Boy Scouts of America (B.S.A. B.S.)

The wife and I were away this past week and it wasn't until yesterday that I learned about the Boy Scouts of America and their decision to let openly gay scouts join their ranks.  The decision has created a spark within our local Troop and I for one am very disappointed in the decision for one reason.

I'm disappointed that a private organization gave in to political pressure from parties that have no vested interest.  What's this world coming to when a private, social-club can't decide for themselves who can or cannot join?   What's next?  Are tree-houses going to start getting pressured into allowing girls in?  That's a world I don't want to live in.

The BSA's decision doesn't bother me.  What bothers me is the response I've seen on other blogs and heard from Christian parents that are ripping their kids out of Boy Scout troops and starting their own groups.  Many parents have said that the Scouts have lost their Christian values by allowing gay scouts to join.  I was taking the my son to scouts for about seven months before I even knew it was a Christian organization.

I took the boy to an outdoor campfire meeting and the topic was about faith.  When the leader started mentioning God and Jesus I started cringing.  You never know what kind of Christian you're talking to.  Is it the God-is-Love type or the You-danced-at-a-party-and-are-going-to-Hell type?  I didn't know where he was going with his lesson and feared we had joined a cult.  After all, the meetings were always followed by punch.

That night was the first I knew of the Boys Scouts and their Christian tradition.  This is what bothers me about the reaction by some people.  If  you are going to take a Christian perspective, why wouldn't you want to allow those people you feel need God (in this case, homosexuals) into your group?  What better way to show them God's love than to invite them into your circle and interact with them.  I'm not saying you have to share the same sleeping bag, but you could at least invite them to go camping.  If they can't hear about God from your Christian Troop, then where will they?

And let's not forget who we're talking about when we say Scouts.  We're talking about young adults, kids really, under the age of 18.  These kids are just looking for a place to fit in--a sense of belonging.  And your Christian response is to push them away while teaching the "straight" scouts to do the same?  Please, by all means, start your own group.  I'm sure Westboro would be proud to sponsor your splinter cell.

Jesus was fairly inclusive.  About the only people he ever excluded were the religious leaders of his day--the same religious people who turned away whores and hated people of ethnicity unlike their own.  If you want to play the Christian card that's fine, but don't play that card while you're shunning the same people you should be loving.

Camping In

This past weekend was the first of what I hope to be many trips to the local boy scout camp grounds.  Despite my initial fears of us having to leave early, we had an excellent time.  Our only prior camping experience resulted in us packing up our tent at one in the morning and heading home so Caleb (and Momma and Daddy) could go to sleep.  The thought of sleeping outside in a tent was just too exciting.  He fell asleep, strapped into his booster-seat about five minutes after leaving the campground.  So, I wasn't exactly sure how this weekend was going to pan out.

We arrived a little later than I had hoped to.  This was due to a quick snack run on our way to the camp.  I wasn't sure what the cook had planned for us, but I could guarantee that whatever it was, the boy wasn't going to eat it.  We had spaghetti, which he did a pretty good job on before asking for chips.  After a little negotiating, all good meals involve some sort of bartering, he finished his meal and we dove into some chips.

After the meal, it was time for lessons.  But, before we could start, we had to get the boys to sit down in a circle.  If you've ever tried to get boys to line-up, or sit down, you know that it's kind of like herding cats.  After about twenty minutes of "You need to spread out", "You sit over there", and "Stop hitting each other", the boys were finally in a shape that closely resembled a circle.  Or maybe an oval.  Alright, it was more like a puddle.

Our fearless leader, Karl, had an interesting lesson planned for the boys.  Topics covered just about everything from astronomy to Egyptian life/death philosophy, Copernican heresies, and my personal favorite, Greek mythology.  By the end of his lesson, our little circle ended up looking like a college auditorium, with everyone facing the professor.  The only difference was that Karl's students were actually interested in what he was saying.

