Archive for November 10th, 2008

11:15 a.m.

They say we’ll be heading up to the staging area for the Score-O tournament at 12:15. I’ve succeeded in drying out Brand’s extra socks. Since we’re apparently hiking through the brush for three hours this afternoon, the idea of going in only my topsiders with no socks was scary. Had I not been successful in reclaiming Brand’s socks, I might have had to go to Walmart or borrow some. But they are dry, so I am home free on socks.

Back at the pavilion a discussion bursts forth about the paying of tuition for a private school when you could get the same thing free by living in Aledo. This made me so mad. I tried to set the person, the same one who went on about the awfulness of California – straight, and he pretty much wouldn’t take no for an answer. Tensions ran high; and no two schools are really alike so it’s all foolishness, really. But that didn’t stop me from vociferously defending our school choice. Be true to your school, as the Beach Boys said.

I think the scoutmasters do a good job with the kids. The parents are here to hang out and camp. That said I do feel alienated by the way other parents talk about retirement. I am terrified by this concept. Retirement! They also discuss workplace privilege and anger at co-workers who are not doing their jobs. Modern parents suffer a lot from worry and general irritation. Including me.  Definitely me. 

A train whistle blows in the distance. Whatever track is out there, it surely is busy. Now the humming of the train increases. I find it soothing, a sound I heard at home. The sun beats down and begins to be pleasant. Time drags when you are on a campout. You hear car doors slam, feet crunching on gravel. Sounds become more distinct.  A small plane flies out over the lake, a cricket chirps, the beeping of a car alarm is turned off.  

I look across the street and see the troop’s scoutmaster pulling out the driver’s side mat from his small white SUV, which is hitched to the gear trailer. He shakes off the mat, cleaning the car even today on a campout. A fastidious man, a teacher who used to be an attorney, he wears wire rimmed glasses, short gray hair, a t-shirt and hiking shorts. His boots are topped by black and blue nylon gaiters that run down from his knee and tie under his instep. I look at them, and assume that this is his system for keeping all burrs and other irritants away from his legs. It’s a be-prepared kind of outfit, and I have to hand it to him for embodying the Boy Scout motto.

Me, on the other hand, I am the most lousy scout on the block, couldn’t even remember a flashlight or my suitcase. I’m about to go hiking in a pair of topsiders. Where other parents have uniforms with badges, I have a pair of jeans I’ve now worn for three days running. Now I am keeping warmer by grabbing my son’s school sweatshirt he left in the back of the seat. I am not prepared. Resourceful, maybe, but not prepared.

And another thing: I am worried I am coming down with a urinary tract infection. I am drinking a bottle of water, then will return to the pit toilet to make sure I’m not getting worse. There are not very many practical circumstances that frighten me, (my fears run more to the fabulously unlikely) but getting caught on a campout with a full-blown UTI is one of them.