I usually let the work speak for itself, but here’s a story for you:

At 16, one of my first jobs was as a counselor at a day camp. Every Monday, the kids would choose their counselor for the week. I often ended up with the boys labeled as troublemakers—the ones other counselors were quick to pass on to me.

Being in my group was no walk in the park. At 6’4” with an athletic build, I was like a human scarecrow, and the kids knew it. Among the counselors, I had a reputation for running a tight ship—less ‘fun uncle,’ more ‘coach you don’t mess with.’ I wasn’t afraid to raise my voice and demand respect, so when Monday rolled around, the kids knew one thing: if they ended up with me, they’d better buckle up, because this was not the group for slacking off. Over the five days, I’d channel their energy into sports and activities, so much so that parents would ask, ‘How did you get my son to sleep at 7 PM?‘

Fridays were award days, but my group never won. Each week, treats and trophies were handed out to groups who excelled in good behavior, teamwork, or accomplishments in extracurricular activities. Still, we kept showing up, believing that one day, our turn would come. As other groups celebrated, my kids would watch from the sidelines, their excitement turning into quiet disappointment. The other counselors would give me knowing looks as if to say, ‘What do you expect with that group?’ And I could see the weight of those judgments settling on my kids.

Then came Olympics week—a special theme filled with challenges that played to our strengths: speed, coordination, and a little grit. Each day brought new events—relay races, obstacle courses, tug-of-war. I watched as my team, the so-called troublemakers, channeled their energy into focus and determination. They weren’t just competing; they were thriving.

By midweek, word spread: Fred’s group was on a winning streak. The kids couldn’t contain their excitement. For once, they were leading the pack, and the camp was rooting for them. Friday arrived—the final showdown. They poured everything into that last challenge, pushing themselves further than they thought possible. When the dust settled, my group stood victorious, crowned champions. They walked away with trophies, candies, and something far more valuable—a feeling of pride and belonging they’d never known before.

The lesson? When you give someone overlooked a chance to belong and shine, they can surprise everyone—including themselves. As a director, I bring this belief into every project. I champion the underdogs, foster collaboration, and create space for everyone to succeed.

• Fred

  //Camp Crounch - Summer 2009