I had daydreams of a vibrant social life with other twenty-somethings parents; we would drink tea while our children napped in their trendy strollers. After almost four years, I can safely say: um, not the case.
It would be easy to mistake these kids as a bunch of adorable young girls––running, playing and having fun like kids everywhere do at camp. But for many of them, Camp You Are You is one of the few places they feel comfortable enough to experiment and express unconventional gender presentations.
When did we stop seeing the future president, or the next great American novelist, or the person that will cure cancer when we looked at a classroom? And instead saw the next suicide, the next drug deal, the next Sandy Hook?