The Little Professor loves participating in Boy Scout activities, especially the trips. In March, they went to Antietam, and he loved it.
"If you have a question, ask," the leaders said. "If we don't know, we'll ask the Little Professor."
This trip, in addition to taking the children around to notable sites on the battlefield, included sleeping outside in those giant cloth baggies also known as sleeping bags. Apparently, the dads roughed it by sleeping under a canopy, instead of a tent. They woke up, and water that had been left out the night before was frozen.
On top of all this, I had a debate with the scout leader over the appropriate amount of clothing to send. My opinion was there should be options, including options in footwear and jackets. And clean underwear. Lots and lots of clean underwear. His opinion was "pack light."
He loves these trips. He loves them so much he begs me to go with him. I'll have fun, he says.
I went on a trip to Washington, D.C., with the Girl Scouts. We stayed in a hotel, like reasonable people. There were beds, and no one expected me to sleep on the floor, let alone on the wet ground in the cold. Also, the Sassy Saint and I had two entire suitcases to ourselves. Big suitcases; we brought outfits we didn't even wear.
That is how I roll when traveling. There needs to be air conditioning and a coffee pot. By the time you read this, I'll be on vacation. We're going camping. If camping includes staying in air-conditioned cabins with full baths and wi-fi. That's how I camp. There's a porch with rustic-style rockers, and we'll likely have a fire at some point. That's camping, right?
God forbid I don't have my coffee in the morning. Forget about bears and snakes, that's when it gets really dangerous. We double-checked to make sure coffee pots were going to be in the cabins before booking. It's important.
Despite knowing all of this quite well, the Little Professor keeps begging me to go on a camping trip with him and actually sleep on the ground. I keep telling him that it's a guys thing. Time for he and the Long Suffering Husband to have some bonding time.
And, you know, I hate camping. It's good to know he's enjoying himself and learning useful skills that will serve him well in the case of a zombie apocalypse. Also, you know, if he continues outdoors sports as a hobby. None of that invokes any desire in me whatsoever to go camping. If the universe wanted me to sleep on the ground, memory foam would have never been invented.
It's a hobby that makes him happy and he's made friends through it. And I'm happy to have him share it - with his father.
(Wallace-Minger, The Weirton Daily Times community editor, is a Weirton resident and can be contacted at email@example.com)