Sleepover

“Dude, we started from two people.”

“Dude, I know. All I'm saying is those two people could have been monkeys.”

“Dude, we're not monkeys.”

“I'm not saying we're monkeys. Millions of years ago, we were monkeys.”

“First, there were two people. I forget what their names were. Second, monkeys don't have names.”

“Dude, I know. I'm not saying the first two people were monkeys. They evolved from dinosaurs. Then there were monkeys.”

“Animals came first. Then there were dinosaurs.”

“Everything on the Earth is an animal.”

My son was having a sleepover. It was almost midnight and I decided it might be a good idea to check on them. It was just us three guys, since my wife had decided that after almost a week of camping and sleeping on a “cot” surrounded by cub scouts, I needed one more night of no sleep while she and my daughter had a relaxing sleep over at the zoo with their girl scout troop. (Amazingly, my son's friend's mom was also going on the sleep over to the zoo. As she and my wife drove away, I'm pretty sure I heard unbalanced cackling from the car...) Also, it is a great idea to take two young boys who haven't gotten a decent night's sleep for a while and put them in close quarters, after an evening of junk food and super-hero movies.

So, I quietly walked up the stairs (on the very slight chance they were both asleep) and listened to the above conversation.

I was expecting a rehash of the Avengers and a heated argument about who was the best super-hero (One thought the Hulk was the best, the other thought it was Captain America.). Instead, I walked into a debate on creationism vs evolution.

I was not prepared for this. For one, I was sober and so were both kids, so any chance of a meaningful conversation was shot.

“Listen, million and millions of years ago, there were monkeys and cavemen evolved from them.”

“There were only two people.”

“Ok, dude, millions and millions of years ago, there were like two monkeys and they kept evolving, until there were like two cavemen.”

“It wasn't millions of years ago, it was like, I don't know, six days or something.”

“But, dude, the universe is infinite. It's still growing.”

“There are multiple universes, dude.”

“No dude. There is one universe. You mean galaxies.”

“No. There are multiple universes.”

They'd gone from creationism vs evolution to wormholes. As they got into the finer details of multi-dimensional travel (The Trekkies got seriously slighted. All their designs were based on Star Wars.) I had to sit down as they designed the rocket ships. (Oh, I'd had those same conversions with my friends when I was younger. But mine were in college and fueled by caffeine, alcohol and lack of sleep. My son and his friend were only going on pizza and super hero movies. Thankfully, nothing included Jar Jar.)

Around midnight, (yes, if my son's friend's mom reads this, I am going to be in trouble. I'm pretty sure I agreed to making sure both boys were in bed at a reasonable time, which they were. There was nothing in the verbal contract about being asleep at a reasonable time.) they finally had travel to distant worlds, stars and universes figured out. There was a few minutes of quiet from their room. The world kept spinning, time continued, so I don't think they broke anything with their ideas. Just in case, I felt obliged to watch an episode of Honey Boo Boo, just to make sure the universal scales stayed balanced.

Songs

After the first day of camp, we settled into a comfortable routine. Each morning was a rush to get the kids down to the dining hall for colors and the raising of the flag. Then we had breakfast.

Each meal had the same pattern. A scout for each table came early and helped set up. The scout was responsible for setting the table, getting the food and drinks. They also had to clear the table and clean up after the meal. This duty was rotated at each meal. (I was amazed when I got home and the first night called out that it was time to bus the table. My son had already cleaned up half the table before he realized we weren't at camp any more.)

Once the table was ready and food was out, they let in the rest of the scouts. This resulted in a minor stampede until all the seats were taken. After the meal, one of the counselors made the announcements...

This is where I learned that there was a bit of a rivalry between the kitchen crew and the counselors. (I also learned that I have a very low tolerance for camp songs.) The first time the counselor said he had some announcements, the head cook (I was surprised at how good the food was. I'd heard the horror stories from the parents that had gone the previous years. Truthfully, they did an excellent job. There was plenty of food and there were options for the kids that were picky eaters (my son) and special diets. While the food was good, it wasn't up to Gordon Ramsey's standards, so I can't use chef... Although there were some meals that would have rivaled the intensity of Hell's Kitchen, but when you get that many sleep deprived parents in one room there are bound to be tantrums.) sprang from the kitchen and began the announcements song. I must have missed when this was a top 40 song, because everyone immediately joined in. It goes like this:

Announcements, announcements annoooooouncments.

