During my second week as a counselor for three-year-olds, I discovered one important truth: the shade of pink on a sneaker can determine the fate of an entire day. One girl collapsed into a tantrum over her shoes not being the right color, and I quickly realized that even small details could spark big emotions. I thought I was prepared for chaos when I signed up to be a counselor, but this summer proved that no amount of training or babysitting could fully prepare me.
This was my first summer not at sleepaway camp in eight years. For most of my childhood, summer meant campfires, color war and late-night tennis with friends. Camp was about me. I was taken care of, fed and entertained. This year, the shift was stark. I was no longer the camper, but the one in charge, suddenly responsible for a group of three-year-olds who could be sweet, stubborn or unpredictable and sometimes all at once.
The daily rhythm of camp brought both challenges and small victories. Every afternoon, the promise of ice pops before swimming became a bargaining chip to get kids to finish their lunches. It was less a threat than a deal, but the stakes could not have been higher in their eyes. Music was another constant. Two songs ruled the summer: “Apt” by Bruno Mars and Rosé and “From Paris to Berlin” by Infernal. The kids sang and danced to them endlessly, each time with more energy than the last.
Some days, meltdowns tested everything I had learned. When one camper erupted in tears over sharing a toy, I separated him from the group and encouraged the others to continue. The children who hated being left out responded quickly, and slowly the chaos subsided. Over time, I began to recognize each child’s personality and what they needed to calm down. Leadership became less about control and more about setting the tone, quietly guiding and showing what behavior was acceptable. The lessons I learned in these moments about patience, empathy and flexibility extended far beyond the campgrounds.
The kids were never quite who their parents described them as. Camp revealed their truest selves: the quirks, tantrums and joy that only existed in this world. Watching them, I remembered my own summers at sleepaway camp and how it had been my space to be fully myself. One camper, for example, was terrified of our camp mascot, “the Fuzzy,” a giant, fluffy monster who appeared at events. At the start of the summer, she would cry and cling to a counselor whenever it showed up. By August, she was the one pointing it out across the field, laughing as she shouted its name. It was the kind of transformation that only becomes visible in the rhythms of camp life, when days stack up and small changes become something bigger.
Amid the chaos were moments of unexpected warmth. Spontaneous hugs from my campers or energetic announcements that they had missed me over the weekend broke through the hectic pace. A small victory, like finishing lunch without complaint or sharing a toy, felt monumental. These were the moments that made the long, hot days feel meaningful, reminders that growth often comes in quiet, incremental steps.
Camp also taught me about relationships and the value of community. Watching my campers navigate friendships, resolve disputes and celebrate each other’s accomplishments gave me insight into my own friendships. I found myself reflecting on how I value connection, patience and support in my life outside camp. By the end of summer, the camp had become mine too. I was part of a living, breathing community shaped as much by me as I had been shaped by it.
By the end of the summer, I realized how much I had changed. Camp was no longer just a space for fun or chaos. It was a classroom for leadership, empathy and perspective. I learned that growth is rarely dramatic. It comes in negotiating with fifteen three-year-olds, playing “The Lion King” soundtrack on repeat and finding meaning in small, fleeting moments of connection.
Looking back, this summer was a master class in patience, humor and responsibility. It reminded me that leadership is about guiding, not controlling. Joy can be found in repetition, and sometimes the smallest details, like a sneaker’s shade or a mascot’s shadow, reveal the deepest lessons about people, community and yourself.
