Around the first of June for the past four years, I’ve noticed subtle personality differences in Cameron.  He’s more anxious, excitable, repeats questions already answered, and fidgets more often than normal.  He nests more than usual and seems to want to spend more time with his mom and Duncan.  Fiercely appreciative of each day before him, he looks more to the future at this time of the year.  But it’s rarely more than ahead by two weeks.  That’s because he is on cue, in the moment, present and accounted for, and right where he needs to be when we depart for Bonnaroo—our annual father-son pilgrimage to Manchester, Tennessee—each June. 

Bonnaroo becomes his home in more ways than one over those four days just a week or so before the Summer Solstice.  He’s always a little unsettled until we’ve unloaded the car, pitched the tents, created our campsite, and met our neighbors who’ve made their own treks to Tennessee for this seminal event.  It is not until he sits down to discuss the musical artists that he intends to see on our first day there that I see him settling into the groove that he chooses during most of the rest of the year.  Bonnaroo heightens his senses, and he changes as a result of that each June.

I apologize to those reading about Bonnaroo for the 1st time.  Perhaps one of the largest music and arts festivals in the country, Bonnaroo has attracted over ½ million people to Tennessee over its six-year existence.  Local, regional, national, and international musicians converge onto this 500-acre grass farm annually to entertain, cajole, excite, and challenge over 80,000 fans that are inspired by this the art of music.  Equally important are the comedic artists, filmmakers, and others who make up the flesh to the bones and muscle that the musicians provide to the festival.  Mix in the social consciousness of numerous eco-friendly vendors who are part of Bonnaroo, and you create the 4th highest populated city in Tennessee over the 4-day period that the festival comes to Manchester.  Gathering all of these people in one place produces the kind of energy that moves people to action and makes them realize the impact that one person makes upon any given event in their lives.  I see that energy in Cameron each June and am responding to his impact on me by sharing this piece.

I would also be remiss if I didn’t discuss our trip to Bonnaroo this year. Having stayed in a hotel less than 50 miles away last year, we had a reference for the time it takes to drive so we stop about 80 miles away this year to stay with the Haworths, an unschooling family living in Flintstone, GA.  Driving up to their home on top of a ridge, I have the sense that we’re about to experience something special.  Coupling the beauty of the environment, the natural light entering the home, and the stunning view from the home’s deck, I understand why John and Mindy have chosen this particular place to live in peace with their four wonderful children.  They welcome us with open arms, offering food, conversation, table tennis, and the joy of their home.  I can’t think of a better place to wake up before driving forward to Bonnaroo.  Maybe it has something to do with the wheat pancakes with organic maple syrup that Mindy made that morning to get us started. It probably has more to do with the peace we find in their home before joining in the controlled, creative chaos that we find at Bonnaroo.

Well before we arrive at John and Mindy’s sanctuary, Cameron’s evolvement since his first Bonnaroo is taking place.  He coordinates times of Carly and Michael’s arrivals, has his car serviced, packs the car on his own with everyone’s stuff and our camping gear, “mapquest” directions to the Haworth’s from our home and from the Haworth’s to Bonnaroo, creates a shopping list for when we arrive in Manchester, schedules a time to meet his contact with Street Team (the organization he works with to publicize upcoming festivals while at Bonnaroo), works some extra odd jobs to make some money, and numerous other things that I normally would have taken care of in years’ past.  The only two things I do before Bonnaroo this year are buy the tickets and make a decision for what time Cameron and crew will pick me up from my ½-day of work on the Thursday that we leave.

Cameron’s metamorphosis into a full-fledged host this year does not stop when we leave our driveway.  He insists on driving even when it means on I-75 through the heart of Atlanta at 5:00pm on that Thursday.  He ensures everyone is comfortable in his car even when traffic is moving slowly along and we’re all trying to make time to get to the Haworth’s.  He’s attentive to everyone’s varying need for food and pee breaks.  He monitors his speed and gas consumption, asking me for a quick “miles per gallon” analysis on our first tank of gas.  When we arrive at the Haworth’s, he engages Mindy and John and spends time with their children.  Despite his long day, he participates in a late-night discussion on the deck with me, John, Mindy, Carly, and Michael.