With the lessons over for the night, it was time to wear the boys out.  Can you say "Night Hike!"  Three or four flashlights, five or six adults, and fifteen to twenty boys headed out into the 285-acre wilderness of the camp ground for a little exercise and an introduction to Sasquatch.  I stayed behind to start clearing tables and chairs for our Camp In, while the boy went out into the mysterious beyond.   When he returned,  he told me many things about Big Foot and even claimed to have seen "red eyes" glowing in the forest.

With the Sasquatchery over, there was only one thing left to do before we turned in for the night, i.e., ghost stories by the camp fire.  With the boy scout leader ruling out any gruesome/bloody tales, I knew I wouldn't be telling any stories.  It's just as well, because the stories we heard were quite good.  They were tales, not in the sense of unbelievable, Scooby-Doo type ghosts, but more in the vein of close family members dying and trying to communicate with their loved ones afterwards.  To me, these are more frightening.  After twenty or so minutes of these stories, many of which had some boys covering their ears, we expected them to go to sleep.

Hunting for the 'Squatch

 And, go to sleep, they did.  I was amazed that none of the children freaked out in the dark.  Personally, I couldn't sleep at all.  It wasn't the ghost stories so much as it was the atmosphere.  First off, I didn't bring an air-mattress, something, I now regret.  The tiles on the floor where forged from the same ice-cold materials as Viking swords.  And, they pierced the skin through my sleeping bag, much in the same way.

If the cold wasn't enough to keep me awake, the smell of my son's feet were.  Boys' feet stink.  I've found that various socks affect podiatric stench differently.  Black, dress socks tend to increase the nasal offense to a higher degree than any other sock.  These are what he wore that night.  As if laying side-by-side weren't bad enough, throughout the course of the night, he slowly slid across the floor until his feet were right in my face.  Morning couldn't come soon enough, but would it be a better experience?

Camp Warren Levis

With the long, sleepless night of our first cub scout camping trip over, I wasn't sure if I'd have the energy to enjoy the day before us.  We had planned on hiking, doing some environmental clean-up, and fishing, but I had also planned on getting some sound rest.  You know how that turned out.

Before camping at Warren Levis, I knew little to nothing about the campground itself.    It's placement in the middle of town worried me. I assumed that we would be staying in a small cabin, fishing in a half-acre pond, and "hiking" on the city sidewalks.  I couldn't have been more wrong...or more impressed.

When we first arrived, I noticed a stone header that read "Swami Lodge."  I thought, Awesome.  I can't wait to meet Chris Berman...and then punch him in the face.  After looking at the photo longer, I realized we were actually staying at "Swaim Lodge."  Not as exciting:

The atmosphere inside the lodge.

The view from our lodge--overlooking the "pond".

  The boy was overly excited about the entire thing:

Then again, it could have been the cake:

Cake which was eaten right before bed.

If the sugar wasn't enough to keep him up all night, I figured the fire-side ghost-stories would be:

The boys were all too eager to go on a hike the next morning.  Pretty sure I was just sleep-walking the entire time.

A canteen for hydration, a compass for orienteering, and a stick for beating me if I fell asleep on the path.

After the hike, we took a journey down to the lake for a little fishing.  It was windy, cold, muddy, the fish weren't biting, and I almost took a hook to the face--several different times.

I was impressed that Caleb picked up his own worm.  He's usually afraid to touch his own dirty socks and underwear.  On the rare occasion that he does, he washes his hands three times afterwards.  With our fish-catching prospects low and our climate tolerance even lower, it was time to head home.  But first, another long hike...uphill...to our car.

My largest complaint about the camping trip is that we never had the chance to play any food sports.  I'm deadly at Egg Baseball and would have taken on any challenger in a Bacon-Eating Contest.

 If somebody went to the trouble of making a sign, I think we owe it to them to hit eggs with a baseball bat.

Lack of food fighting aside, Caleb had a wonderful time, just ask my wife, because she heard all about it when we got home.  He's already looking forward to our next trip.  And I'm already planning on packing the air-mattress and some sleeping pills.

