Cues

As a parent, you learn the subtle cues when your children have either bitten off more than they can chew or think they have. My son's cue is “Dad, do you really think I'm ready for this?”

He asked me that question the night before we were to leave on the scouting trip. My answer was, “Of course you are, bud. You'll be able to handle everything.” What I was thinking was, “Of course you are, bud. I, on the other hand, am not. There's not going to be any beer, TV or anything resembling a bed for almost a week.”

The other day, he asked me the same question. We were sitting on the plastic chairs outside the dive shop at Cane Bay. I could tell by the tone of his voice, this was a serious one. Over the past month, we'd gone through the online training for open water scuba certification together. He could have easily done it himself, but I wanted to make sure I still knew the rules. (He is a stickler for the rules. The last thing I wanted was for him to grab my regulator halfway through a dive and kick me out of the water for a time out when I went too deep, or missed a proper surface interval. So, every night after work, we'd go over a couple of sections. (Do you have any idea how annoying it is when your son scores better on the tests than you do? Luckily, I didn't have to say my answers.))

We'd also done several practice sessions in the pool at home. He'd SNUBAed and was great at snorkeling, so, I was sure he'd have no problem. It was pretty hilarious seeing him in my wife's BCD (That's the thing they attach the tank to. When you're ten and trying to figure things out with an adult sized tank and adult equipment, the stakes are stacked against you pretty high. It's a good thing laughter doesn't travel well under water.)

When we got to St Croix, he had to do his pool sessions then four open water dives with an instructor before he would be certified and could dive on his own with a buddy. I made the reservations at the dive shop and got him there on time. My wife and daughter went to play in the sand while I stayed to make sure he was comfortable. He had to do a quick knowledge check (which he aced. Yes I was very proud of him). Then he had to put his equipment together. That was supposed to be the end of the first day. Since we were on vacation, a slow start was good. That's when the instructor told me my son was going to do his first open water dive.

Now, since the instructor had never seen my son in the pool and probably didn't remember him from last year, I was a little surprised. But not as surprised as my son. Hence our sitting in the plastic chairs outside the dive shop.

“Dad... Do you really think I'm ready for this?”

We shared a look for a minute. “Yep, bud, you are.”

“Are you sure?” This was definitely a “I've bitten off more than I can chew” moment.

“What are our rules for diving?” We'd come up with our own, and both had to agree before we would start a dive.

“Calm, confident and safe.”

“Do you think you can do this?”

A slight nod of his head.

Will I let you get hurt?

A slight shake of his head.

That just left calm. “You can do all the skills, Bud. I've seen you do them in the pool. You know all the rules, you've passed all the tests. Yes, you're ready for this. Do you think you are?”

There was a pause as he thought... “Yes, Dad. Are you going with us?”

“Yes. I'll get my stuff right now.”

The three of us made our way down to the ocean. (Actually, my son made his way. I limped under the 50 pounds of gear and whimpered because I was barefoot and forgot that the tropical sun and cement combine to create what's known as nuclear fusion heat. The instructor was better off, but he was “helping” my son walk with all his scuba gear on. This was quite a feat since the gear probably weighed more than my son.) After a few minutes of practicing key skills, we all headed out.

For the next 30 minutes, I saw my son do his first scuba dive. He was calm and confident. He did everything he was supposed to and made it look easy.

“Dad, do you think I'm ready for this?”

"Yes, you are, but damn it, I'm not.”

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.

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.

A Night at the Zoo

“You may bring an air mattress or foam pad if desired.”

I've learned that anytime a business recommends something to enhance comfort, there is probably a very good reason for it. My son's cub scout den was going to spend a quiet evening at the Pittsburgh Zoo. The only drawback, as a parent, that I could see, was that someone had the brilliant idea to include the cub scouts.

We got a complete packing list that included ear-plugs and blow up mattress. The adventure was scheduled to start on a Saturday evening and last through Sunday morning. My wife, being a complete coward decided to take our daughter to a water park for a girl's day instead of stepping up and taking her only son camping.

I wasn't that worried though. My son and I had a full day planned. Dek hockey in the morning. I was certain this would work out some of his energy. Then we had to go home and pack for our overnight adventure. Luckily, my wife and daughter had already left for their trip. That meant, I got to pack.

And, I had a list. In addition, there was another important note. We were going to have to carry our stuff to the discovery center. Since they mentioned that a wagon would be a good idea, I figured this meant a very long walk. The list said to pack a change of clothes. If my wife had been doing the packing, this would have meant:

A change of clothes for over 70 degrees and sunny

A change of clothes for under 70 degrees and sunny
A change of clothes for over 80 degrees and rainy
A change of clothes for under 80 degrees and rainy
Extra shoes and socks
Another change of clothes for each of the above conditions
Two pairs of MATCHING (she always stresses this to me and I have no idea why. The kids always have a bottom and a top, how much more matching do you need?) pairs of pajamas
Another pair of heavy pants in case it was colder than forecast
A light shirt in case it warmed up in the afternoon
A jacket
A winter coat
A rain coat
Boots
Gloves
Mittens
A snake bite kit

(We usually only travel with seven sherpas, a team of oxen and a forklift for short weekend get-a-ways.) But now, the packing was all up to me. I was solely responsible for my son's comfort while we braved the wild frontiers of Pittsburgh's Zoo. So, I stepped outside and saw that it was warm and the sun was shining. There was absolutely no reason to think this would change over the next 24 hours. I packed a pair of shorts and a t shirt for both of us. Oh, and underwear and socks, but since this was a guy's weekend, those weren't technically required.

A few minutes after our clothes were packed into a plastic bag from Walmart, I had the sleeping bags and the air mattress ready to go to. (Once the air mattress was deflated, there was a lot more room in the bag, so our clothes fit in there too.)

