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Overheard on the recent Boy Scout campout:

(In response to accusations that a certain scout needed to “calm down”) “Hey, it’s not like I’m a member of the Islamic Hotrod or anything.”

I spent the next five minutes trying to recover from spewing my morning tea through my nose.

The governor has lifted the burn ban for all counties in the state of Oklahoma. This suits me quite well — over the last few Boy Scout campouts, our Saturday “campfire” has consisted primarily of a cabin-style woodpile surrounding a Coleman lantern. Not exactly the right kind of campfire for roasting marshmallows or telling ghost stories.

I just have one request. The last time that Oklahoma lifted the burn ban, a series of “unfortunate fire incidents” managed to burn several hundred acres, resulting in the fastest reversal I’ve ever seen any government do, even during periods of dictatorship. So, if you’re planning on lighting your next fire with a pile of dead leaves in high-wind conditions with gasoline as your lighter fluid and 3.2 beer as your recreational beverage of choice, please do me a favor and wait until after this weekend.

Our Boy Scout troop attended the annual district Camporee last month. Great fun was had by all, most especially by our Venture (older boy) patrol, the Temple Guards, who took home a sheaf of first and second place awards. Their friends in larger troops did not fare so well.

This is a bit of a reversal; normally, our smaller troop tends to come out on the bottom. I asked the boys if it felt good to pull out an upset win over their rivals. One of them said, “Yes, it felt pretty good to rub it in. It’s gonna feel even better on Monday at school, when I’ll do it again!”

While this isn’t exactly what Baden-Powell had in mind when he put the words “friendly” and “courteous” in the Scout Law, I can’t begrudge them a little bit of bragging rights. They worked hard for it. Besides, I can’t wait to get a little of that for myself at the next Scout roundtable (heh heh).

One interesting observation: at the evening campfire, one of the Scoutmasters was addressing the crowd and misplaced his notebook. He started muttering to himself, “Now, where did I put my handy, dandy…”

And about 100 teenagers yelled out “NOTEBOOK!”

If you were wondering if the younger generation has found their identity, worry no more. This is clearly the Blue’s Clues generation.

Last year’s national Boy Scout Jamboree held at Fort A.P. Hill in Virginia was the scene of a dreadful accident. Four adult Scout leaders lost their lives when a tent pole came into contact with overhead electrical wires. The accident sent waves both inside and outside the Scouting community. A subsequent brush with several cases of heat exhaustion at the presidential address gave the Jamboree, and Scouting itself, more than its usual share of negative attention.

Media sources and individuals started up the usual brouhaha that is typical of these tragedies: questions were asked and accusations were made. There were a few voices that mourned the loss suffered by the families, but by and large the public attention was on the investigation. Did the Boy Scouts provide proper training to the leaders? Did the leaders flaunt safety regulations? Why was a contractor hired to erect the tent, which some sources called “highly unusual?” Why were the Boy Scouts, an organization that the ACLU has called a “discriminatory religious organization,” allowed on US Military property in the first place? Even Fox News was piling on with a story about a “disaster-riddled” event that highlighted the Boy Scouts’ general lack of preparedness.

In the end, the Army investigation concluded that the deaths were accidental and not the result of criminal malfeasance or neglect. And there the story ended, not with a bang, but with a wimper of quiet resignation.

And then I saw this letter to the editor in this month’s issue of Scouting Magazine, a monthly journal for Scouting volunteers.

July 25, 2005—the day Michael J. Shibe, my husband and the father to our sons (Eagle Scouts Brent and Neil and Eagle candidates Paul and Karl), was killed in an electrical accident at the 2005 National Scout Jamboree —was the first of many difficult days for us.

We are grateful to our friends in Scouting across the country for the many ways they rose to the occasion.

The salute at the jamboree by President Bush and other dignitaries, the BSA events held here in Alaska and in the rest of the country, and your individual prayers, messages of support, and generosity (from patches to cash gifts, quilts, photographs, and more) have helped to make this very difficult journey bearable.