We arrive in Manchester and shop for food for the weekend before going into the festival.  He uses his food list to get us what we need and ensures I have a flashlight for those nights when I return to camp earlier than they do.  We meet his contact with Street Team at the appointed time on Friday, and get our publicity material. We hang posters and give out fliers under his leadership.  We photo document and record our efforts for Street Team, garnering some strange looks from people when we take pictures of posters hung on the doors of a bank of Port-a-Johns (Trust me when I tell you that it takes one hell of a lot to produce a strange look from someone at Bonnaroo).  He ensures we rendezvous at least once to enjoy some music together before I return to camp that first night.  He does all of this with a smile on his face and spring in his step.

He helps me with cleaning up after breakfast the first morning, fixes lunch for everyone, leads our scheduling efforts for the day, and ensures we all have enough water and food in our backpacks to get through the day.  We work together again to promote the other festivals before going on to see the musicians that each of us intends to see for the day.  He repeats everything I just said on the final day of Bonnaroo and gets up early to cook my breakfast for Father’s Day.  Several days before coming to Bonnaroo I’d received Father’s Day gifts from Cameron and Duncan.  On that Sunday morning after a breakfast burrito that was perfect, he gave me a card that he’d made with his own two hands.  He’d created the outside with red and blue paper accentuating a leaf from our State House grounds glued on the blue paper, and handwritten the following words:

           
Ben –

I love you and am very grateful that we are experiencing the great festival of music together once again! You are one of a kind!

I love you –

Cameron           

And surrounded by over 80,000 people on this day that honors millions of fathers, I felt like we were the only two people there—indeed, I felt like a “one of a kind” person. Cameron’s well-chosen words highlighted my own metamorphosis to understand what difference that I may have made to those around me and what unschooling had brought to my own life.  George Bailey wouldn’t have needed help from a guardian angel had he and Mary known about unschooling in Bedford Falls.

This year, Cameron’s internal desire for ensuring everyone with us gets the very best from what Bonnaroo has to offer was palpable.  Taking on the role of the veteran festival-goer, he encouraged the benefits of pacing oneself, getting enough sleep, and drinking enough water to combat the heat and long days.  As our “host,” he created the type of campsite and surroundings that made us feel at home.  He balanced his time to maximize his festival enjoyment with his volunteer time to help Street Team.  In short, his insistence to follow his own internal drive to make this the best Bonnaroo ever translated into just that for us all.  He didn’t have to announce his intentions or that he had a goal for us to enjoy ourselves as much as we did.  He just poured himself into the process of making others comfortable, and his love was contagious.  He overwhelmed me, and I recognized Cameron’s own growth as a man was blossoming before me.

I’ve heard and read that unschooling doesn’t bode well for the “real world”—that unschoolers don’t have an understanding of responsibility or what it takes to become a productive member of a society.  Of course, those people who write and talk about these things have based their mythic theories on the experience or expertise of others who call themselves experts in such matters.  In fact, they only display the highest form of intolerance—those who’d rather perpetuate such a myth rather than walk in the shoes of others who are the recipients of their intolerance.

I suffered from apprehension myself as a father of a new unschooler 7 years ago, but never that intolerance.  I can only feel sorry for those who can’t see what we see. I see children living their lives and accepting the responsibility of those lives every day. I see happy, joyful children making good choices as they daily navigate through the “real world” while schooled children put their lives on hold for the tenure of their schooled lives. I see children making decisions about their own lives and decisions impacting the world around them. 

Looking forward, I can see happy, balanced adults whose lives will not be affected by some other person’s definition of what success should look, but by what it looks like to them.  I can see parents who’ll take on the joyful, rewarding responsibility of rearing children who’ll not be inhibited by a state institution that dictates the time in their childhood.  And I can see adults making choices that will not only impact themselves, their families, and their communities, but will also redefine what the hell the “real world” really is.

Ben lives in Columbia with his wife, Kelly, and sons, Cameron and Duncan. They’re excited by the change in their respective lives and encourage one another to grow from those changes.