My First Taste of the Outdoors
Boy Scouts in Florida was probably where I got my first real taste of the outdoors as part of an organized group. It introduced me to camping, campfires, tents, backpacks, outdoor cooking, teamwork, and the camaraderie that comes from spending a weekend outside with a group of other kids.
I was a member of Boy Scout Troop 427 in Plantation, Florida. We met at St. Gregory's Church, although I can no longer remember whether the meetings were every week or perhaps twice a month. What I remember clearly is that our troop went camping every month, all year long, no matter what.
Some troops required scouts to attend every meeting before they were allowed to go on a campout. Our troop was more flexible. You only had to attend the meeting immediately before the trip. Missing a couple of earlier meetings did not keep you from camping, and for me the monthly campouts were always the best part.
Finding Leadership Early
One surprising thing about Scouts was that I found a place for myself as a leader. I was almost always the smallest kid in any group, but that did not stop me from stepping forward. Our troop had around 20 scouts divided into about four patrols, with roughly five boys in each patrol.
I served as senior patrol leader twice, and I was also patrol leader more than once. It is actually difficult for me to remember being in a patrol where I was not one of the leaders, even though I was probably only ten, eleven, or twelve years old at the time.
The Flaming Arrows and the Raccoons
At different times, my patrol had two memorable names: the Flaming Arrow Patrol and the Raccoon Patrol.
Campfire skits were a big part of our campouts, and the Flaming Arrow Patrol took its name rather literally. We made bows and arrows, tied rags around the arrowheads, soaked them with camp stove fuel, lit them, and shot the flaming arrows into the night sky. It looked spectacular to us at the time, although it is difficult to imagine any responsible adult allowing it today.
The Raccoon Patrol earned its name in an equally questionable way. During night hikes without the leaders, we would find the big green dumpsters where raccoons were pulling out garbage. We would sneak close, and one scout would throw a rock against the metal dumpster to make a tremendous bang. When the startled raccoons came leaping out, we would throw more rocks toward them as they ran away.
Looking back, it was cruel, dangerous, and pretty dumb. But like many kids, I did plenty of dumb things before I knew enough to understand them differently.
South Florida Jamborees
We also attended jamborees with perhaps fifteen or twenty other troops from around South Florida. I remember belonging to the South Florida Council and having its badge sewn onto my backpack, along with badges from several jamborees.
Scouts from different troops constantly played tricks on one another. One night, we perfected a way of running through another troop's campsite and using our feet to pull the tent stakes from the ground. The guy lines would go slack, and within ten or twenty seconds an entire row of tents could collapse on the scouts inside.
They would come crawling out, screaming and yelling, while we ran laughing into the darkness in another direction. It was childish, mischievous, and probably infuriating to everyone whose tent we flattened.
My Dad as Quartermaster
One bonus of being in the troop was that my dad served as quartermaster. He enjoyed spending time with the other adult leaders, and I can still picture the clubhouse at St. Gregory's, including the little room off to the side and the kitchen where the leaders prepared food and drinks during the break.
I remember my dad joking that they needed some “booze” for the adults, or perhaps a few cases of booze. I had no idea what the word meant. I thought it was spelled B-O-O-S, and it was not until much later that I realized he had been talking about beer or alcohol.
More important than that little memory was simply that my father was there. For that period of my childhood, he was involved in something I cared about, helping the troop and sharing part of that experience with me.
My Dad's Eagle Scout Legacy
My dad had made it all the way to the rank of Eagle Scout, and I still have his Eagle Scout ring. I do not know many of the details of his own years in Scouting, but reaching Eagle makes it obvious that Scouts had once been a very important part of his life.
I never advanced nearly that far. I reached First Class. The first three ranks were Tenderfoot, Second Class, and First Class. After that came Star, Life, and Eagle, and those higher ranks required a larger number of merit badges. I earned only a few merit badges, so I never came close to meeting the requirements to continue upward.
At the time, rank advancement was not what mattered most to me. I was there to have fun with my friends. There were some really good kids in the troop, and the part I loved was camping, being out in the woods, sitting around campfires, and going places together. Having my dad involved with the troop made all of that even more meaningful.
Looking back now, I realize that my dad was often not very present in my day-to-day life, but much of that was because he was working so hard. He was trying to support my mother and all six children—eight people living on one salary. I remember wanting him to play catch with me in the driveway on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, but often he was asleep on the couch because he was completely exhausted.
My mother would remind me that he worked his butt off for all of us and that I needed to leave him alone and let him sleep. Even as a kid, I remember thinking that I never wanted to work so hard during the week that I had nothing left for my days off, my family, or the life I actually wanted to live.
