MrsSpringsteen
Blue Crack Addict
I'm posting the whole article because the link will expire
I can't believe those parents, resorting to all of that with cell phones and being so hyperattentive and hypervigilant. This cannot be healthy at all, for parents or for the kids. I can imagine all the problems it will cause for these kids later in life. Makes me glad I didn't grow up with a cell phone, or in this generation. Absolutely nothing wrong with feeling worried and protective of your kids, but I don't think these parents don't know where the healthy line is. Apparently it's happening in colleges too- with web sites, e-mail and all that, and helicopter parents.
By Douglas Belkin, Boston Globe Staff | August 3, 2006
AMHERST, N.H. -- The mother was from Sharon, Mass., and her crying was so hysterical that Ken Kornreich thought she might pass out. Tears, runny nose, heaving sobs. The works. Both arms were wrapped around a blue pillar when the fight went out of her body and she slowly, theatrically, slumped to the floor.
``She said she couldn't leave her baby," Kornreich said. ``She wouldn't abandon her. I looked at her husband and he just sort of shrugged."
The tragic setting for this wrenching good-bye? Hospital ward, adoption center, war zone? None of the above. It was a summer camp. Seven weeks of swimming, sing-alongs, and s'mores.
A melodramatic good-bye? Perhaps. Unusual? No longer.
Levels of separation anxiety between parents and their camp-bound children have reached epic heights this summer, according to camping experts around the country. The result: a new phenomenon of contraband cellphones, secret hand signals, and a budding industry of camp psychologists employed to help ease the transition -- for the parents.
``She finally left," Kornreich said of the tear-stained mother. ``But we had to talk to her for a while before she could pull herself off the floor."
Stories of helicopter parents -- so called because they hover ever so close to their children -- abound among baby boomers. Competitive, overbearing, and unwilling to let go, they have changed the flavor of kindergarten enrollment, Little League cheering sections, and college admissions. Now, 140 years after the first privileged boys trekked out of grimy Northeastern cities and into the woods for a season of fresh air and exercise, those parents are redefining the way summer camps are run, too.
At the center of all this tension: the cutting of the ``digital umbilical," a term coined by child psychologist Christopher Thurber in a paper for the American Camping Association last year.
Parents are used to communicating with their kids on their cellphones or through text messages or e-mail several times a day, Thurber said. But central to most summer camps is the idea of creating an enclosed community separate from the outside world. Translation: no phones, no text messaging, no instant anything.
``All of a sudden, the parents have to go cold turkey," Thurber said. ``It's digital detox."
At Camp Young Judaea, where Kornreich and his wife, Marcy, have been fixtures as campers, counselors, and now directors for 30 years, the only contact children have with their parents is through the written word -- one-way e-mails from parents to children, or old-fashioned handwritten letters.
``This is a place for kids to be kids, to not have to worry about their parents," said Ken Kornreich. ``If they're talking to Mom and Dad every day, that's not going to happen."
Once upon a time, that was mutually acceptable. Parents enjoyed some peace and quiet. Children got to spread their wings away from home in a safe place and build some self-reliance.
But five years ago, as cellphones became ubiquitous among kids, things started to change. And in the last couple of years, the phenomenon has gotten conspicuously worse, said Bette Bussel, executive director of the American Camp Association of New England. This is the first generation to be raised in the aftermath of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and the priest abuse scandal, Bussel said. Insecurity and distrust have pervaded even the safest environments.
What 20 years ago would have been considered overbearing for parents is now perceived as cautious and pragmatic.
Consider the case of Felicity Kolnik. The first summer she dropped off her son Jonathan, then 11, at Young Judaea, she called the counselor the next day to see how he was -- and then once a week for the rest of the summer.
``It was my anxiety, not his," said Kolnik, of Newton. ``I just couldn't stop worrying."
Jonathan's counselor would ask him how he was feeling and relay the answer to his mom. It was always the same: ``Tell her her son is extremely happy and she should stop calling," he would say.
It took three summers, but, finally, she stopped calling.
There have always been parents like Kolnik, experts say. Now there are just more of them.
``The latest twist I've seen are dummy cellphones," said Bob Ditter, a Boston-based child and family therapist who has traveled to about 500 summer camps since 1982 to coach counselors. In the last year or two, in camps that ban cellphones, parents have started to pack not one but two in their children's trunks. One is strategically placed where the counselor will find it. The strategy: Counselor s will stop looking for the real phone when they've confiscated the dummy.
