About 30 years ago, my wife arranged for our then ten-year old son to attend a sleep-away YMCA summer camp in Tallulah Falls, in the Georgia Mountains. While Ross wound up going back to the same camp for several years, eventually serving as a counselor, I knew the first year would involve more than a little concern for his mother (and me) for how he was doing. Since the only communication would be by postal mail (no cellphones or texting back then) and I knew my son was not likely to write…