Scouting helps to teach our youth how to manage life’s horrendous events with grace and dignity, and the response by troops and adult leaders from all over the country and around the world reminds me why the BSA is an organization so worthy of our involvement.

Kris Green (Shibe)
Anchorage, Alaska

Mrs. Shibe’s awesome tribute reminds me that we should never allow ourselves to be defined by the tragedies in our lives. It is our response to tragedy and sorrow that truly tells the world what we’re made of. Scouting is more than just a camping, hiking, and raising-boys-to-manhood organization. It is a community of the closest kind, and while we always practice charity and the giving of self to others, we never forget to take care of our own.

My thoughts and prayers are with the Shibe family, and my gratitude to God for making me a Scouter.

The reward for a job well done is… more work.

Last night, an event came to pass that I have anticipated for many months with a curious mix of excitement and dread — I was installed as Scoutmaster of Troop 201.

That word “installed” is curiously appropriate. I feel like a stock-order part that has been made to fit into a custom sports car. This troop has seen an line of truly amazing and inspiring Scoutmasters. Part of me is honored to be counted among these men. Another part of me wonders how the heck I’m going to measure up to that kind of standard.

As many friends and fellow Scouters have reminded me, I am well prepared for this job. I have the desire. I have the training (12 hours in the classroom and 14 days in the field). I have a year under my belt as Assistant Scoutmaster, and five years before that as a Cub Leader. I have the support of an excellent troop committee, a group of fine Assistant Scoutmasters, a responsible and eager Senior Patrol Leader, and the best group of boys that any Scout leader could hope for.

So why do I keep having this recurring nightmare that I’m climbing Mt. Everest and realize that I left my last roll of toilet paper in the hotel room in Kathmandu?

Maybe I should just be grateful that my subconscious has enough sense not to have me climb Everest in my underwear.

The Cub Scout campout was cancelled. Sub-freezing temperatures and a ban on ground fires make a bad combination for the under-11 set.

Somehow, watching the Olympic opening ceremonies doesn’t seem like an adequate substitute. I wanted to freeze my keester off, not watch a bunch of people on television freezing theirs in 18 different languages.

If you want me, I’ll be sulking in the corner with my zero-degree sleeping bag.

Last night, I was humbled and deeply honored to be presented with Boy Scouting’s District Award of Merit, given for “outstanding service to youth.” In the Boy Scouts, I work with some of the most incredible people I have ever known, all of them models of exceptional character, dedication, and generosity. To be recognized by peers such as those is a truly affirming experience. Normally, I’m not one to crow about my own laurels, but I was so surprised at this honor that I wanted to share the good feelings before they wore off.

At one point, I was being congratulated by Harold, a long-time Scouter who served as a mentor and friend in my early years as a Cub Den Leader. I wryly grinned and told him, “I guess that people do notice when you wear your Scout Leader uniform three times a week!” He leaned over to me, winked conspiratorially, and said, “Actually, they’re trying to inspire you to push for four.” I laughed until I realized he wasn’t really joking. Gulp.

I was also very proud to see one of the Cub Scouts in my pack, Josh, receive the “Cub Scout of the Year” award. Josh has earned every single rank advancement that Cub Scouting offers, including the Tiger, Wolf, Bear, Webelos, all twenty Webelos Activity Badges (a rare feat) and the Arrow of Light. He has also worked countless service hours for the community and his Pack. It is awesome to see a young man succeed so well, knowing that you had some small part in his development.

Not to be outdone, my wife was the recipient of the Cub Scouter Recognition award for her work as our Cub Pack’s Committee Chair for two years. Committee Chair is a tough job that seldom goes recognized because all of the work is done “behind the scenes.” Figureheads like Cubmaster and Den Leader usually get all the attention; they are the ones that everyone associates with “Pack Leadership.” But it is the Committee Chair that “leads the leaders,” making them into a cohesive whole. Our Cub Pack was enriched by her service, and I am proud to have her as a wife and fellow Scout Leader.