``It speaks to the desperation of the parents," Ditter said.
The flip side is that children are not developing their own coping skills, said Ethan Schafer, a child psychologist who helps train camp counselors across the Midwest.
``We have these summer camps that have been around for 100 years and all of a sudden you have these parents that think their 11-year-old can't be away from home for three weeks," Schafer said. ``I tell the counselors they are on the front lines, stopping the wuss-ification of America's youth."
The ingenuity of desperate parents has become the stuff of legend in camp circles. Parents pack cellphones into Tampax boxes, soccer balls, and packages of underwear. They decapitate stuffed animals, pull out the stuffing and cram contraband candy inside before sewing the head back on.
``It alleviates the guilt a lot of parents feel," Bussel said.
Under pressure to bridge the digital divide, a lot of camps started posting photos on their websites a few years ago. But even this has created its own set of problems. To take advantage of that loophole, parents have instructed their kids to flash secret hand signals for the cameras to let them know if everything is OK -- or if they need rescuing, said Thurber.
If a picture of a camper is posted and he or she is frowning, or standing off alone, or wearing the same shirt for a couple of days in a row, it's likely to elicit a call from a concerned parent, Bussel said.
The half-dozen senior counselors at Young Judaea typically spend a combined five or six hours a day on the phone, reassuring parents that their child is fine.
The impact goes both ways, said Marcy Kornreich. A few years ago she started noticing that at the beginning of the summer, when the youngest campers had free time to play, they didn't know what to do.
``Some of them have never had an unstructured hour to themselves," she said. ``The other kids had to show them how to play."
The definition of play, however, has narrowed. Pranks, for instance, are largely a thing of the past. Everything that could be considered a practical joke has to be approved by Ken Kornreich. Putting a kid's hands in water while he sleeps (to induce him to wet his bed) -- gone. Punishment by standing under a light at night to get eaten by mosquitoes? Forget it. Panty raids? Out of the question.
Counselors can't even apply sunscreen to campers or hug them for fear of crossing a line, he said.
But not everything has changed. The best part of summer camp from the kids' perspective has largely remained the same -- escape from parental demands.
``It's great just not having anybody telling you what to do for a month," said Jonathan Kolnik, Felicity's son. ``It's kind of a relief."
I can't believe those parents, resorting to all of that with cell phones and being so hyperattentive and hypervigilant. This cannot be healthy at all, for parents or for the kids. I can imagine all the problems it will cause for these kids later in life. Makes me glad I didn't grow up with a cell phone, or in this generation. Absolutely nothing wrong with feeling worried and protective of your kids, but I don't think these parents don't know where the healthy line is. Apparently it's happening in colleges too- with web sites, e-mail and all that, and helicopter parents.
By Douglas Belkin, Boston Globe Staff | August 3, 2006
AMHERST, N.H. -- The mother was from Sharon, Mass., and her crying was so hysterical that Ken Kornreich thought she might pass out. Tears, runny nose, heaving sobs. The works. Both arms were wrapped around a blue pillar when the fight went out of her body and she slowly, theatrically, slumped to the floor.
``She said she couldn't leave her baby," Kornreich said. ``She wouldn't abandon her. I looked at her husband and he just sort of shrugged."
The tragic setting for this wrenching good-bye? Hospital ward, adoption center, war zone? None of the above. It was a summer camp. Seven weeks of swimming, sing-alongs, and s'mores.
A melodramatic good-bye? Perhaps. Unusual? No longer.
Levels of separation anxiety between parents and their camp-bound children have reached epic heights this summer, according to camping experts around the country. The result: a new phenomenon of contraband cellphones, secret hand signals, and a budding industry of camp psychologists employed to help ease the transition -- for the parents.
``She finally left," Kornreich said of the tear-stained mother. ``But we had to talk to her for a while before she could pull herself off the floor."
Stories of helicopter parents -- so called because they hover ever so close to their children -- abound among baby boomers. Competitive, overbearing, and unwilling to let go, they have changed the flavor of kindergarten enrollment, Little League cheering sections, and college admissions. Now, 140 years after the first privileged boys trekked out of grimy Northeastern cities and into the woods for a season of fresh air and exercise, those parents are redefining the way summer camps are run, too.
At the center of all this tension: the cutting of the ``digital umbilical," a term coined by child psychologist Christopher Thurber in a paper for the American Camping Association last year.
