I used to go to sports camp every summer. I'd make a lot of new

The words of Matt Bomer, though light in tone, contain within them a reflection of timeless truth: “I used to go to sports camp every summer. I'd make a lot of new friends, and it was all athletic. It was basically a place for parents to send their kids to run out all their summer energy for two weeks.” In these words lies not only the memory of childhood, but also the recognition of what it means to be young, restless, and full of unspent force. The energy of youth is a fire, bright and untamed, and the camp was the vessel in which it could be poured, shaped, and transformed into fellowship and growth.

The sports camp was more than a place of games; it was a field of life itself. Children gathered, strangers at first, but through sweat and laughter they became comrades. Bonds were forged not in silence, but in the rhythm of running, the clashing of games, the shared exhaustion at day’s end. Such bonds echo the ancient truth that struggle and play, hardship and joy, bind men and women together more deeply than idle words. To play is to learn to compete, to share, to endure — lessons as vital to the spirit as they are to the body.

Consider the training grounds of Sparta, where young boys were sent to the agoge, not simply to harden their bodies, but to weave their spirits together in loyalty and courage. To outsiders, it seemed a harsh thing — stripping youth of comfort, testing them with endurance. But to the Spartans, it was the crucible of friendship, the forge where warriors were not merely taught to fight, but to live as one body, each life bound to the other. Though Bomer speaks of simple summer camps and parents hoping to tire their children, the ancient echo resounds: in gathering together, in testing themselves physically, youth discover both their limits and their kinship.

There is also a deeper lesson here: the overflow of energy must find a place to go. The child who does not run, does not play, becomes restless, and his spirit turns inward in frustration. The body demands movement, and movement becomes joy. When parents sent their children to run out their strength beneath the summer sun, they were not merely finding relief from noise; they were guiding their sons and daughters toward balance, toward the harmony that comes when the body’s fire is well spent, and the soul is left calm and teachable.

In this way, Bomer’s words remind us that activity and discipline are not burdens but gifts. To move, to sweat, to test the body is to honor the force within us, a force that otherwise may curdle into idleness or waste. The ancients taught that a sound body prepares the way for a sound mind. Just as the blacksmith tempers steel in fire, so do sports, games, and physical trials temper the heart of the young.

Let us not mistake his words for mere nostalgia. They are a mirror for us today, who live in an age where children may grow weary-eyed before glowing screens, their energy unspent, their bodies unstirred. The call is to remember that life is movement, that friendships are deepened through shared effort, that the strength of youth must be honored by giving it room to breathe and flourish.

So the teaching is this: create your own fields of play, whether in youth or in age. Let your body move, let your energy flow, let laughter and struggle bind you to others. Parents, guide your children not only in thought but in action; give them space to run, to sweat, to fall and rise again. And each morning, remember that the energy of life is a sacred flame — not to be stifled, not to be wasted, but to be poured into movement, creation, and fellowship.

Thus, what seems a simple memory of summer camps becomes eternal wisdom: that play is not idleness, but training for life; that friendships are forged in shared endeavor; and that the restless force of youth, when guided well, becomes the strength, joy, and resilience of the future.