In case you haven’t noticed, I love the Scouting movement and the opportunity it gives me to help boys become men of character and integrity. It also gives me another meaningful way to relate to my wife and son as we work together to do our respective parts. I would willingly give this my time and energy even if I didn’t get the occasional plaque or pin. However, it’s nice to know that when you give something your all, sometimes it gives back.

Four nights a week? I’m gonna need another uniform.

This weekend, my son and I will be camping with approximately 15 Cub Scouts. While gathering the supplies for my backpack, I made sure to grab two 32-ounce Nalgene bottles off the shelf — you can’t have too much water with you on a campout. As I selected my bottles from the “stash”, I noted that I have somehow accumulated six of these Nalgene polyethylene beauties.

This wasn’t always the case. I used to own only two Nalgenes. After all, they’re indestructible, so why would anyone need more? Well, I found out exactly why back in 2003, as I wrote in the following article from my old (and now dearly departed) blog.

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Saturday morning, January 21st, 6:30 am. We are encamped at Trapper’s Rendezvous just outside of Newton, Kansas. The temperature is just shy of 25 degrees. A rime of frost covers the walls of each tent, both inside and out; I remember brushing some of it off my sleeping bag when I first awoke. My breath laces the air in front of me with a mist so thick that I think I could write in it with my finger.

I turn to east, surveying the creek that runs alongside our campsite. The sun is just starting to peek above the treetops, casting its golden beams across a landscape that has yet to completely shed the gray of twilight.

My son walks by, head down against the cold, working on some random morning task like gathering firewood. I reach out and grab his shoulder, turning him to face the rising sun. “Will you look at that?” I say to him quietly.

A minute later, he breathes one word. “Wow.”

The perfect moment passes, and we turn away to begin the day.

When camping in cold weather, any comment about how cold it is will immediately be countered by one or two older Scout leaders saying, “Cold? This isn’t cold. Why, I remember the time when it was so cold…”

Corollary: When camping in hot weather, the same will apply to comments made about the heat. However, as I have actually slept in 100-degree temperatures, that comment will be coming from me.

When teaching first aid to a group of Webelos Scouts, you will hold their attention much better if you appeal to their appreciation for the gross. For example, when teaching rescue breathing (i.e., mouth-to-mouth resuscitation):

• Good: “Before giving the breath, pinch the nose shut or the air won’t go in the lungs.”
• Better: “Before giving the breath, pinch the nose shut or the air will come back out through the victim’s nose.”
• Best: If you don’t pinch the nose shut, as soon as you blow you’ll get his snot all over your cheek.”

You’ll also have great success if you use terms like “spurting fountains of blood” to describe arterial bleeding. Trust me on this.

In March of 2006, I will become the Scoutmaster of my son’s Boy Scout troop. This is a development that I meet with some trepidation, although I know it’s going to be a blast. Part of me is quite amused about all this, as my own Boy Scouting experiences were less than stellar - I spent two years as a Tenderfoot before quitting.

As an adult leader, I have somehow amassed enough of a reputation that people will trust me to protect their sons from wild bears and undercooked hamburger meals. I must be doing something right - my son spent only three months as a Tenderfoot before advancing to Second Class rank. The curse of the stagnant Goodwin scout has been lifted.

Another part of me is scared to death, wondering if I should make a run for Canada while I still have my sanity intact. You know how mothers are always finding the most interesting objects in their son’s pockets, like dead frogs or crickets? It’s nothing compared to the kinds of things Boy Scouts pick up on a five-mile wilderness hike.

To help me past this hump in my Scout Leader career, I’m going to spend the next several weeks writing down the vast storehouse of knowledge accumulated from six years of leading Boy Scout units.

Rule number one: If a boy volunteers to tend the fire, under no circumstances should you allow him to do so.