Welcome to the Boy scouts

 

“Well have a good week,” my father said while shaking my hand as my

camping gear remained scattered on the ground.

 

It was the first time I ever recall shaking my father's hand and I think

on some subconscious level, it marked a moment where I was no longer a

boy, but starting the process of becoming a man. But at that moment in

my life, I just wasn't ready for that stage. I saw my father walking back to

his truck and tried calming my nerves because it was going to be hard without him.

 

It was July of 2007 and I was 11-years-old and was spending my first

summer at Boy Scout summer camp in the American fork canyon.

 Along with five other boys, I had just crossed over from

a Cub Scouts pack that was run by mothers to a Boy Scout troop that was

run by fathers. Now along with the other five newest Boy Scouts, I went

from building pinewood derby cars and selling popcorn to going on 100

mile hikes, long canoe trips, and learning how to start a fire with out

matches.

 

I was very shy but ready to make friends; with short hair and striking good looks ;)

, I was nervous of the thought of spending a week in a foreign

place without my family. And I was even more cautious of the older,

mean looking high school boys I had just met who were already beginning

to surround and harass some of my friends like vultures on fresh

road kill during a hot summer day. It still amuses me how the older boys

were able to reassure the parents of the younger campers they would

keep an eye on their children. They would always act the part of the

caring older scout so well and even put on a fake smile as the parents

returned to their cars feeling confident there son was going to be

watched over by a mature older boy who had their best interest in mind.

 

 

But as I found myself nervous of the week that was about to start, I

did have my friend troy who I had just met a year before in my fifth

grade homeroom class at our elementary school.

 

While Troy and I had a lot in common such as our taste in music, school

activities, and sense of humor, I always enjoyed having Troy as a friend

because he was more talkative and confident than I was at that stage in

my life. And having a friend who was able to make friends with others

better than you could meant a lot to an 11-year-old who is just trying

to fit in with the crowd.

 

With our parents now gone and our brand new camping gear still on the

ground, Troy and I learned the tent we were going to be assigned

wouldn't be available until the next day when summer camp officially

began and the commissary would be open. Troy and I had arrived at scout

camp a day early just as the older boys had arrived following a 100

mile hike from our hometown which was a tradition in our Boy Scout

troop. But our scoutmaster at the time, a man named Jaren, who was a

tall, older man with thinning brown hair and dark glasses, offered to

stay in his son's tent so that Troy and I could use the scout masters

tent until we received ours the next day.

 

For most of the afternoon, Troy and I attempted to settle in to the

campground by exploring the woods around us. But most

importantly, we were trying to remain low on the radar from the older

boys especially Jon, a husky Irish farm boy with beady dark eyes who

had the reputation of being the ringleader when it came to hazing the

new younger scouts.

 

But as the evening approached and darkness began to fall over the

canyon, the wind also began to pick up and the air began

to seem a little less humid and more cooler as all of us new scouts sat

in a tent reading ghost stories out of a book.

 

“Well, it’s getting late,” Troy said to all of us. “It's time we call it a

night especially since it’s going to storm soon. Okay Ryan, lets head

back to our tent.”

 

As Troy and I walked out of the old army tent and began walking back to

the tent we were going to use for the night, we looked around the

campground which had become deserted. No longer were the scout fathers

 

and the older scouts present, but merely a dying fire was starting to

become extinguished from the raindrops that were beginning to fall from

the dark eerie looking sky. And with the wind beginning to pick up

speed, the canopies over the picnic tables began to flap loudly as the

strength of the poles holding them up remained in question.

Just then there was a bright light and a loud boom.

“Holy crap!” I said as Troy and we made a run for our tent. Suddenly we

felt as if we were in a fight for our lives as we dashed across the

dirt ground and leaped into our old army tent and tied the front down

as a way to keep out the rain.

Sitting on our beds, Troy and I reassured each other this storm would

quickly pass as all summer storms tend to do in Western Pennsylvania.