A terrible way to die

A terrible way to die

A terrible way to be talked to death

A terrible way to die.

Announcements, announcements annoooooooooooooooouncements

The first time I heard the song, it was catchy. The tenth time, I had an almost unbearable urge to stab the cook in the eye with a dull pencil. Since my son has been singing this particular song several times a day since we got back from camp, that urge has grown quite a bit.

After the announcements (Announcements, announcements, annoooooouncements—See? It's a Pavlovian thing now) all the counselors would get up on benches and sing at least one song. For me, this was the most enjoyable part of the meal.

Our troop had the tables nearest the kitchen. It was also the area in the dining hall with the most room. So, they always set the benches up near our tables. Now, these were old benches and not the most stable of structures. And when you have ten people precariously balanced and jumping around on them, it is very entertaining for the kids.

Remember the two mothers that each “broke” a foot so they wouldn't have to go swimming in the glacier filled pool? Well, since this was the area with most room, they tended to sit there too. (Something about not being able to squeeze between the tables to find a seat. As the kids say now-a-days, whatever...) Watching these two mothers constantly flinch and try to move their “broken” feet to safety every time the benches almost tipped over just about made up for the Announcements song.

After breakfast, there was the trek to swimming, fishing and boating. My son and a group of his friends always walked over together. It was a ten minute hike there and another ten minute hike back after lunch. For the five days we were there, they never ran out of topic to talk about. I say topic because apparently every kid is now playing Minecraft. (If you have a child and don't know what that is, count yourself lucky. If your child truly does not know what Minecraft is, turn off your internet connection now before it is too late.) I learned about all the evil characters (There's a special term for the characters, MOB.) and how to defeat them and what their strengths were. After a while, I tried to bring up Pokemon, so I would at least have an idea what they were talking about, but that was passé.

After lunch and more announcements (Announcements, announcements, annoooooooouncements) it was back to our camp site for crafts, sports, BB guns and archery. After those, we had a few minutes to relax before trekking back down the mountain for dinner.

The second evening of camp was when the head cook (already treading on thin ice) broke through and secured the position of most hated on my list.

You may not know it, but young boys have a reflex condition when in a group. If one does something and it gets the desired response, not only will that one boy repeat the action, but every other boy will also repeat that action. The louder the response, the longer and more intensely they will repeat the action.

This is an important fact when combined with a tradition at this particular camp. When ever someone said chili, everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing and yelled, “Chili? Did you say chili? HEY CHILI!” (At least this was a tradition for this particular cook. I really hope he gets on Hell's Kitchen. Somehow, I don't think Gordon Ramsey would find the humor in his whole kitchen staff yelling this.) Once one kid heard this, well... he just had to go back to the kitchen for something. Pretty soon there was a line of cub scouts at the kitchen entrance and a constant roar of “Chili? Did you say chili? Hey chili!”

That night, as the kids went to bed at the early hour of midnight, you'd hear the peaceful chirping of cub scouts in their native habitat. “Chili.”

“Did you say chili? HEY CHILI!” would echo from all the cabins. I really hate that cook.

An Afternoon of Education

What is the one thing you don't want to give a group of rabid boys that are in the perfect setting for a re-creation of Lord of the Flies?

You guessed it, anonymity. That is apparently why our first craft after lunch was to make knight helmets out of cardboard paper. They offered the authentic look of an ancient knight of yore and even came with the eye slits that removed any chance of a clear field of vision with none of the durability of a real helmet. Add in an unlimited supply of sticks and it was the perfect craft. They finished off this lesson with leather working. The idea was to use a mold to create a decorative necklace or name tag. Once the boys got their hands on the hammers, that changed to using a mold to beat the heck out of an innocent piece of leather.

If five boys pee on a bush, even though the bathroom is a mere twenty feet away, and they are being supervised by four fathers who spent the night on cots that have no support, will anyone yell at them?

