I sent my 9-year-old son to an etiquette camp. It might sound old-fashioned, but it taught him confidence and kindness.

• My son attends many different summer camps. Adding a few days of etiquette to the mix seemed smart.
• The camp focused on table manners, curiosity, and distinguishing gratitude from entitlement.
• It lead to noticeable improvements in the his manners and social interactions. He'll be going back.

My 9-year-old son, Wells, has never been what you'd call a wild child. He's got a good-natured streak and — like his mother — a deeply ingrained need to be a people-pleaser. Behavior issues? Aside from some angsty huffing and puffing when he doesn't get his way and a growing love of the dramatic eye-roll? Not really.

But then, one lazy scroll through Facebook last summer, I saw an ad for an etiquette camp. It stopped me cold. Sure, I drill the basics — "please," "thank you," "don't chew with your mouth open" — but what about the finer points of social grace? The kind of stuff that turns a polite kid into someone who moves through the world with confidence and ease? Now that had me thinking. In an era of unmatched virtual boorishness and a lessening of formal courtesy in general, perhaps a few pages ripped from Emily Post's latest edition might not hurt the lad. The three-day camp was $225, in line with other activities he had lined up for the summer like art, drone, and theater camps. So I signed him up.

I wasn't after a miniature aristocrat

The small-group gathering, hosted in a local cotillion teacher's home, felt like a low-stakes way to gently introduce my son to the rules of civility — not to turn him into a miniature aristocrat, but to help point him on the path of proper protocol.

Right on time, we pulled up to a sleek mid-century modern home in one of the swankier parts of town. The children had been told to arrive well dressed with boys in collared shirts (Wells wore a polo) and everyone in shoes that were not slip-ons. I still don't know what that rule was about, but we followed the request. On the doorstep, a small herd of jittery tweens fidgeted like skittish deer, shifting from foot to foot, gnawing at their nails. But the second that bright yellow door swung open and the etiquette camp leader stepped out, the nervous energy evaporated. Every kid froze, eyes locked on their poised new instructor, as if suddenly aware that they were in the presence of someone who meant business.

Rather than usher them inside, she shook each individual camper's hand, made strong eye contact, and asked rather than told, "Would you like to come in?" I wasn't even enrolled and already I was rethinking my typical hostess greeting — usually barked from the front door while restraining our hyperactive weimaraner — "Hey! Come in, come in, come in!"

The first day made a big impression

A few hours later, I pulled back up to find the campers exiting the doors again, this time clutching yellow curriculum folders like freshly minted graduates, though it was still just the first day. My usually chatty fourth grader practically vibrated with the need to spill the deets.

"We all sat at a big table and learned about silverware!" he said. What Wells described sounded like a miniature dinner party — like something from "Downton Abbey," but with training wheels. The campers had gathered around their host's table, carefully absorbing lessons in the fine art of napkin placement, place settings, and, presumably, not launching peas across the room. But this wasn't just about table settings. Instead, their instructor also emphasized curiosity over chatter, urging the kids to ask questions rather than steal the spotlight. The ultimate lesson? Attention is the most generous gift you can offer.

What could be more timely than that? When was the last time any of us sat down to a meal where a phone wasn't within arms reach ready to ping and steal the focus? At etiquette camp screens were strictly verboten allowing the campers to see just what an afternoon absorbed in others' company might actually feel like. And, big shocker, Wells found the experience rather pleasant.

Important lessons were shared

What struck me most, though, was the emphasis on distinguishing between entitlement versus gratitude. Throughout the three days, the kids were encouraged to reflect on these contrasting mindsets and how each one shapes the way we engage with others. It was a timely, thoughtful lesson in privilege and the role it plays in meaningful, respectful dialogue.

Of course, a few days at courtesy boot camp doesn't magically produce a perfectly mannered child. Wells didn't emerge as the kind of kid who instinctively opens doors for elders or escorts every grandmother across the street. But I did start hearing more unprompted social graces at restaurants. Occasionally, he'll ask, "Can I help you with that, Dad?" And more often than not, he'll turn to me at dinner and say, "Mom, how was your day at work?" — a question that, at first, caught me completely off guard. These days, we often get compliments on his manners, and when he hears them, I see him sit up a little straighter, proud to be recognized not just as a young man, but as a gentleman, in the truest sense of the word.

Good manners never go out of style

Has he messed up? Naturally. But at least he has a foundation in decorum to fall back on. And if just a few days of this manners immersion can lead to such noticeable changes, we're all in for round two this summer — and maybe even cotillion down the line. Etiquette classes might sound old-fashioned, but in my book, good graces never go out of style.