Scout Camp 2008

Last week I spent the entire week in a chipmunk infested dustbowl called scout camp.
The food was terrible, it was hot, dusty and uncomfortable.
I spent a bunch of time with 14 boys who are immature, juvenile and downright dirty.
For example, one boy stuffed 8 large marshmallows into his mouth. Couldn’t hold them in so spit them back out into his dirt encrusted hands only to put it all back in his mouth. Then he laughed and some of the marshmallows escaped through his nostrils and he emptied the rest into the weeds.
The record was 9 by the way.

These boys don’t seem to notice dirt, germs or dirt or bad food or dirt or soot or dirt.
Once when I went to wake them up from their Adirondack, there was one of the boys sleeping on the floor; a big dusty mud footprint on his white pillow case. When I pointed it out to him, he just looked at me like “so what” and laid back down and went to sleep, his sleeping bag, hair and arms fully covered in dust. An old German saying comes to mind: “Like maggots in rotten meat.”

When I told another boy to go wash his face (because it was covered in dirt), he did so diligently and then returned with no change. When I asked him if he’d used water, he said, no. When I asked him why he said he’d seen somewhere that people sometimes use dirt to wash their face and brush their teeth and he wanted to try it. I didn’t ask him if he brushed his teeth.

Another boy wanted me to bet him that he wouldn’t eat an unfortunate beetle that happened by. “I’ll chew it completely and swallow.” The price for such an act of bravery and chutzpa?
3$ of course.

I’ve been a scout leader now, in one form or another, going on 20 years. I’m pretty immune to this stuff now. Although, scout camp always pushes the limits. When a “green” parent attended one day to help out, I had to regularly tell him that it’ll be OK. The boys won’t die from their escapades. At least, I hadn’t lost any yet. He stood, mouth agape, and seemingly confused at the scene of 14 boys simultaneously doing things that he’d never seen before (or forgot doing when he was that age) like burning their socks in the fire, lighting their lighter fuel saturated towels on fire (but the towel didn’t burn, only the fuel. That was cool!), laying down next to the fire on the half burned sooty log, stuffing their faces with marshmallows, flame throwing with spray bug repellent, cutting themselves (one requiring stitches) with their knives, walking around in the soot, sand and dust with just their socks on and all having a great time to boot.

One of my favorite quotes:
Boy 1 – “Mr. Haselden, I cut my finger.”
Kirk – “Come here, let me see.”
Boy 2 – “Ooo, let me see”
Followed by a chorus of boys wanting to see blood.
Boy1 – “I think it’s pretty deep.”
Kirk – “Yep, I think we need to call your dad. Probably needs stitches” (Doctor wanted to give him 5, he asked for 3)
Boy 2 – “Cool! You’ll have a major scar!”
Boy 3 – “Yeah, and, you’re only 11 years old!”
Boy 1 – “COOL!”

This age of boy is still between the early ages of manhood and the late stages of childhood. That means that they love to hear scary stories but they don’t want any of the other boys to know that they’re afraid. So that if my Windigo story didn’t get to them, my homicidal maniac scoutmaster story (with full sound effects, of course) did.
But nobody would admit it.

A couple of pictures to mark the event. One is my humble living quarters. The other is of the boys.

I actually enjoy these weeks if for nothing else than the sheer novelty.
There’s really nothing like camping with a bunch of 11 and 12 year old boys.
Nothing.