But as the minutes began to pass and we found ourselves on our metal

cots looking up at our tent that was shaking from the wind and rain

that kept on getting more intense, we both came to the conclusion that

something didn't seem right.

BOOM! POW! CRACK!

Outside the storm continued to roar as trees around us were beginning to

fall and the bright lightening would light up the dark campground.

Moments later, Troy and I saw the picnic table canopies rip right out

the ground and become sucked into the deep woods by the raging wind.

Then we heard what we thought was the sound of a train.

“Let's get under our cots!” I shouted to Troy over the loud roars from

the wind and thunder. It might be a tornado!”

As Troy and I laid on the wood slate with our stomachs against the wood

and held on to the feet of our old metal cots (something in hindsight

might have been bad to do) we looked through the bottom gap that showed

us what was going on outside as our campground became ravished by the

storm.

While I was always quick to get afraid, I began to grow even more

terrified when I saw that Troy, who had a great deal of more confidence

than I did, looked scared out of his wits.

“Do you think we are going to die?” Troy asked me as our tent was slowly

being pulled from the ground and water was now slowly seeping in from

the ceiling and soaking our sleeping bags.

“I don't know. I think so.” I shouted back while trying to keep my head

down.

“Do you believe in God?” I asked Troy between the claps of thunder and

the bolts of lightning.

“Yeah, I do. I mean, you do, right?” he asked back.

“Yeah, Yeah I do!” I said looking over to Troy while the flashes of

Lightning reflected off Troy’s glasses. Looking back, our conversation

about life and death was pretty deep for two 11-year-old boys. Going

back and forth we discussed our love for our families, what it would

be like when we would get to heaven, and what God would look like.

But as Troy and I reassured each other of our friendship in what seemed

to be the final moment for the both of us at the time, the next thing I

can remember was the silence.

“Hey Ryan, are you awake,” Troy whispered as both of us somehow were

back on our cots. “Yeah, but my bed is soaked from the rain,” I

replied.

“Mine too,” Troy said. “All my clean clothes are soaked! Everything is

soaked!”

As I held my dying flashlight over our camping gear, we started to hear

buzzing that broke the silence following the storm.

Suddenly the buzz became a high-pitched sound as I felt something biting

my neck.

“There are mosquitoes in here!” I shouted while slapping my face.

Shinning my flashlight to the bottom of our ravished tent, we saw

Mosquitoes coming up from the wooden slates below us and were beginning

to feast on our skin.

“Ah man, this stinks,” I said. “Let's go tell the scoutmaster. We can't

camp in this tent!”

Walking over to the tent the scoutmaster was sleeping in, (which we

could identify from the loud snoring) Troy and I shook the corner of his

tent awaking him from his deep sleep.

“What is it boys,” he asked us from still inside the tent and in a

groggy voice.

“Our sleeping bags, our clean clothes, and even the clothes on us are

soaked! We can't sleep like this,” Troy said to him.

“Boys, go back to sleep,” he replied before starting to snore again.

Walking back to our tents, Troy and I got back in our water logged

sleeping bags and tried to sleep. However, we spent most of the night

Complaining to each other and regretting going camping in the first

place.

The next morning as we woke up and saw the bright summer sun and older

boys raising the canopies that were knocked down by the storm, we also

saw the assistant scoutmaster surveying the damage. With his US Marine

look complete with his camouflage pants, fireman's T-shirt, and a crew

cut hair style, Assistant Scoutmaster Charlie walked around the

campground surveying the damage while listening to his fire radio .

“Quite a storm last night,” he said to us as we stood drenched and

looking miserable.

“This was a pretty bad one. You two fellas got quite the introduction to Boy Scouts.

 Lot different than camping in Cub Scouts with your mothers,” he said.

“Yeah, we didn't think we were going to make it,” I replied.

“Well, you both did. And if you could handle that storm, you can handle

the rest of this week,” he said while brushing his mustache with his

fingertips.

“You're young men now. And welcome to the Boy Scouts,” he said smiling.