This is an easy one. No mothers were near were enough to interfere with nature. They made a perfectly straight line with their backs to us. I think the only problem was us fathers knew that we had to walk all the way to bathroom. So, the only protest was our envy. (We also followed the unwritten rule that what happens at camp stays at camp. There were a few mothers that took offense to boys being boys. One mother even went so far as to explain how one year, she woke up and a boy was peeing a mere “ten feet from her head.” This lead to several comments from the men about close only counting in hand grenades. I added, since BB guns and archery were already on the schedule for the afternoon, a section for hand grenades sounded like fun. All the kids would be pretty much guaranteed of getting a bull's eye. I even knew the counselor that could lead it. It was the same one that taught my son the song about announcements. (That song has been my constant companion for the past week. Added to the fact that he could not make a decent pot of coffee and I would volunteer to throw the first grenade at him...))

What year was the BB gun invented?

This was a real question the counselor at the BB gun range asked. “I'll give you a hint, it was a really long time ago,” he added.

“1993?” one of the kids in our group suggested.

“That was a year before I was born. The BB gun was invented long before that.

I don't know what was more aggravating, that the kids thought 1993 was a long, long, long time ago or that I'd graduated college, been married and had at least five jobs before the counselor teaching my son how to shoot a BB gun was even born.

It turns out, that the BB gun was invented and used for Lewis and Clark's trip. The fact that it was silent when it was shot impressed and scared the Indians. (The fact that they were teaching a bunch of wild, barely tamed kids how to use a silent weapon was not very calming, from a parental point of view.)

What is the square knot used for?

(To join two ropes together) This was more along the lines of a foolish question. I understand that knot tying has a long and celebrated history in the Boy Scouts. However, when you have a group of boys that outnumber the parents, and you give them helmets and teach them how to shoot guns, adding how to quickly tie up your potential victims is just not a good idea.

There was five hours until lights out. I'm pretty sure, the announcement, “Time to brush your teeth!” was going to have a much different result tonight. Luckily, I made a helmet too.

Day 1... The Morning

Our first day of cub scout camp started with a refreshing dip in the glacier filled pool. Our troop got the first slot because we had the most “campers” that had not taken the required swimming test the evening before.

There were three ranks: white, blue/white and red/white/blue. If you got red/white/blue, you could go out on a canoe. Blue/white only allowed you on a rowboat, as long as a red/white/blue was with you. (There were sailboats too, but, with only a college education, I didn't think I'd be able to decipher the level of colors needed to use the sailboat.) If you had white, I don't think you were allowed to even look at the water.

This was when I found out that I had forgotten my swim suit in the changing room the night before. My son and I were all set to swim. (He was ready to swim, I was preparing myself for bone-numbing water.) I checked my pack and I had my towel, but no swim suit. I was crushed. (At least I put on a good act for my son.) I checked the pool's lost and found and no swim suit. I even walked up and checked the main office for the missing suit. Luckily, my son had several friends he could buddy up with. (You were not allowed to even look at the pool unless you had a buddy. From the rules briefing, it sounded like you were not allowed to be more than five feet from your buddy. I'm guessing, if your buddy drowned, it was your responsibility to drown with him, unless it was in the shallow end and less than five feet deep.)

I could tell the other parents were jealous of me. I had a valid reason not to be in the icy pool. In the whole week we were there, I only counted two other fathers that braved the water. One was the scout master for the pack. He had pure cappuccino in his veins instead of blood, so I don't think he even felt the cold. (One morning, I noticed that all the fathers were gather around his tent. I wandered over to see what was so interesting. They were passing around a cup. I took a breath of the coffee he'd brewed and my heart rate skyrocketed to 140 beats a minute. I think it was three to four hours before I stopped stuttering from the caffeine jolt.) Two mothers went so far as to break their feet before camp even started so they wouldn't be guilted into going into the ice water.

After swimming, we had boating. My son and his friend wanted to go out. My son's friend had one of the mothers that opted to break her foot just so she wouldn't have to get in the pool. So, we all went out in a row boat (even though we were all red/white/blues, you can only have two in a canoe. They kinda screwed up this rule during the closing ceremony when three scouts rowed across the small lake in a canoe.)

There is nothing quite as funny as watching two kids row a boat together for the first time. They had the circle steering down perfectly. Unfortunately, they were trying to go straight. We had a quick lessen.

