Gregory Keer '89, M.F.A '92

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In the first week of kindergarten, my son Benjamin decorated a giant folder for his weekly schoolwork. When he brought it home, we deciphered a stick figure on a mountaintop, wearing what looked like a deployed parachute. Was it a scene from a Spy Kids flick or a G.I. Joe I-Can-Read book?

“It’s a picture of Mommy jumping off the cliff at family camp,” Benjamin proudly explained.

My wife Wendy Ph.D. ’99 and I burst out laughing. Yes, we explained that when Mommy went paragliding (hang-gliding with a parachute), she was clipped to an instructor with lots of safety equipment. And, yes, we can’t wait to return to family camp.

Two years ago, we attended our first session at Bruin Woods, held each summer at UCLA’s Lake Arrowhead Conference Center. Going in, I was skeptical. I am not a camper. Even the word “rustic” makes my eyes itch and fills my dreams with thoughts of marauding bears.

But I was pleasantly surprised. The accommodations were civilized mini-condos (though without air conditioning, phones or TVs) and the meals were sophisticated. I also found the grounds breathtaking, the largely college student staff amazing and the activities diverse enough to rival a luxury cruise.

Best of all was the socializing. Benjamin spent much of his day with his Teddy Bear group, creating art, swimming and hiking with counselors who seemed like in-person versions of the hosts on Disney’s Out of the Box. Wendy and I had our challenges with Jacob (then 1-year old) – who was either napping or crawling toward danger – but enjoyed meals and sports with other grown-ups, also happy to leave busy schedules at home.

The only element missing was something most of the other people enjoyed – familiarity. The beauty of this idyllic camp is that families return year after year to have fun and grow together, creating family memories in familiar surroundings.

So, in the year of “Mommy’s Great Role-Model Stunt,” we returned to build a tradition. This time, we were joined by my childhood buddy Eric Sussman ’87, his wife Nancy ’87, J.D. ’90 and their three kids, who loved the extra time with my sons.

Benjamin had the grandest experience of our bunch, loving every minute of his days in the Cubs group. He soaked up the sun and information ranging from Native American culture to tie-dyed shirts. Often, he was the loudest singer, leading his friends in spontaneous camp medleys at the pool, the veins popping from his neck as he shouted, “We are the Cubbies, the mighty, mighty Cubbies!” He learned a few questionable tricks, too, such as shooting slingshots at lizards and filching cubes from the ice machine to dump down people’s shirts.

Then there is the subject of independence. Because the camp is secluded and full of families, the place feels as safe as a 1950s country farm. So, many of the kids scoot about the grounds with minimal supervision, though all the staff and families look out for the kids’ safety.

Encouraged by his 6-year-old friends, Benjamin (then 5), decided to walk himself to his group about midway through the week. At meal times, he started grabbing his own food from the buffet and sitting with his friends’ families.

While we had often wished for moments of reprieve from parental responsibility, we were short of breath at the thought that our little boy didn’t need us as escorts, let alone companions. We wanted our baby back, though we were proud that his confidence was rising.

For his part, Jacob became the camp charmer. He’d run around this expansive lawn, where all the kids played, asking, “What’s your name?”

Everywhere Jacob went, his grinning, dirt smudged face became famous. So, when he’d run off, and we’d panic, “Where’d he go now?” we had a team of friendly detectives that never failed us.

Wendy and I had a few opportunities for grown-up adventures, like flying on a zip line, playing inner-tube water polo and jumping off that cliff. Still, the moments of true joy were the ones we all spent together. We sat on blankets under a starry sky, watching a movie on the lawn. We snuggled with the kids for a boat ride around the lake. And we competed in egg tossing and watermelon eating contests at the week’s finale.

We will return to Bruin Woods again this summer. Maybe we’ll do this for the next 20 years, like some of the families we’ve met there. I think much of the draw for the adults is the chance finally to be that proverbial fly on the wall.

Occasionally, I wish I could spy on my kids at their classrooms or playdates, to see them unfettered by my influence. At Bruin Woods, I get to see my kids at all hours of the day –with no deadlines to distract me, or homework for them to do – to witness how they socialize, laugh, run and sing.

While I still find it bittersweet to watch my sons get more independent (though my newborn, Ari, has a ways to go), I’m thankful for the gift that one week a year gives to me: watching them grow. One day, my sons will be old enough to decide about jumping from cliffs. With the benefit of years watching them mature, I think I’ll be ready to trust they can fly on their own.

Gregory Keer is a writer, teacher and father of three boys. He can be reached by email or online.