there really is so little human-to-human contact left in the world. I do have a camper whose mother plays the devil’s advocate on this issue. She feels perhaps that this is the NEW way to communicate, and a child removed from it will actually have a social and professional disadvantage. She believes it should be embraced and not erased (even at camp). Though an interesting perspective, it is critically flawed in my view. Firstly, the use of technology can really be learned in a few sittings (especially by this generation). They pick up on this stuff at an astonishing pace. Full development of human connection and problem solving skills, however, will take years – decades even, and there is no user guide. Secondly, we can’t avoid face-to-face exchange forever. There comes a point in every child’s life when she will have no choice but to engage with another humanoid over a substantive issue, and when that happens she needs to be ready to face the music as a solo act. As hard as we sometimes try as parents, we can’t always be there to “snowplow” the roads of life for our children. This is a healthy limitation though, because it forces the development of resilience and grit. Strange as it sounds, the beauty of the camp package is that in addition to all of the life changing happy moments, it comes filled with small, yet manageable disappointments. Such a great place to challenge children to work through their own problems, and to grow that healthy shell of armor necessary to prevent complete collapse every time something doesn’t pan out as expected. This shell ultimately replaces that of a parent’s metaphorical protective embrace, and it can’t be bought. It can, however, be gifted by making way for the child to self manage her disappointments from time to time. These skills are born out of experience (sometimes difficult ones). The bottom line is that I don’t want my campers texting for the answers and solutions to all of their “problems” during the summer. I want them growing that shell of resilience.

When I was a camper we obsessed over things like card games, homemade ant traps and flashlight wars. Obsessions that were organically born from healthy kid like places. Obsessions that taught us to communicate, problem solve and experience life in the moment. We were mostly free from the parts of life and school that left us feeling weighed down during the non camp months. All we cared about was this intangible, yet totally accessible camp “thing” that could not be easily defined or categorized. How do we bring back those healthy obsessions if we don’t remove the tool facilitating the unhealthy ones (at least at camp)? Whether they be for achieving a Candy Crush score or a school crush score, cellphones are sucking the innocence right out of today’s youth. They are clearly missing out on an intangible and uninterrupted life experience.

Whether we agree with children having phones or not, camp is the Alamo for peer interaction and the development of problem solving. Camp might actually, really, truly be the final frontier for this growth. We need to break our children of their addiction by showing them (or reminding them) that life in person is so much more rich and rewarding. That face-to-face human embrace can never be replaced. That you can’t build a decent ant trap with a phone in one hand…

All best,
Cliff