What If We Let Them Be Kids This Summer?

Every spring, I get the same question.

"What should my high schooler do this summer to help them stand out?"

It’s a reasonable question. The pressure is real. College admissions have turned childhood into a checklist. Somewhere along the way, summer stopped being a season and started feeling like a strategy.

But when I talk to students, I hear something different.

They’re tired. They’re stretched. They’re trying so hard to be everything at once. High achiever. Good friend. Role model. Test-taker. Volunteer. Athlete. College applicant. Child.

I hear the quiet longing behind their smiles. They want space to breathe. They want time that doesn't need to be justified. They want to do something simply because it feels good, or interesting, or right.

I remember working in a shack on the beach during high school and college, serving breakfast and lunch, the rhythm of early mornings and busy rushes. I remember the friends who made me laugh until my stomach hurt, the cash I tucked away under my mattress, and the way I slowly learned to handle demanding customers with grace. I remember being trusted, for the first time, to figure things out on my own. No one told me that job would “look good.” It just felt good, and it helped me become who I am.

Summer used to be that space. It used to be for late nights and messy mornings, for jobs that paid little but taught a lot, for falling in love with something unexpected. It was where identity formed in the quiet, uncurated corners of life. Now it’s become another bullet point.

This shift didn’t happen by accident. Adults built this culture. We filled their calendars. We taught them to optimize every moment. We told them rest looked lazy and exploration looked risky.

But students are still kids. They need permission to be human. They need time to make things, try things, quit things. They need to feel the sun on their faces without wondering if it will make a good college essay.

I’m not arguing against programs or structure. Some students find real joy and growth through summer opportunities. But not every student needs to chase productivity. Not every summer needs to be strategic.

What if this summer helped them come back to themselves?

What if they worked in a beach shack and learned patience? What if they got really into gardening or coding or art just because they wanted to? What if they did nothing for a little while and learned to hear their own thoughts?

That’s the kind of learning that lasts. That’s the kind of growth that shapes a life.

High school is not just a ramp to adulthood. It is a sacred, fleeting chapter all its own.

So let them live a summer that’s worth remembering, not just reporting.