Last week, my son participated in a week-long municipal golf camp which drew a real diversity of participants. He had been anticipating the experience for months: watching clips of highlights with me from various tournaments, swinging his clubs around the park, asking questions about putters and drivers and how to read greens. On day one, he practically skipped down the path from the parking lot to the course, beaming with anticipation. At pickup, he was exhausted: sweaty, sun-flushed, and grinning ear to ear. He was happy and tired in the best sense, though I couldn’t quite tell what had filled his day.
The week passed with little detail. Each afternoon, my son offered a short report: “We hit off the range,” “Coach showed me how to chip,” “I played with some older kids.” Yet those recaps didn’t quite capture the full story; he was loving his time there but so happy and too tired to share more. Then came Friday, when parents were invited to a final best-ball tournament. I expected straighter shots and steadier swings. What I witnessed was far deeper.
Sure, his technique had sharpened and he loved to read greens. But what truly captivated me was the dynamic among the roughly 40 kids—aged seven to mid-teens—who were split into foursomes. On the tee box, they cheered each other on. On the green, they offered advice. When someone shanked a shot, they laughed together, not at one another. When a long putt dropped or someone hit an impressive shot, they applauded even if it wasn’t their own ball. The have formed a community.
This wasn’t just play. It was kids lifting each other up and teaching one another. The youngest watched the oldest, absorbing confidence by example. The older ones guided and cheered on the newcomers. It was mentorship in its simplest, most generous form; unforced and deeply positive. The camp’s structure made it possible: Phones were banned, so no one drifted toward their screens. A dress code set the tone of belonging. And there are norms of golf etiquette. The message was clear: be present, respectful, supportive. And they were.
At the end, I asked the head pro what accounted for all the energy and joy. He replied: “Golf is what so many kids need right now.” And he’s right. But why? My answer: Golf gives kids what modern life often withholds: a sense of freedom and meaningful goals. On the course, they walk and breathe without digital distraction. They chase clear, measurable aims such as hitting straighter, sinking putts, lowering scores all while balancing personal effort with group cohesion. In an age of screens, that blend is rare and precious.
The contrast to most life couldn’t be sharper. Many kids’ days unfold through devices, curated feeds, and endless scrolling. Surveys reveal growing disconnect, loneliness, and anxiety. Yet on this course, none of that existed. No buzzing notifications. No digital posturing. Just fresh air, focus, and shared celebration. Kids were present. They weren’t chasing likes; they were cheering each other. They weren’t broadcasting; they were bonding.
Many sports promise camaraderie and discipline. But golf offers something unique: It’s both deeply personal and inherently communal. Each swing is your own; but each round lives in the group. Etiquette demands awareness—silence when others concentrate, honesty in scoring, care for the shared space. Tiny rituals such as replacing divots, marking balls, shaking hands teach responsibility and respect. These small gestures cultivate character, reminding kids that how you play matters as much as the score.
For parents, the lesson is simple. These moments don’t happen by accident. They demand our presence, our encouragement, and then the wisdom to step back and let them experience pride, frustration, triumph, and failure themselves. Choosing spaces with healthy cultures and clear values can yield extraordinary results. A week at golf camp can instill far more than better swings, it can nurture better humans.
Golf camp won’t solve every challenge kids face. But it offers what they deeply need: friendship, connection, and a community that roots for them. Spaces like this whether athletic, artistic, or communal, teach kids how to be with one another, not just beside one another. They build skills, yes. But do more, they cultivate presence, generosity, and encouragement. These are the seeds of belonging and the antidote to isolation. We must give our kids these experiences if we want them to grow into people who are both human and humane.
As my son’s group walked off that final green—laughing, jostling, swapping high-fives—I felt deep gratitude. He’ll remember alignment and angles. But what I hope endures is the joy of being with others, of offering and receiving support, of belonging. In a world that fragments and isolates, that matters far more than a perfect swing.