“Ok, guys. Oars out of the water and lean forward. Put your oars in the water and lean back... Ok, that was really good. Next time, hold onto the oars when you lean back. No, sit down, I'll get the oar out of the water.” A few minutes to reset and we tried again.

“That was better. Next time, put your oars in the water when you lean back and pull.” I was starting to figure out why the person that sits at the back of those row boats in the Olympics is always yelling...

After a few more minutes, I was dizzy and took over the rowing.

“Daddy, why are you going backwards.”

“Because that's the way rowboats are made.”

“But you can't see where you're going.”

“That's why you're suppose to tell me which way to go.”

That's about the time we hit the shore. “Daddy, turn left.”

At least it was almost lunchtime. And the we were closer to the dining hall now...

Camping - Coffee

“What time will coffee be ready in the morning?” One of the mothers asked. We were at the leaders' meeting for the cub scout camp. This being my first time at camp, I was interested in how things were going to work. They'd gathered all the adults (At least the adults that still had the energy to walk to the dinning hall) and had the kids at the opening camp fire. (Any time you combine five-year to ten-year olds and fire, I find it's a good idea to be far away.) There had been several, I thought, key points brought up But it wasn't until this question was asked that the parents actually perked up.

“The cooks will be here at six in the morning,” the camp coordinated answered.

“We'll start the coffee as soon as we get in,” the head cook added.

“So, if I take my shower at six, the coffee will be ready after? By 6:30?”

I think the look in that mother's eye and the tone of her voice finally got through. The cook gulped and promised that the coffee would be ready. The tension hung in the air as the adults waited. Finally, there was a slight nod from our caffeine leader and the deal was sealed.

Now, that I knew caffeine was guaranteed and the rest of the schedule for the week, I was all set. The kids would be in their cabins and asleep by 9 pm, cause that's when lights out was. I checked the time. We had 10 minutes to finish the opening campfire, then 10 minutes to hike up the trail to the camp site. (I'd made the hike up to the campsite after the swimming test. Once the spots cleared from my vision and the ringing in my ears passed, I could appreciate the view. I'm pretty sure there were eagles circling below us...) Once at the campsite, there was a full half hour for smores, teeth brushing and pjs. (They'd actually allowed mothers to come on the camping trip and they brought useless things like tooth brushes and changes of clothes.)

My tent (yes, the kids were in cabins and the adults were in tents.) was set up and my son already had his cot set up and stuff stowed in his cabin. He was happy because he had two pads on his cot and said it was the best bed ever.

Even though it was almost nine by the time I crawled into camp, I was still confident about the schedule. This was the cub scouts and they had Rules. (And a weird definition of the backstroke. I am going to take this to the Olympic committee. All the gold medals for the past Olympics need to be re-evaluated.) Apparently, chocolate, marshmallows and graham crackers are not the ideal pre-bedtime snack. For the next two hours, the campsite was filled with running kids wielding flashlights, Frisbees and sticks. (Yes, when we saw them with the sticks, we stopped them, but you try and keep track of kids re-enacted Lord of the Flies. I was going with to the 80/20 rule. As long as we brought back 80% of the kids, we were ahead of the game.)

Finally, the dreaded “Time to brush teeth” was called. (This is the only known weakness for a pack of rabid boys.) We were only two hours past the lights out, but we still had all the kids and the all the parents and my tent was away from most of the cabins. (Strangely, the tents furthest from the cabins were picked first. Even though the tents only slept two, I think the farthest away ones had seven or eight adults crammed in.

By 12:30, the last of our kids were asleep. (I know this because there was another group camping on the other side of the ridge and I could hear their parents yelling at their kids well past 2:30 to stop talking.)

The next morning, for some reason, we had a bit of trouble getting the kids up and going. However, we did make roll call on time. (I think that was because all the adult were anxious for the promised coffee that was brewing and all ready by the time breakfast started at 8 am.)

As they let us in, there was a line of adults at the coffee urn.

Children should not be allowed to brew coffee, especially at camp. Technically, the cook hadn't lied. The coffee was ready. However, you should not be able to see the bottom of a styrofoam cup that is full of coffee. I think the adults took him aside and explained the finer points of morning and caffeine. The next day, the coffee was much darker and the parents were not nearly as whiney.