6 Months on the Inside

A couple of weeks ago our scout pack had its Blue and Gold dinner.  It's a time for recognizing the achievements of the boys with various cub scout awards as well as a rite of passage for the older children.  For the boy and me, it marked the sixth month battle of wills between his "I don't wanna go to Scouts" and my "It'll be good for you."   I still believe it is good for him, much better than these other activities anyway, and while I still haven't been able to convince him scouting is more fun that staying home and watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine for the 18th time, he is starting to enjoy all the cool things we do.

One of the first trips the boys took was to the local college radio station.  As a former student of this very radio program, I was looking forward to checking out the new sound room and the possibility of being able to mess with all the sliders and knobs.

 Unfortunately, I was on diaper duty that night and wasn't able to go.  From what the wife told me, I missed my chance to make farting noises on live air.  Maybe next time.

My boy is the one demonstrating how to NOT catch a pass.

One of his favorite trips was our outing to (yet another) local college for our sports requirement.  The boys learned how to shoot some hoops.

When you're not much taller than four foot, "shooting hoops" usually consists of seeing how high you can throw the ball into the air and then running out of the way before it falls on your head.

I was impressed with how much he enjoyed this activity, considering that when I paid thirty dollars to sign him up for basketball classes he showed no interest at all.  Let this be a lesson to you parents out there:  Skip the $30 class, purchase a $10 basketball, and take your kid to the park.  On the way home, buy $20 worth of bacon.

 Before anybody got a bloody nose, the boys were moved from the gym to the rock-climbing wall.  Here they were able to test feats of strength.  Not their strength, but the strength of the parents that had to support their tiny frames as they scurried up the wall.

This wouldn't have been so bad on the old man's body if it wasn't for the fact that my son decided he had to touch every single rock on that wall.  There was no "One and done" for my little scout.  He must have climbed every inch of that forty-foot long wall, because every inch of my six-foot three frame felt it the following morning.

 A few weeks later, we took the boys to go watch a basketball game.  This was one of those moments I was the most proud of my son.  He didn't have to do anything other than sit there and watch the game.

For the first half, he sat next to me, quietly, not paying any attention to the other boys.  Then, suddenly, he asked if he could go play with the other kids. 

My son, the perfectly-fine-all-by-himself introvert wanted to hang out with the other boys.  I was so proud, I didn't care if he watched the game.  At the time, I wouldn't have cared if he set something on fire.  At least he would have been raising hell with other kids.  And this brings me back to our Blue and Gold dinner.

When it came time to hand out cub scout awards, I was surprised to hear my son's name called.  As he made his way up front to receive his award, the speaker announced that the award was for those scouts that had "Come out of their shells and opened up to the group."  He won this award on the same night that he was too shy to perform in a little skit the tiger cubs put together.  He may not be out of that shell entirely, but at least he's out of his cell.





Special thanks to Diana Herman for the scout photos!

Pinewood Derby Photos

Photos from last week's Pinewood Derby.

  Numbers don't lie. Our car was slow.

  I asked to take his picture and he pulled a 'gangsta drop' on me. It's the derby yo. Recognize!

 Waiting for the official weigh-in and inspection.

 He's probably thinking, "Not another damn Lightning McQueen car".

  Derby cars assemble...

 A ton of celebrities showed up for the event: Thomas the Train, Lightning McQueen, Mario, Bowser, and a couple of the Avengers. Okay, so maybe not a ton, more like 30 ounces.

 The best seats in the house are at the end of the race. That's where things are most likely to go wrong.

 There's at least one car we beat.

 We hereby recognize your father's engineering failure with this tiny participation trophy.

Want to read more about my failures in these Pinewood Derby Cub Scout Games?

Cub Scouts Imprisoned!

In a scandal that is sure to rock the Cub Scouts of America organization, a Tiger Cub Pack from Grafton, IL was recently handcuffed, fingerprinted, and placed behind bars.

Things started out smooth enough at Monday night's "Go and See It" event which Tiger scouts are required to do as part of fulfilling the requirements for their badge.  The kids were asking the sheriff great questions like, "How many people have you killed?" and "Do you have a bazooka?".

