Chapter 9

Friday, May 20, 2016

I spent half of Friday afternoon locating and packing all the things Noah, Connor, Hunter and I would need for our Cub Pack camping trip that weekend. It had been over seven years since I had done much camping. I made up sandwiches and stashed them along with some drink boxes and a bag of potato chips in my car. Jon Miller, Karl Sweigart and I were meeting Justin Baer up at French Creek State Park early to get our pack checked in and get some of the big gear setup before we were inundated by all the cub scouts and their younger siblings.

“Hustle up, guys,” I announced as Noah, Connor and Hunter arrived from day care with Mom. “Change your clothes for the trip and get down here in five minutes.”

“Going camping!” Connor chimed. “Can’t wait,” Noah added.

“Camping!” Hunter echoed. “Yeah!”

I followed the boys up to their room to keep the pressure on the boys. Left to their own devices, their attention could wander and then it would take forever to get them dressed for our weekend adventure. I didn’t manage to turn the boys around in five minutes. It was closer to eight minutes when we headed out the front door.

“Have fun, boys,” Mom announced. “I’ll see you all on Sunday.”

“Except me,” I called as we headed out the door. “I have a 1:15 PM flight out of Harrisburg on Sunday. I’ll see you late next Wednesday after I’m done with this week’s OTAs.”

“Got it, Andrew,” Mom called. “Be safe, stay dry and keep warm.” The last two bits of advice weren’t really necessary. It was 75 degrees when we left home under beautiful clear skies. The weatherman reported we could expect temperatures to dip down to around 58 tonight, go up to 80 degrees tomorrow with more clear blue skies. There was a 20% chance of showers on Sunday afternoon. We were going to have great weather for the weekend.

I loaded everybody up in the back seats of my car and belted them in. I hopped in and headed for Intercourse, New Holland and east on Route 23.

“Are you guys excited about this weekend?” I asked, once we were underway.

“Camping is going to be so much fun!” Noah enthused.

“It’s gonna be way cool!” Connor added.

“Thanks for taking me along, Andy,” Hunter added.

“No problem, little brother,” I answered. “I understand that all of you are excited about camping but I am a little surprised. You’ve all been camping before with the family. Heck, Noah and Connor, the two of you went on your first camping trip almost seven years ago when you were about three months old.”

“How old was I on that trip, Andy?” Hunter asked.

“You weren’t born yet, Hunter,” Noah interjected.

“Your nephew is right, little bro,” I said. “Though you were even younger than the twins on your first camping trip the next summer. You were two months old for your first trip.”

“What are we going to do this weekend, Daddy?” Connor asked.

“Fishing, hiking around the park, roast hot dogs over the fire, make s’mores,” I said. “We’ll do a campfire tomorrow night and do some skits and songs.”

“Cool!” all three boys agreed. Traffic was pretty heavy in the center of New Holland on a Friday night, but otherwise the trip to the park was routine. We arrived about fifty minutes after leaving Paradise. Justin Baer, his two sons and Karl Sweigart with Carter and Christopher were parked at the park office too. I unbelted the boys and then we all greeted our friends.

Jon Miller and his two sons arrived a couple minutes later. He checked our pack in at the office and then we followed Jon up the road to the group camping area. We were in the big campsite at the top of the hill. It was a nice flat, wooded campsite with lots of space and privacy for our pack. This was a good spot.

Justin’s SUV was pulling a new looking trailer marked “Paradise Troop 312” on both sides. It was a much nicer way to haul gear than the pickup trucks or borrowed small trailers the troop used when I was a Boy Scout. Justin backed it into its parking spot for the weekend before I got time to inspect it. It turned out that all the troop equipment I remembered that were stored in a closet in the church were now stored in the troop’s trailer. We had enough gear here to take care of forty to fifty people for the weekend.

“How long has the troop has this trailer?” I asked after Justin unlocked and opened the back door. Brian Miller and Billy Baer immediately took charge, issuing orders for what needed to be done to set up camp. They had their younger brothers, my three boys and the Sweigart boys carrying things out.

“We bought it last summer,” Justin replied.

“Sweet!” I said. “Where was it when I was a Scout?”

“I felt the same way when I was a Scout too,” Justin said. “I felt the need more strongly when I became scoutmaster two year ago. We did some fundraisers and raised the money.”

