In life, we all have to play the game with the cards we are given. Some of us get to go on Boy Scout High Adventures. Some of us don't. Those of us who were privileged to go on these often came away with more than a great camping experience -- much more.
Boy Scout High Adventures mostly start out early in the morning. My son, JT, and I were invited to join a group of Utah scouts on a biking adventure to Canada near the San Juan Islands. He was the Boy Scout; I was a guest leader but had been away from camping and High Adventures for some time. We flew out of Salt Lake City at 6:00 a.m., arriving in Seattle as the city was waking up. The next leg of our trip was to travel from Sea-Tac to the Renton Boeing facility. One of the leaders had connections at Boeing and had arranged a VIP tour of the plant where they made the Boeing 737. To get there we had to use King County Metro Transit.
The bus took us through Renton, Washington. At one of the stops, a black teenager confidently sauntered up the stairs. He didn't appear to notice any of us until he looked up -- stopping dead in his tracks, he realized that if he was going to take a seat, he would have to sit with us.
My mother would have made me suck on a bar of Ivory soap for an hour if I had ever used the two-word phrase that was boldly emblazoned on his black trucker's hat in large white letters. Not knowing if he was dangerous or just an extrovert, the scouts cautiously watched him. Wide-eyed, he slowly sat down, carefully studying us for any signs of hostility. Suspiciously, he asked the scouts next to him, “You be... Boy Scouts?” They showed him the Boy Scouts of America logos on their uniforms and told him they were on a camping trip. More relaxed and friendly, he asked, “You-all stop fo’ breffus?” Several scouts volunteered that we flew up from Utah early that morning and did not have time for breakfast. He became animated with surprise and said, “What!? No breffus!? I be yo’ scoutmaster and I take all-you-all down to Denny’s fo' da' Slam Dunk Special!” The scouts looked at each other, smiling and nodding in agreement, not knowing that the VIP tour included a continental breakfast. He asked where we were going. The scouts explained that we were on our way to go camping in Canada near the San Juan Islands. He raised his eyebrows and with a sly smile asked, “While you be out campin’, you gonna go find some of them ... campfire girls?” The scouts smiled sheepishly and shook their heads and explained that we would be on islands, riding bicycles. Undeterred, he had a solution, “I be your scoutmaster, I find you some canoes and cross that lake and find us some of those campfire girls!” The scouts looked back at us to see what we thought of his idea. We just smiled and they got the message they thought we would give them and politely declined. By the time his stop came up, his brash, youthful confidence had returned and he was bantering with his captive audience. As he sauntered off the bus, he reminded the scouts of how great it would be if he was their scoutmaster, did a little handshake routine with a few of the scouts, and flashed what appeared to be a few friendly hand gestures. His farewell words were mostly phrases in ebonics that only he understood. The scouts smiled back, nodding like they knew what he was saying. Then he just seemed to disappear after the doors on the bus closed behind him -- but his memory remained with us, long after he was gone. You just can't buy entertainment like that.
As the biking and camping adventure progressed, we were often teased with his lines from the bus ride -- it was like the scouts were quoting a skit from Saturday Night Live. Even the timid scouts became comedians. JT, who was one of the younger scouts, smilingly joked with me. "Dad, we gonna go look for some of them, campfire girls?" My response was that I already had enough excitement in my life. I asked him if we found some of those campfire girls, exactly what we would be doing with them. He shot right back, "Oh, we would take them to Denny's for the Slam Dunk Special!" -- and walked away laughing to himself.
We did not look for Campfire Girls or go to Dennys. We went biking, camping, and island-hopping -- finding a solid foundation of great memories in a world-class location. A group of great men organized this High Adventure, took a week away from busy professional lives, and paid for much of this themselves. Included were several scouts who came from homes whose parents would not or could not sponsor their trip. We also crossed paths with a clever black kid whose opportunities did not include belonging to a well-funded, church-sponsored Boy Scout troop. The scouts did not say much about riding the big ferries on the Peugeot Sound, going to and from the Canadian Islands, Butchart Gardens, or the spectacular biking through the Canadian islands of British Columbia. We did hear a few recollections of having High Tea in The Empress Room at the Fairmont Hotel in Victoria. At breakfast, cooked over camp stoves, some of the scouts put a cooking towel over one arm and pretended to be waiters from the Fairmont, who put a white linen towel folded over their arms when they served us. In distinct British accents, they asked, "Would you care for another crumpet, Sir? "Perhaps a spot of hot chocolate to go with the eggs and ham?" The response was equally British, "No thank you, Walter, I'm quite fine." More often they quoted the clever black kid. As this went on, it became apparent to me that these Boy Scouts gained much more from this High Adventure than exercise and sightseeing. Each scout was given an opportunity for a new perspective on their own particular outrageous fortunes -- I wondered inwardly if they thought about how they would play the game if they had been dealt another hand of cards. Ever vigilant, RT
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