Then, we were off on our adventure. I'd been to the zoo a few times and had my phone's GPS, so there wasn't really any need to look up directions. It was East, then somewhere off the turnpike. That somewhere was at the exact same place I lost connection to the GPS server.

“Dad, are we lost?”

“No.”

“You sure. Mom usually swears like that when she's lost.”

“We're not lost!”

“She says that too.”

“Just look for signs to the zoo.”

“We're never going to make it. Oh well, maybe we can try again next year...”

Contrary to his lack of faith, I found the zoo. He was in charge of the pillows and I was in charge of carrying everything else. After a few mile hike, we were at the kid's discovery center along with twelve other scouts and an assortment of parents.

So... we'd had a morning of dek hockey, a long hike and there were 5 solid hours of activities planned. Lights out was at 11 pm. All I had to do was survive from 6 to 11, surrounded by twelve cub scouts, every poisonous reptile in existence and a room full of bats. Once the lights were out, it would be clear sailing. Yes, no doubts.

The first doubt was when my son's best friend laid out his sleeping bag next to my son. For the next hour, they discussed dek hockey, what they'd see at the zoo, the meerkats, what they'd seen at the zoo, the meerkat tunnels, dek hockey and the Gila Monster that was sleeping directly over our heads.

Before long, I drifted off into a peaceful sleep. You would think after a long day of running, hiking, running, playing in the meerkat tunnels, more running and more playing in the meerkat tunnels, my son would be so exhausted he couldn't move. It was shaping up to be a quiet night on our air mattress. I've been woken up from a peaceful slumber by:

A pillow from my wife blaming me for snoring

My daughter proclaiming she lost a toof
My daughter proclaiming the toof fairy had come. (For serious, dad. She came)
My son having a nightmare.
My daughter having a nightmare.

It's surprising how strong the paternal instinct is. I was in a deep slumber when my son tried to kick a reverse field goal. His heel connected solidly with my groin and I didn't feed him to the Gila Monster. He might have woken up a little as I whimpered. Over the course of the short night, he kicked me in the back twice (I learned after the first kick to the groin), used my head for a footrest and mistook me for the air mattress.

“Rough night eh, bud?” I asked as I rolled up the sleeping bags.

“No, I slept really good.”

It's a good thing reptiles don't have ears. They would have learned some new words...

Rocks

“No daddy, throw the small rocks.” Normally, you'd expect this sort of comment during something like skipping stones, not while playing freeze tag. (more on this later.)

We took our kids on their first real camping trip. A real weekend of roughing it in the wild... Us against nature... The real Swiss Family Robinson.

The trip had been planned for a few weeks, we were going to hit the wide open road right after work. Just the four of us for a weekend away.

But, there was a forecast of a thunderstorm and our five-year daughter thought it might be a good idea to postpone her first ever, real life camping trip one day until the storms had passed. So, our trip into the great unknown was delayed while Mother Nature got her act together.

Finally, Saturday arrived and no hint of the dreaded thunderstorms to ruin our trip. I hooked the pop-up trailer to the back of the SUV, loaded the pillow pets into the back and the cooler, then we took off for our one night of roughing it.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the camp ground and found our assigned spot. Two hours after that, (camping really is an educational experience. My kids' vocabularies had increased by several dozen new words and expressions.) I'd maneuvered the pop-up camper back onto the state-park mandated concrete slab. (The person that invented physics needs a good swift kick in the shin. Don't get me wrong, I did the high school physics and even had a degree in parental physics. (I was actually ready when my daughter asked, “Daddy, why is the sky blue.”

I told her all about vectors and light waves and infra red and even drew out the science of it.

When I was done, she gave me a long look, “For really, Daddy, why is the sky blue?”

“God used up all the green on the trees and only had blue left.” She gave me a quick nod as if to say, you shoulda stuck with the truth from the start.)

When I turn right going forward, the camper goes right. There is no logical reason why that same thing should not be true in reverse. ) I can still remember bits and pieces of the process.

“Daddy, is the tire s'posed to be in the fire pit?”

“Daddy, how come the camper is beside us?”

“Daddy, mommy said we can't use that word.”

“Or that word.”

With our home away from home finally parked within a reasonable definition of “on” the concrete slab, we jumped out and began the process of “camping”. Two mild strokes later, I'd learned that “pop-up” was code for turn the crank several hundred times while nothing happens.

But, my family was waiting. I knew how the settlers felt when they set out on the great expansions westward. Soulful eyes were staring and it'd been at least an hour since they'd eaten, so they were wondering if they were going to starve or, even worse, freeze to death in the cold, merciless night. My pioneering instincts kicked in. Within a matter of hours, the camper was up, the electricity plugged in, the gas turned on, the fridge started and the oven started. Just like our ancient ancestors overcame impossible odds, it looked like we were going to survive our first night out in the wild.

Where do rocks and freeze tag come in? After everything was set up, my son wanted to play freeze tag, with his rules. Timeouts were called often and based had a tendency to change for without warning. As he gleefully ran up the hill towards another base, I picked up a large rock. (In my defense, in western Pennsylvania all you can pick up are rocks, and I did look for a small one)

That's when my daughter channeled my wife. “No.” It wasn't even shouted. Both my son and I stopped and looked at my wife, then at my daughter. Since her hands were on her little hips, we knew we were in trouble. That's when the lecture started.

“Daddy, you can't throw big rocks. You have to throw the small ones. We have delicate skin. Adults don't, but kids do.” She started to scoop up a couple of small rocks.

Luckily, I managed to get to her before she could demonstrate her theory. It's a good thing that she wasn't part of the original settlers... If she had been, the west coast would have a lot less people. But, the survivors probable would have gotten there much faster.