Old Man, and Daughter, at (Boy Scout) Camp

© Jeff R. Filler

Moscow, Idaho 2008

When a friend of mine asked me if I knew of anyone who might be interested in being a Shooting Sports Director at a Boy Scout Camp ... I said, “Yeah, me.” So I applied, was accepted, and soon off to a week of training at Camp Chris Dobbins, Peaceful Valley, Colorado. And not only was I plunging into the unknown, I talked my daughter, Jaci, 15, to also apply at the camp I would be going to, Camp Grizzly, in Northern Idaho, and she was accepted.  She is on the Mountain Bike and 3-D Archery staff.

In Colorado it hit me that I was an old man entering a boy world. I had never been a boy scout, and it had been decades since I had been around so much youth. And Dobbins was a camp full of `directors' – I had yet to reach the boy scouts. I stood mostly as a spectator at the cheers, the flag ceremonies, and spent nearly every awake hour learning about being a Shooting Sports Director. People assured me that Peaceful Valley would be fun. My experience was otherwise. It wasn't bad – but it wasn't a week of exploring, hiking, fishing, swimming. It was a week of them getting all the training crammed into me as possible.  But it was fun the morning we did some shooting.

June 15 Jaci and I arrive at Grizzly. I see the horror in her face. The solamente girl in a boy world. Suddenly she wants to change (clothes) - she isn't `wearing the right thing'. But the moment and the horror quickly pass. Within a half hour she is at home. She is with people her age. And some she even knows – from town, not too far away.

But for me it is not that easy. There is no one my age, not even close. And I know no one. Well, except Aaron, the Camp Director, but he is busy learning to be Camp Director.

The two of us move our stuff into a small cabin. Small as in the size of a moderate size bedroom closet. This is where we will sleep, change, and maybe talk. I won't think about what the mattresses have been through – undoubtedly decades of something. No heat, no phone, but there is electricity. We won't cook, as there is a dining hall. There is a bathrooms-showers cabin that we staff will all share – young and old – divided down the middle between Men and Women. And there is Youth Protection – so the adult staff cannot use the facility with the youth, and vice versa, and I learn that the Youth leave the `Youth' sign up on the door, and thus it seems never available.  More than once I am awakened in the night to Jaci's rebuke of my snoring.  Ughhh.

We will all share a clothes washer and dryer. And the dryer seems not to know when to shut off – so it is always running. It is a miracle that the staff Restroom-Showers-Laundromat didn't burn down.

Acting old didn't seem to fit – so I guess I kind of like acted like - older staff – which is still quite young. I didn't have much time at all before I was plunged into being in skits, shouting cheers, appearing for flags – forced acting very much out of norm.

And I really freaked out, though mostly contained, when a National Inspector gave me the special hand shake, with a smile.

The first number of weeks with the Scouts on campus was not all that enjoyable. I was learning the whole Boy Scout thing, and my Shooting Sports Director job. Days are long as a staff member at a Boy Scout camp. Once `Program' is over – there are Campfires, Chapel, visiting the Scouts at campsites, plus, of course, chores. And other stuff.  But part way though I think I found my place, and it got good.

As I reflect I started camp about me. The Ph.D. (Doc), the Professional Engineer, the Firearms Expert, the “Serious Hunter” - and some kind of image to uphold – or at least something in which my self (ego) finds some comfort or meaning. And no doubt the image was probably limited in knowledge mostly to me. Everyone else had other stuff to think about. But we have this sign above the entrance to the Staff area. To the outside world it says “STAFF” - but on the inside – and to all of us staff – it says “FOR THE BOYS.” That's what it is all supposed to be about for a staff member at a Boy Scout camp. And our Program and Camp Directors pummeled it into us ... with seemingly relentless, shouts, cheers, songs, activities. And as the Scouts arrived and as I ran my range (Shotgun) – I found that I was loading ammo into Scouts' guns – where heretofore in life I had ammo into mostly my own.

And I found quickly that it is pretty cool watching a 13-year-old shoulder a 12 gage shotgun for the first time – and with a little instruction – obliterate a fast moving (flying) target. Cooler than me doing it. And it is also cool watching junior staff, and Scouts teach one another. I taught them the rather simple `five fundamentals of shooting a shotgun at a moving target', told them it was easy, and (FOR THEM) it was, ... is. My first time shooters consistently out-gunned the older boys, the Scout Masters, the `experienced' adults, the hunters, Head Commissioner, everybody. But some adults came though willing also to learn – with no bad habits, no history, no conditioned thinking that it is hard – and likewise did well. And for a few others I was able to give a few pointers – and they also hit targets.

And I realized something. Life is much simpler than we (adults) have made it. I think that is why we are told to `become like little children'. To a boy - life is wonder, excitement, big feats are accomplishable!, even easy. It's not until we `grow up' – and develop a taste and liking for the knowledge of good and evil – that life becomes otherwise – difficult, toil. We `learn' to expect life to be hard, to have to pay our dues. And we get what we expect. We loose the magic of being a boy, of being young, with the world and future all ahead of us. It not ought be so.

A life of meager pay, long days, someone else doing the cooking, of late nights, camp fires, some chores, teaching boys how to shoot, loading their guns and watching (them succeed), is not all that bad. I found I could live without email, phones, and definitely without the newspaper. And gas prices don't affect you much when you don't drive anywhere. In fact, I found it best when I didn't think about my past, and not too far into the future, but simply about the day – the next Troop Shoot, or camp fire – or whatever I was to be presently a part of. I learned to live a bit more in the now.

And not only did I change, but also my daughter. Or at least my view of her. I found that I did not need to `hover over' her. She had this world pretty figured out – and was far more comfortable in it. I began to see a beautiful young lady with a good head on her shoulders. I saw someone who loves life and people more than I do. And she `kicked the butts' of Scouts and Scouters alike on the rigorous mountain bike rides. I will long remember the early morning shoots, just her and I, at the Shotgun Range, to wake up camp. And watching her annihilate the entire camp population in the Camp Quadrathalon (Swim, Run, Bike, Shoot) was a glorious moment for me as a dad (even though we threw some errant targets for her to slow her down, though I resisted the idea). Maybe with regard to my daughter – I was the one who changed – maybe all I saw was the person she already was – and is - and always will be – AWESOME, BEAUTIFUL, FRIENDLY, GLORIOUS, AND FULL OF LIFE.

Camp is almost over. There is a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye as I write this. A herd of cows is just right outside my (small cabin) window – having trespassed into camp during night. It's the last day of July – and we have another hard frost. Steam rises from the lake. Jaci and I will jog to the Shotgun Range (she still in her pajamas). I'm not sure what I was thinking when I signed up for this – and I really don't know what I was thinking when I talked her into it.

But it has been good ...