Only five days left until camp is over...

Camping - Part 1

“Dad! I got a red white and blue!”

“Great! Was it hard?”

“No way. Did you get yours yet?”

“I just got here. You saw me drive up.” I couldn't tell if the grin on his face from from excitement or laughing at teasing me.

I should explain. About six months ago, I made the mistake of taking him to a cub scout pack meeting where they announced the date for the summer camping trip. “Can we go? Can we? Can we?”

Half way home, he wore me down enough for me to answer, “We'll see if your mother can go.”

“I want you to go. We might never be able to go camping again. It would be a travesty and could leave permanent emotional scars if I can't go camping with you this summer.” Maybe he didn't say those exact words, but it had to be something close to that for me finally agree to spend 5 days away from a dry, comfortable bed and go camping with his troop.

This was the last time he'd be able to go camping as a cub scout, and he could stay the entire five days, so I made the parental promise that we would go and got the time off work.

A few days before the camp was to start, we hit a road bump. He had to do a swimming test at the very start of camp. And he was worried. This is the same kid that has done snuba, can dive deeper than the life guards at the pool and has no problem snorkeling for hours. And he was worried about swimming two laps in a pool and floating on his back.

That explained the excitement and pride as he cheered that he'd passed his swimming test for cub scout camp. Since work was an hour and a half away from the camp and check-in was at 5, our friend took him so that he would have a chance to settle in. He and his friends had immediately jumped in and passed their swimming test with flying colors.

“Are you going to do your test now?” There was a snicker.

“It's a little late.”

“Oh, you can take it now. Take your swim suit with you to sign in.” This was our friend that had graciously brought him. (She is no longer a good friend.)

“Yes. Go take it now, Dad. We'll come watch.”

“You guys go up to the campsite and get settled in. I'll come up after I get signed in. You guys need to get the camp fire going for smores.”

I swim three-four miles a week, so I was not worried about the test. I was actually looking forward to it, it'd been a long day and a long drive to campsite. The rest of the day was a refreshing swim, then a short hike up to the camp site, a comfortable cot and a peaceful night's sleep out under the stars. Yep, the next five days were going to be relaxing and full of father/son bonding and learning.

As I walked down to the pool, I heard a terrible rumor: The pool was not heated. Still, I wasn't worried... too much. It was out in the sun, surely it wouldn't be too cold.

Over the next few minutes, I learned several things.

• Some boy scouts do not have a sense of humor. I asked if it was ok to scream when I jumped in. The scout “monitoring” my swim looked at me blankly. I was referring to the cold water, he thought I meant in excitement.

• Even if the pool had been in the middle of the desert, it wouldn't have been warm because they obviously filled it every day from glacier water. I figured this out the instant my toes hit the water. I'm pretty sure my entire body was blue before my feet were wet...

• My son HAS a sense of humor. He knows I hate cold water and wanted to hear my scream.

Once in, there was nothing left to do but swim. We had to do at least one length of the pool doing a back stroke. I suffered through three lengths doing the adult version of the crawl. It was adult because every other stroke was followed by a four letter word. (Since my teeth were chattering so much, no one heard the curses. Even if they had, cub scouts is about learning new things...)

Then, it was time for the backstroke. I started and after a few strokes I heard the life guard yelling at me that I was NOT doing the backstroke. Now, I watched the Olympics, and while my form may not be in the same league as Michael Phelps, I'm pretty sure it's still recognizable as the back stroke. It was my turn to look blankly until he demonstrated that the “back stroke” was the breast stroke on your back.

“Did you pass?” My son asked when I got to camp.

“Yep.”

“Was it cold?” He and his friend giggled

“What do you think?”

I couldn't hear his answer because he was laughing so hard.

“Why didn't you warn me?”

That got him and his friend laughing even harder.

It wasn't until the next morning that I realized I'd left my swim suit in the changing room and it had disappeared. (Hypothermia has a marked affect on short term memory) We checked the lost and found and no one had turned it in. Unfortunately, the pool had a rule that you could only swim with a swim suit. Each time I heard the kids scream as they jumped in the cold water, I learned that I did not mind that rule. After all, cub scouts is also about following the rules.