That memory may have influenced more of my life than I understood at the time. It probably played some part in the career path I chose, in the importance I placed on time and freedom, and perhaps even in my decision not to have children.
Jumping the Park Train—and Getting Demoted
One Boy Scout memory I will never forget happened during a campout at Hugh Taylor Birch State Park. We rode there in a truck with all of us boys sitting in the back among the camping gear. Four surfboards were tied to the roof because we were hoping to spend part of the day at the beach. There may have been twelve or fifteen kids and only four boards, so I am not even sure how much surfing ever happened. What I remember clearly is what happened at the campground.
At the time, I was assistant senior patrol leader, the second-highest position a boy could hold in the troop. On Saturday morning, I was assigned to lead a group of scouts who were working on a tracking merit badge. My job was to hike ahead of them and leave trail signs made from sticks and other natural materials. An arrow might mean turn left or continue straight ahead, while some other arrangement of sticks might indicate a good campsite or another message.
The plan was for me to stay several hundred yards, perhaps even a quarter mile, ahead of the group and see whether they could follow the signs I left behind. That was the official plan.
The unofficial plan came from the fact that I was always a bit of a goofball and constantly looking for some way to get into trouble. The park had a little tourist train that traveled around the campground and out toward the beach. When we saw the tracks, I suggested that we jump aboard and ride it to the beach.
We dragged a tree branch onto the tracks, then hid in the woods and waited. When the train came along, the conductor saw the branch, stopped, and walked forward to remove it. While he was doing that, five or six of us ran out and climbed onto the last car.
We rode all the way toward the beach. Some of the passengers in the last car must have noticed us, but nobody appeared to say anything. At least, that was what we thought.
We finished the day, returned to camp, ate dinner, and gathered that night for the usual campfire ceremonies. Everything seemed normal until the leaders called me to the front. I assumed for a moment that I might be receiving an award.
Instead, one of the leaders took a pair of scissors from the first-aid kit and cut the assistant senior patrol leader badge directly off my uniform in front of the entire troop.
They did not have to explain what they meant. I knew immediately that someone had seen us, reported us, or somehow made sure the leaders found out. In a matter of seconds, I went from being one of the highest-ranking boys in the troop to being an ordinary scout again.
What I remember most was looking at my father. He looked at me, then looked away. He did not say anything to me that night, which was probably a good thing because I might have burst into tears. The look on his face carried complete disappointment—not just because I had done something stupid, but because I had been trusted with leadership and had used that position so badly.
Nobody needed to lecture me. The public demotion, the shame I felt, and my father's silence said everything. It became one of those major childhood lessons that stays with you for life.
Later, perhaps at the next patrol election or sometime during the following year, I worked my way back into leadership and became a patrol leader again, either for the Raccoon Patrol or the Flaming Arrow Patrol. I no longer remember which one. But I never forgot the night my badge was cut from my uniform or the lesson of being held accountable in front of everyone who had trusted me.
A Huge Lesson Learned About Lying and Cheating
Another Boy Scout lesson I will never forget came from a pancake breakfast fundraiser. We had stacks of tickets and were supposed to go door to door trying to sell them, but not many people were interested. Most simply said, “No thanks,” and closed the door.
My friend Mike Dawson and I eventually stood outside a local grocery store in our Scout uniforms and asked shoppers whether they wanted to buy tickets to the breakfast. Again, most people politely declined. A few, however, offered us a donation instead, which we gladly accepted.
That gave us what seemed at the time like a clever idea. Instead of trying to sell tickets, we could simply ask people for donations. We would not have to turn in a ticket for every payment, and nobody would know exactly how much money we had collected. That meant we could keep the cash ourselves.
We made a little sign or can that said “Donations for the Boy Scouts” and started collecting money. Before long, we had made something like thirteen dollars, which felt like a fortune to us at that age. It all seemed to be working perfectly until one woman stopped and began asking questions.
She asked which troop we belonged to. We answered Troop 427, which was also clearly displayed on our uniforms. Then she told us that her son had been an Eagle Scout and that one rule she remembered very clearly was that Boy Scouts were not allowed to simply ask the public for donations. Scouts could sell approved items or tickets, but they could not solicit money that way.
She asked for our names and troop number and wrote everything down. At that moment, Mike and I realized we were in serious trouble. She could contact the Boy Scout Council, identify our troop, call our Scoutmaster, and report that we had been collecting and keeping money under false pretenses while wearing our Scout uniforms.
We immediately headed home and got rid of the evidence. Whether or not the woman ever reported us, the experience scared us badly enough that we understood exactly what we had done. We had lied, cheated, and stolen—all at the same time—and we had used the good name of the Boy Scouts to do it.