Parents are used to communicating with their kids on their cellphones or through text messages or e-mail several times a day, Thurber said. But central to most summer camps is the idea of creating an enclosed community separate from the outside world. Translation: no phones, no text messaging, no instant anything.
``All of a sudden, the parents have to go cold turkey," Thurber said. ``It's digital detox."
At Camp Young Judaea, where Kornreich and his wife, Marcy, have been fixtures as campers, counselors, and now directors for 30 years, the only contact children have with their parents is through the written word -- one-way e-mails from parents to children, or old-fashioned handwritten letters.
``This is a place for kids to be kids, to not have to worry about their parents," said Ken Kornreich. ``If they're talking to Mom and Dad every day, that's not going to happen."
Once upon a time, that was mutually acceptable. Parents enjoyed some peace and quiet. Children got to spread their wings away from home in a safe place and build some self-reliance.
But five years ago, as cellphones became ubiquitous among kids, things started to change. And in the last couple of years, the phenomenon has gotten conspicuously worse, said Bette Bussel, executive director of the American Camp Association of New England. This is the first generation to be raised in the aftermath of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and the priest abuse scandal, Bussel said. Insecurity and distrust have pervaded even the safest environments.
What 20 years ago would have been considered overbearing for parents is now perceived as cautious and pragmatic.
Consider the case of Felicity Kolnik. The first summer she dropped off her son Jonathan, then 11, at Young Judaea, she called the counselor the next day to see how he was -- and then once a week for the rest of the summer.
``It was my anxiety, not his," said Kolnik, of Newton. ``I just couldn't stop worrying."
Jonathan's counselor would ask him how he was feeling and relay the answer to his mom. It was always the same: ``Tell her her son is extremely happy and she should stop calling," he would say.
It took three summers, but, finally, she stopped calling.
There have always been parents like Kolnik, experts say. Now there are just more of them.
``The latest twist I've seen are dummy cellphones," said Bob Ditter, a Boston-based child and family therapist who has traveled to about 500 summer camps since 1982 to coach counselors. In the last year or two, in camps that ban cellphones, parents have started to pack not one but two in their children's trunks. One is strategically placed where the counselor will find it. The strategy: Counselor s will stop looking for the real phone when they've confiscated the dummy.
``It speaks to the desperation of the parents," Ditter said.
The flip side is that children are not developing their own coping skills, said Ethan Schafer, a child psychologist who helps train camp counselors across the Midwest.
``We have these summer camps that have been around for 100 years and all of a sudden you have these parents that think their 11-year-old can't be away from home for three weeks," Schafer said. ``I tell the counselors they are on the front lines, stopping the wuss-ification of America's youth."
The ingenuity of desperate parents has become the stuff of legend in camp circles. Parents pack cellphones into Tampax boxes, soccer balls, and packages of underwear. They decapitate stuffed animals, pull out the stuffing and cram contraband candy inside before sewing the head back on.
``It alleviates the guilt a lot of parents feel," Bussel said.
Under pressure to bridge the digital divide, a lot of camps started posting photos on their websites a few years ago. But even this has created its own set of problems. To take advantage of that loophole, parents have instructed their kids to flash secret hand signals for the cameras to let them know if everything is OK -- or if they need rescuing, said Thurber.
If a picture of a camper is posted and he or she is frowning, or standing off alone, or wearing the same shirt for a couple of days in a row, it's likely to elicit a call from a concerned parent, Bussel said.
The half-dozen senior counselors at Young Judaea typically spend a combined five or six hours a day on the phone, reassuring parents that their child is fine.
The impact goes both ways, said Marcy Kornreich. A few years ago she started noticing that at the beginning of the summer, when the youngest campers had free time to play, they didn't know what to do.
``Some of them have never had an unstructured hour to themselves," she said. ``The other kids had to show them how to play."
The definition of play, however, has narrowed. Pranks, for instance, are largely a thing of the past. Everything that could be considered a practical joke has to be approved by Ken Kornreich. Putting a kid's hands in water while he sleeps (to induce him to wet his bed) -- gone. Punishment by standing under a light at night to get eaten by mosquitoes? Forget it. Panty raids? Out of the question.
Counselors can't even apply sunscreen to campers or hug them for fear of crossing a line, he said.
But not everything has changed. The best part of summer camp from the kids' perspective has largely remained the same -- escape from parental demands.
``It's great just not having anybody telling you what to do for a month," said Jonathan Kolnik, Felicity's son. ``It's kind of a relief."