A middle-aged man braves bugs, leaky tents, and a mess hall with 300 screaming kids to see if he finally has the makings of a Boy Scout
ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” the lifeguard screams.
“Do you need help?”
I’ve swallowed a lot of lake water and can’t answer. Gasping for breath, I glimpse my fellow Scouts lining the dock.
We’re at Camp Minsi in Pennsylvania’s Pocono Mountains, trying to earn our swimming merit badge. What they can’t vocalize I can see in their wide eyes: The old guy might die!
But I manage to catch my breath and paddle to the ladder without needing rescue. I climb up, embarrassed and exhausted. One boy looks up at me with a puzzled expression and asks, “What are you doing here?”
Good question. Forty-five years ago, after earning the rank of Bear in Cub Pack 47, I quit Scouting—I stank at tying knots.
However, when a man reaches middle age, funny things happen. The work-life climb is no longer well-defined and becomes more about finding a sturdy rung and hanging on. Those buds you once shared so many good times with turn into Buds you share mostly with yourself.
And if you ever happened to come across the Scout Law, you might realize that you haven’t been as “trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent” as planned. Indeed, what grown-up wouldn’t benefit from a week at summer camp in Wi-Fi-free woods with plenty of time to whittle down life’s priorities? Who wouldn’t enjoy sitting around a campfire eating cherry cobbler bubbled in a Dutch oven and laughing until his stomach hurt?
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