In the summers, after sitting on a hot bus ride home from day camp, I would eagerly run off toward my mom waiting for me at the stop. I was about five years old, and she would pick me up each afternoon and we would walk down the block to get Italian ices. I would excitedly babble on about whether I went swimming, played with my friends, or made arts and crafts as she asked me questions about my day. I cherish those moments with her - the unhurried talking, listening, and simply being together. To this day, that is still one of my favorite activities.

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After our walks home, we continued our afternoons by reading together. We had a set of leveled reading books that we worked through over the course of the summer to prepare me for kindergarten. I knew that reading was deemed an important life skill but reading initially felt slow and frustrating. Yet, with each page flipped, I unlocked new stories, new ideas, and a growing sense of accomplishment. I began to feel proud of something that had once really intimidated me. Years later, we laughed when I admitted to my mom that I used to eat my ices as slowly as possible to delay reading. 

 

My mom is the type of person who invests in people wholeheartedly. She is generous, optimistic, and full of joy. One of her most admirable qualities is that she never shows up halfway. She always buys my friends’ favorite snacks before they come over, dances to music while she cooks in the kitchen, and radiates warmth in everything she does. Her spirit and energy fill every room she is in, and she will turn any gathering into a board game night where she is always determined to be the winner. She extends her care outward, always dropping off food around New York City hoping it reaches someone in need, and consistently supporting her friends and family without hesitation. Being in her circle means she will do anything for you. 

 

My understanding of care was deepened at summer camp. Camp was where I learned what it meant to be responsible not just for myself, but for other people’s experiences, emotions, and sense of belonging. As a camper, it felt like immersing myself in a world where joy was amplified and every day was filled with shared energy - dressing up in costumes, playing basketball with friends, dancing around, and laughing from morning to night. It was a space where silliness was praised and the sense of community felt effortless. 

 

When I returned as a counselor, the camp experience carried a different weight. After having such formative years as a camper, I was determined to be the best counselor I could possibly be. If I could be a camp counselor forever, I would. I absolutely thrived in the chaos, energy, planning sessions, and unpredictable nature of being a counselor to 13 and 14 year old girls. I loved planning high-energy activities, like a relay race around camp where I tied partners’ hair together. I also planned activities like draft night, where campers had to draft all their favorite foods, clothing, and camp activities. I began to understand that care often looked like simultaneous attentiveness, creativity, and problem-solving.  

 

I quickly learned that succeeding as a camp counselor is about versatility, as every hour might introduce a new issue or situation that you never imagined. One of the most meaningful parts of being a counselor was supporting campers through emotional ups and downs, and being someone they could trust and open up to. I genuinely enjoyed helping them work through mental health struggles and being a caring presence when they needed one. Whether a camper had a mosquito bite or was struggling with anxiety, I learned to listen, ask thoughtful questions, and understand what they needed. Each situation required me to be calm, compassionate, and focused on solving their problems, whether through a simple solution like an ice pack or providing emotional support through a more complicated issue. The most fulfilling part of being a counselor was understanding each camper as an individual, and adapting to their personalities, fears, and needs. 

 

That same sense of advocacy and mentorship has followed me in my role at the Center for Success Network, where I tutor elementary school students from under-resourced communities. I have learned that support goes beyond academics; it is about helping students rebuild confidence in their own abilities. I had one particular student who would shut down when he became frustrated, often shouting and insisting “I can’t read.” Rather than pushing forward, I slowed down with him, and allowed him to choose books and reading activities that aligned with his interests. If reading about dinosaurs is what made him feel more confident in that moment, then dinosaurs it was. 

 

Over time, I have realized that whether I am sitting beside a camper in a moment of uncertainty or a student in a moment of frustration, the work is the same: listen closely, adapt thoughtfully, and put yourself in their shoes. It is in these small moments of attention where growth and development are rooted. And in many ways, I trace this approach back to those summer afternoons when my mom sat beside me as we worked through books that once felt intimidating. She never lowered her standards, she simply kept working with me until I could meet them. As a result, I carry that same approach to mentoring today. Furthermore, I began to understand that care is practiced, modeled, and carried forward.