Last night, Dad and I headed to camp for closing ceremonies and decided we'd rough it for the night and camp there, as well. Well, I'm not sure that I've ever driven in weather like that before. What an adventure. I kept waiting to see Dorthy, Toto, and a house fly past us as we drove into blackness. I didn't look but I'm sure Dad's knuckles were white from gripping the "oh crap" handles as I slalomed the curvy road with torrential rain coming from every direction and tree limbs and leaves littering the road. Do you remember that scene from Forest Gump where he describes the rain as coming sideways and even up from the ground? That was the kind of storm we drove through. All week, as storms have rolled through north west GA, I'd convinced myself that the camp would have some sort of shelter for the boys where they'd take refuge from the lightning and hail. Upon our arrival, I was sadly disappointed. I'm SO glad I hadn't bothered to ask anyone with real information about the shelter. The boys were in their military type tents under the trees and the power was out (not that they had any outlets at the site). They had an outhouse and an area with outdoor showers. OK, this was definitely not how I'd pictured my baby at camp. Sometimes, it's very true that ignorance is bliss. I would have never been able to sleep this week if I'd known that the camp accommodations weren't even 1/2 star.
Anyway, we had dinner with the boys and the teacher in me was just about to ooze out. The boys all started stomping the wooden floors in "We will Rock You" fashion. When they grew tired of that, they started slapping the tables to their own rhythms. I'm so thankful for men who have the patience to deal with craziness like this and even have enough humor left in their hearts to join in! (Can anyone imagine what the lunch room monitors would do at LRE if the entire cafeteria burst forth with these shenanigans)? Since the power was out, dinner was served in the dark. I guess there's been a burn warning so they couldn't even use candles. I decided to skip the main courses because I seriously couldn't even see what they were serving! I recognized a bun, a cookie, and a bag of chips. It was like I Spy in the dark or Where's Waldo without Waldo!
After dinner, we waited with the boys until closing ceremonies began. By this time, I was cold and wet and had to pee but was NOT going to use the facilities near the campsite. Yeah, there were seats on those outhouse style benches but 19 boys had been using them so I was pretty sure that more than one boy had missed and highly doubted there was any TP out there! No thanks - especially not in the dark! In the words of Dr. Seuss, "Not in a box. Not with a fox!" So, I sat on hard cold stones in the amphitheater waiting for the ceremony to begin. At every scout function I've been to, they seem to take great pride in producing the corniest skits that have ever been invented. We were treated to several of these and then the official ceremony began. Several of the boys who'd been invited to the scout "All Stars" (Order of the Arrow) came out dressed in full Indian (Native American?) garb. At this point, I was several bricks shy of a full load and had a great urge to stand up and start singing, "One little, two little, three little Indians. Four little, five little, six little Indians..." You get my point. Then I noticed that one of the boys had on swim trunks under his tunic. At that point, my mind wandered to the actual lyrics of the YMCA song. This kid sure wasn't as buff as the Indian from that song but, nonetheless, I just about giggled out loud in the midst of a very reverent ceremony. I think my dad was getting aggravated with my fidgeting and stifled giggles. Then, one of the boys behind us pooted (get real, think about what they'd been eating all week and the sound that would be produced sitting atop a cold flat rock). Once the giggling started, I knew it was all over. The ceremony finally ended and we headed back to camp.
The remainder of the night was pretty uneventful considering we were in a campsite with 19 boys and a few leaders. The next morning, the boys cleaned up (I learned some new tactics to impose here at home regarding cleaning) and waited for inspections. As we waited, the boys all hung out around a common table and did boy / man things. However, I overheard one of the boys ask Grant why his dad didn't come. Grant simply answered him that Dad was in Texas. The other boy quickly asked, "Why?" Grant, once again, simply answered, "He has to work there for a while." Oh my. I'm so glad I didn't say something that would have blown his cover. After a moment of awkward silence, Grant said, "But he'll come with me next time." The other boy just went on to say that he had fun with Eric and started talking about some memories from rifle camp. OK. My tired self just about lost it. Control was not easy but I managed to walk away. When the boys were checked off with their campsite clean up, we headed home.