Looking back, I think it was another valuable lesson to learn while we were still young. We were not hardened criminals. We were two kids who came up with a dishonest shortcut, followed it too far, and suddenly saw how easily lying and cheating could turn into real theft with real consequences.
Canvas Tents, Lanterns, and Stoves
Because my father was quartermaster, much of the troop's camping equipment was stored at our house. We had the tents, lanterns, stoves, and other supplies. After a wet camping trip, we had to set the canvas tents up in the sun on Sunday evening, check them again on Monday, and make absolutely sure they were dry before packing them away. Otherwise, they would mildew.
I remember going with my dad to buy a group of matching tents from someone who had advertised a yard sale. There were perhaps six or eight of them. They were the old canvas A-frame pup tents that were common in those days. They were simple, heavy, and nothing like the lightweight backpacking tents available now.
Carrying those tents and the rest of our gear into a jamboree campsite always seemed like a major expedition. The distance may have been short, but to a young scout under a heavy pack, it felt like miles.
I also remember hiking along the old road toward Green Acres in Plantation, past St. Gregory's High School. We joked that it was a twenty-mile hike, although it was probably closer to three miles. In the Florida sun, with a heavy backpack, even three miles could feel like twenty.
The Backpack That Stayed With Me
I kept my old Scout backpack for years after I left the troop. It eventually became part of another story from one of my “Nine Lives.”
My friend Gary and I borrowed an upside-down paddle boat on Fort Pond in Lancaster, Massachusetts, in March, just after fishing season had opened. The pond had only recently thawed and still had patches of ice on it. We took the paddle boat and my old backpack out toward the middle of the pond without realizing that the boat had no drain plug.
We were pretty buzzed from smoking hash, and for a moment we noticed what looked like a large rock floating about twenty feet away. The pond was foggy and perfectly still, and we stared at it, wondering what a rock was doing in the middle of the water.
Then I realized it was my backpack. I looked behind us and saw that the paddle boat itself was almost completely underwater. Somehow, the old Scout backpack was still floating.
Webelos: My First Volunteer Gig
I remained in the Boy Scouts until some age that I no longer remember. I did not age out of Scouting; for reasons I cannot recall, I simply stopped going. Instead, I became a leader with a Cub Scout Webelos den. There was a den mother who handled most of the work, but I was the oldest boy involved—probably only twelve or thirteen years old—and I attended the meetings at her house.
The Webelos were mostly fourth- or fifth-grade boys, so they were much younger than I was. They admired the fact that I had been a Boy Scout and were fascinated by the camping, hiking, crafts, knife safety, fire-building, and other outdoor skills I had already learned. I enjoyed answering their questions and passing some of that knowledge along to them.
Looking back, it was my very first volunteer position. Volunteering eventually became a huge part of my life, but at the time it was a real commitment. It took time away from playing with my friends, and since the boys were still so young, it was not always much fun for me. I can remember sitting through some meetings thinking that they were a little boring and that I would rather be outside doing something with kids my own age.
Still, it felt good to help, to be looked up to, and to share some of what Scouting had taught me. Eventually, as often happens at that age, it stopped feeling cool and began to seem a little nerdy, so I drifted away from it. That was also around the time our family moved away from Florida and I was heading toward high school, so that chapter came to an end.
What Scouting Gave Me
I made a very clear decision not to have children when I was about twenty or twenty-one, during my first year or two of college. At the time, I believed that decision was almost entirely about overpopulation. There were only a few billion people on Earth then, and the population was expected to climb dramatically within my lifetime. I felt strongly that I did not need to add more people to an already crowded planet.
But I sometimes wonder whether watching my father work so hard also influenced me. He gave everything he had to support his family, but the cost was often that he had very little energy left to enjoy us. That may have quietly shaped the way I thought about work, family, responsibility, and the kind of life I wanted.
As things turned out, children were still a huge part of my adult life. I had so many nieces and nephews that there always seemed to be kids around, and I became everybody's favorite uncle. During my five-year relationship with Bernie, and later my five years with Cindy, I was part of the lives of their children—two in one family and four in the other—and I had the chance to feel like a father in many ways.
Later, with Carol, I became close to her grandchildren. I was there when one of them was born, and the other, Leafy, was only about a month old the first time I visited Carol's house. He remained part of my life throughout the four years Carol and I were together.
I have been lucky. I chose not to have children of my own, but I still had many opportunities to love, teach, play with, and care about children throughout my life.
I would love to see more kids experience Scouting or something like it today. Scouting opened a door to a world beyond phones, devices, video games, and endless scrolling. It gave us campfires, backpacks, tents, responsibility, friendships, independence, mischief, and a glimpse of how much life exists outside.