Scouts learned about the history of the department and even got to see the "Sheriff Hall of Fame" which showed all the past sheriffs.  By far, the toughest looking sheriff in the Hall of Fame is Sheriff Wedding who reigned in power, with his glorious beard beside him, from 1856-1858.

It should be a requirement for police to have terrifying beards like Sheriff Wedding. This includes women as well. Clean shaven just doesn't instill fear.

But then, the sheriff started asking his own questions about the scouts' involvement with raising funds through selling boy scouts popcorn.   After the children admitted to peddling popcorn on the streets, the sheriff demanded to see a permit for selling.  He then called in his deputies, began shouting about child labor laws, and started processing the entire scout pack.

There was confusion at first as the children thought it was just "a game" that the officers were playing.  The police offered to let the children "try on" the handcuffs and, at first, the kids were excited.

Look at me! I'm under fake arrest. hahaha

Then each cub scout was told he was under arrest.

Just kidding, it's a "for real" arrest. Not so funny now is it?

I must applaud the police for their craftiness in getting the children to comply with fingerprinting.  Apparently, the boys thought the officers were going to let them finger-paint.

He still thinks he's going to finger-paint.

It's like finger-painting except instead of your art work going into the trash, it goes into a permanent file.

Once all the children were cuffed and printed, it was time to lock 'em up.  Normally, cells have room for one or two (sometimes three) inmates.  But, when the criminals are all under 5 feet, you can really cram them in there.

I'd hate to have to clean that cell. Who's really being punished here Mr. Janitor?

Bail was set at a paltry $20, but I hadn't slept well in a few nights and Monday Night Football was on.  An over-nighter in a cold cell might do the boy some good anyway.

Sideways hat---a sure sign he's a trouble-maker.

Cub Scout Crafts

When it comes to cub scout crafts, there is no project more popular than the Pinewood Derby.  And while it’s supposed to be something fun for the scouts to do, it’s really more of a science project for the parents.

I hate science projects.

It’s not that the scientific work of others doesn’t interest me; it does.  It’s just that I was never good at scientific work.  And, if the past results of my high-school science project days were any indication, not only would I churn out a D-minus level derby-car, but I would wait until the night before the race to complete it.

 Actually I didn’t complete the car until five minutes before the race started.  I had to borrow some weights (thanks Jim) and crazy glue (you to Karl) to bring the car up to a respectable/competitive 5 ounces.  And the derby race is nothing if not competitive.

After I had started working on the boy’s car, I looked up a few different websites to see how other people had designed their racers.  Our car was going up against the cars of physics teachers and engineers.  I’m sitting on a psych degree that’s slowly wasting away as I sit at home.  Advantage Engineer.


I was amazed at the level of design that people had put in to these cars.  They were grinding axles, lengthening wheel spans, redirecting the car’s center of gravity, and polishing wheels to name a few.  Remember, this is supposed to be fun for the kids.  Perhaps the older ones can handle all that, but I was afraid to let my son put the wheels on, let alone grind the axles.

All I wanted was a few tips on how to make the boy’s car better.  Once I saw how much work was involved, I decided we’d be better off to forget about the modifications and keep it simple.

 For those of you not familiar with Pinewood Derby manufacturing, here’s a little info.  You start with a block of wood.

 You then draw a design on it, cut it out, and sand it.

 Paint it, slap some wheels on, and add some weights.  Those are the building basics.

Now out of that entire process, the only thing  my son could do (and I was hesitant to let him do so) was sand it down.  I wish I had a picture of him in front of the belt-sander, because he was digging it.  I also wish I had captured his reaction when I told him it was his turn to use the scroll saw.  It’s similar to the look you make when you realize you just sharted.

That's the look.

 Even though we didn’t make any modifications to the car, we still came in fourth place.  That is to say that if you ranked everybody from worst to best, we would have come in 4th.  At least he received another participation trophy.  Whatever happened to participation ribbons?  At least they fit nicely inside a shoebox.

Check out pictures from the Cub Scout Derby.