New Scout Outing

Mark went on a Scout camping trip this weekend, which he was not happy about.

"It's the new Scout outing," he whined. "I'm not a new Scout!"

"You're going as a leader," I said. "You'll teach the new Scouts."

"I don't wanna be a leader," he said, which is exactly why I sent him.

Mark needs the experience to rank up another level, but it's also good for him. He's great with little kids--babies and toddler boys LOVE Mark. He's also been a teacher aide for a kindergarten class the past couple years, so wherever we go in the neighborhood, five-year-olds yell out, "Hi, Mark!" He may not like it, but he's very popular with the little kid crowd.

I dropped him at the church before the camp out. Doesn't feel like he's been in the troop that long, but I guess it's been a while, because all the new Scouts were half his size. Seriously, they were tiny. And hyper. And moving non-stop.

What they weren't doing much was helping. They were supposed to load the trucks with camping gear, but two young boys passed by me, saying, "Come on, let's look busy so they don't yell at us." They shouted out "Who needs help?" then walked in the exact opposite direction of the trucks.

I noted proudly that Mark was actually helping. He carried some heavy boxes to the truck, then barked some orders at some smaller boys. Maybe he already does possess some leadership skills, I thought.

But that thought disappeared quickly as Mark and Sean drifted off toward the fence, searching for snacks.

"They ripped out all the raspberry bushes!" Mark yelled. "Why would they do that?"

"Maybe because the Scouts spent all their time eating raspberries instead of loading the trucks?" I yelled back.

"That's dumb," Mark scoffed. But he didn't give up--he and Sean walked the entire length of the fence searching for rogue raspberries.

Finally, the trucks were packed and the boys were ready. We loaded up the cars and headed off to camp--a regional park three minutes away. Hey, ya gotta break these new Scouts in easily!

The park is also about a mile from our house--Mark and I ride our bikes there all the time. I actually didn't worry once while he was gone--I knew in case of any diabetes emergencies, I could be there in a couple minutes (and there's even a fire station with paramedics across the street).

So off I went to spend the day with my friends and bottomless mimosas. I figured the Scouts weren't the only ones who deserved a fun day!

Mark did great. He managed his diabetes and the younger Scouts perfectly, but he was ready to come home first thing Sunday morning.

My phone rang just as I was leaving to pick him up.

"Come get me!" he yelled into the phone. "It's time to go."

He made it sound like the troop was leaving right then, but I knew better. When I got there, they were doing the "leave no trace" walk, where they clear the area in a line, picking up any trash. Of course, the Scout leaders keep on this all weekend, so there's never any trash left behind. Instead, the boys pick up way more interesting things, like giant sticks and rocks, which they toss or smack each other with. (I jokingly call it the "Leave No Sticks" philosophy.)

Mark was off on his own, not even pretending to pick up trash. He waved and ran over.

"Let's go!" he said.

"Not until you guys are done here," I said. "How was the camp out?"

"OK," he shrugged. "I'm hungry."

"Nice to see you too. How'd the new Scouts do?" I asked, nodding at the little guys.

"Terrible," Mark sighed. "They tried to get out of working the whole time. They didn't want to help out ever!"

"A Scout who doesn't want to work? A kid who shirks all responsibility? Doesn't sound like anyone I know!" I said, rubbing his head. I love his righteous indignation, especially when it's over stuff he does all the time!

As we drove off, I grilled him a little more.

"What'd you do during the camp out?" I asked.

"I taught the new Scouts about first aid," he answered.

"Cool!" I said. Then I noticed a weird little circle on his wrist and asked what happened.

"Oh, I burned myself," he said.

"In the camp fire?" I asked, inspecting his wrist.

"No, with a magnifying glass," he said. "I was showing the new Scouts how to start a fire."

I stared at him, confused.

"I started a fire with the magnifying glass," he explained slowly, like I'm an idiot. "I started it on my arm."

I wondered who the real idiot was.

"Did it hurt?" I asked, because I had no other responses.

"Yeah, it hurt!" he said. "It was FIRE!" He shook his head at me.

"Then, uh..." I started. "Maybe you shouldn't start fires on your body."

"Sebastian said you can't burn yourself with a magnifying glass," he said. "But I told him you could." He smiled, happy to prove Sebastian wrong, even at his own expense.

"And how'd you sleep? Were you warm enough?"

"No!" he said, shivering. "My sleeping bag was freezing!"

I pointed out his tiny backpacking bag was rated to 40 degrees, and it was only 60 degrees that night. He scoffed at me. What did I know, I slept in a warm, comfy bed all night--not roughing it like the tough Scouts.

As we drove out of the park, we saw two great blue herons--they were gorgeous. Giant, gray, unmoving, standing about four feet tall in the fields. I stopped the car to watch them.

"Did you see any other wildlife?" I asked, hoping the local coyotes hadn't ventured in too close.

"Some squirrels," Mark said, shrugging. "Oh, and a chicken."

"A chicken?" I asked. I've seen tons of birds in the park, but never a chicken. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said. "It was outside my tent all night, clucking."

I looked at him doubtfully. "You sure it was a chicken?"

He rolled his eyes and said, "You don't think I know what a chicken sounds like?" And then he started clucking, to show me he did.

I still stared at him, silent.

"Fine, maybe it wasn't a chicken--maybe it was a rooster," he said, and then, I swear to God, he started clucking in a deeper voice!

I lost it, and started laughing. I hadn't realized how masculine roosters sound until just then.

"Whatever kind of chicken it was, it bugged me," Mark said. "It clucked outside the tent and kept me awake the whole night."

"Did Isaac hear it?" I asked. I figured it it bothered Mark, it bothered his tent mate, too.

"No, Isaac slept right through it. He said he was a light sleeper, but he slept through everything!"

"Huh," I said, pulling into the church parking lot. I really didn't know what else to say.

Soon enough, the boys had unpacked the trucks, and I was free to take my grubby young son.

"I can't wait to get home," he said. "And I can't wait to sleep in my own bed tonight!" He smiled, thinking of all his creature comforts.

I didn't remind him he'd been gone a mere 24 hours, not 24 weeks. I also didn't say that for all intents and purposes, he'd pretty much camped in his own backyard. He enjoyed acting like he'd spent weeks out in the wild, so I just let him.

Because hey, at the end of the day, he did go camping, and I did get a much-needed night off. I got to hang out with my friends, laugh, and even go to a movie. All this complaining was a small price to pay for that.

"I'm glad you had a good time, Mark," I said. "And I'm proud of your leadership skills."

He scoffed again. He couldn't answer me, because he was still thinking about something far more serious--the giant killer chickens (or roosters) outside his tent.