Thinking I was being proactive, I pulled Grant's footlocker from the back of the van once we were home and unloaded all of the dirty clothes into a basket and started trying to figure out what would / might come clean and what needed to be tossed. Then, I saw that the care package I'd sent him was still in the bottom of the trunk pretty much untouched. I'd gone to a lot of trouble to mail that sucker. Two girls in tow, a long line in the post office, and almost $15 to mail a bunch of junk. I didn't say anything to him but noticed the box his dad sent had been ravaged. All of the goodies from that box were opened and laying in the bottom of the trunk and had obviously been played with. What the heck? Was my stuff too silly or not manly enough? I felt majorly injured but I knew I was tired and making way too much of things. I tried to let this go. Then, I heard Grant upstairs crying. He'd just taken a shower. When I asked him what was wrong, he didn't want to talk about it. Long story short, he had a rash in a very manly area. As any good mom would do, I asked to see it. He was mortified. Mental note - do not ask to see son's "man" paraphernalia anymore. I didn't know if he had some sort of jock itch rash thing (is that possible?) or just was chaffed and simply needed some good old fashioned talc powder. I told him to call Eric. After several attempts to reach dad to no avail, he simmered down and rested. Since Annie was asleep and Dasha was reading, I collapsed on the bed with him. That's when the questions started. I'm SO glad I wasn't standing up.
The first question was lobbed without warning. "Mom, do guys really shave in the summer but not in the winter?" Without hesitation, I said, we'll it depends. Some guys grow their beards out in the winter but others don't. I went on to tell him that other guys have jobs where they can't have facial hair and have to shave constantly. At that point, Grant gently told me he wasn't talking about THAT hair! I felt like someone had just jumped on my guts and knocked the air out. How do you answer that one? I asked him who told him that and he gave me a name (one that surprised me). OK, this wasn't the worst question he could ask so I just told him he'd need to talk with his dad about that one if he needed a serious answer. Part of me thinks that he lobbed that one out of thin air just as a warm up and for the shock factor.
About that time, a torrential downpour started. Grant said, "What's that saying?...Is it that a gay baby is born every time it rains?" Um. What kind of camp did I send my son to? I told him that the saying was, "An angel gets it's wings every time a bell rings." He quickly informed me that I was wrong and there was a new saying. Over the next hour, our conversation meandered down roads that scared me more than that drive into camp yesterday. He's one of the youngest boys in the scout group so I know there are old more "experienced" boys there but I just really never thought about all of the things boys might discuss late at night when they are tired and silly. (Duh, you'd think I would've remembered some of the stupid things I did at camp)!
I realized that I am very ill-prepared to raise a teenage boy. For some moms, they had brothers growing up so they know a little more about this phase of life. Nope. Not me. This is very uncharted territory. Even after almost 15 years of marriage, I still don't know everything there is to know about boys other than they never grow up. (I've been told that is a universal truth that you can bank on kind of like taxes). I left Grant upstairs watching a movie and started to compose of list of questions for Eric that might help me but I quickly realized that this stuff comes up in teachable moments and there's no way for me to truly be prepared. (I never said I was a Boy Scout)! This isn't like a test I can study for.
I have to be thankful that Grant is willing to ask me those hard questions at least part of the time. I also have to be thankful that Eric is much less prone to the shock factor than I am. He can keep his cool and answer anything without hesitation. So, while I felt pretty battered and useless after an afternoon to Hazmat duty trying to clean camp clothes and answer questions that felt more like grenades, I'm heading to bed knowing that at least he's willing to ask us and not his peers. It was obvious that he hasn't shared his current family situation with his peers (I didn't question this) but at least he's talking to someone here at home. I'm just holding on to the knowledge that we did everything in our power to build a firm foundation for him that can weather these storms and all of those that life will bring as he travels from being my baby boy who enjoyed me squeezing his little dimpled cheeks and telling him how cute his hiney was to this Goliath of a boy that now hides his parts and pieces from me and requires his Dad's guidance about all of that business now. Oh how the time goes by.
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