I felt a cold stone settle in my stomach as the director continued to describe a child who seemed to believe she was a guest who had to earn her keep. Mia had not been acting like a camper; she had been acting like an employee. She was constantly checking in with counselors, asking if she was being too loud or if she needed to help clear the tables. It was a performance of perfection that had left no room for the messy, joyful, and demanding nature of being thirteen.
The director’s final comment, that she didn’t want kids like Mia coming to the camp for that kind of money, finally clicked into place. It was not a rejection of my daughter, but a critique of the environment that had forced her to grow up too fast. Mia had witnessed my late nights and my exhaustion while I worked to save for her tuition. She had heard me sigh over bills and seen me skip meals to ensure the deposit was paid on time.
