Scouts

Following up on yesterdays post, I thought I would share another story which helped shape me into who I am today.

My parents divorced at a very young age. I was less than a year old at the time so I don't remember the messy details of the divorce itself. In my formative years, I grew up without my father present. As I approached by pre-teenager years, my Mom pushed me to join the boy scouts. I wore the uniform, attended meetings to gain badges, attended events to race woodworked boxcars and perform group songs.

My father had re-entered my life at this time, attempting to sew a new and real relationship with me. We started small, meeting Sunday mornings to eat at the local diner for a late breakfast - myself, my sister, and my father. He usually had a plate of eggs and bacon with toast. I usually liked the choice of a bagel with a cheese omelette. Afterwards, we would catch the Sunday matinee. He allowed me to see my first 'R'-rated movie - something my Mom strictly opposed during my early upbringing.

I continued attending scouts once per week and eventually I planned to attend one of the scout jamborees. The jamboree was just a fancy name where scout troops (groups of boys with their scoutmaster) would gather together at a large campground. The intention was to play games, sports, hike, sing songs, and camp out in the wilderness. I was still young and like many of the other boys in my troop, my father came along with me. We participated in some sporting events, hiked, performed a group song, and roasted marshmallows.

Eventually, we decided to turn in for the night. We were laid out in sleeping bags for the entire night with no easy ground on which to sleep. I ended up having a horrible night, my back sore from sleeping on uneven rocky ground and, in turn, dreading another night of camping with that much discomfort.

My Dad and I exited our tent and saw a bunch of troops huddled around a morning campfire, stewing up oatmeal and vegetarian baked beans. Previous to this point, my mind thought of this morning breakfast as authentically rustic, something cowboys would do in the wild west. In reality, appeared like unappetizing, slimy gruel.

Outside the tent, my Dad must have been observing my dissatisfaction. I turned to him and, at the same time, he turned to me and said, "Screw it. Let's get out of here and head to the nearest diner." I remember thinking and wanting the same thing. We departed the campground and did not return for the following night. That was my last night of being a scout, and the start of my general dislike for camping. Howver, it was also one of many countless weekends I had with my father, eating breakfast and sharing company for the rest of the day.

Periodically, I think back to the shared realization we had when we turned towards one another in unison - agreeing to bail on the camping event. That was the first point in my life where I realized I truly was my Father's son.