“Definitely cool,” I said. Jon joined Justin and me. Karl tried to help set up gear at first, but wasn’t sure what to do. Brian and Billy didn’t assign him any tasks. Occasionally Brian or Billy would ask their fathers a question before going back to setting up camp. Finally, after observing for a few minutes, Karl joined the other adults.

“Is this normal?” Karl asked.

“Very normal, Karl,” I said, laughing. Justin and Jon had big grins on their faces too.

“Do you know Justin?” I asked.

“You’re the Boy Scout leader,” Karl said. “I’ve seen you around.” I introduced Karl formally to my friend and former football coach. Karl shook his head as he watched Brian and Billy direct the work. “These two must be exceptional scouts to be able to do all this without direction.”

“They’re good kids,” Justin agreed.

“You weren’t a Scout, were you, Karl?” Jon asked.

“No,” Karl replied.

“We teach the Cubs about character and responsibility,” Jon explained. “We teach them how to do things. What you are watching is what happens to boys after eight or nine years in the Boy Scouting program. We teach them about leadership. We teach them to be self-reliant.”

“I can’t imagine Carter ever doing something like this, even when he is a teen,” Karl said.

“He will,” I stated. “If someone like me can learn it Carter certainly will.”

“Teach the boys and then trust them to handle it,” Justin said. “That’s the Scouting way.”

“Hey Dad!” All of us looked to see which dad was being summoned. I knew from the way the boy’s voice broke from low pitched to high pitched mid-yell, I knew that it couldn’t be my boys. It turned out to be Brian Miller.

“Dad, my helpers are a little short for putting up the dining fly,” Brian explained as he motioned towards the short Cubs. “Billy and I could use some adult help.”

“No problem, Brian,” Jon called back. The four of us helped Brian and Billy erect the metal framed dining fly. I recognized the fly. It was the same one the scout troop had when I was a Scout. Justin, Jon and I looked over the boys’ work after we had the fly up. They had to kitchen area setup with a prep table; stove; two patrol boxes of pots, pans and utensils; and tubs and coolers of food for the weekend.

Families arrived one-by-one. They set up with personal tents and then joined the group around the small campfire Justin and I built in the fire ring. We taught the Cubs to make S’mores. Justin told a ghost story before we sent the kids to bed. He told us a tale of the ghost of the Green Indian.

The kids were hanging on every word of the story. I envisioned a campsite full of Cubs too frightened to go to sleep. Justin was a fantastic storyteller. The kids were ready to run screaming into the night if a pin dropped when the story was done. He finished with one piece of advice, the most brilliant I had ever heard of.

His final words were: “The one thing that ALWAYS works with the ghost of the Green Indian is this: The Indian never, NEVER bothers any scout who says his prayers before bed, brushes his teeth and then sets his boots exactly at the end of his bunk. Make sure you do this before you go to bed and you will have a nice, restful night of sleep tonight out here in God’s creation.”

The tip worked like a charm with Hunter, Noah and Connor. The boys didn’t make a fuss about getting ready for bed. They made sure their shoes were arranged at the end of their sleeping bags and fell straight to sleep.

The sounds of Cubs scurrying about woke me much too early in the morning. Hunter, Noah and Connor were up the instant I turned over. I’d forgotten how young scouts couldn’t sleep in the mornings. I looked at my phone. It was 6:03 AM. I tried to get the boys back to sleep without luck.

Jon assigned a different den to cook for each meal. The Webelos were up first. The parents made a nice breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries. The pack split into groups after breakfast and headed off. Some went for a nature hike. Others works on badges. My boys’ den headed for Scott’s Lake to fish. Connor caught two Sunnys. Hunter and Noah each caught one. All the fish were thrown back.

The Bears parents made lunch for everyone. Karl and I took the Tiger den on a hike around the park after lunch. Justin and Jon had some games for the whole pack to play later in the afternoon. We finished up with a huge capture the flag game just before dinner. The den leaders ran it. The supper cooking crew was Jon, Karl, Justin and me. We were going to show the pack some real Boy Scout cooking.

Justin, Jon and I grabbed a recipe out of an ancient Dutch oven cookbook the troop had in its library since before I was a scout. The cookbook was written by a former scoutmaster and culinary arts teacher at the local vo-tech school. The book was chock full of tasty recipes that were easy enough for scouts to make. It featured many casserole recipes, so the food wasn’t too expensive either, which was perfect for Scouting.

We choose one of my favorite recipes from the cookbook – chicken tetrazzini. Sherry Baer had roasted a chicken and sent the cooked meat along with her husband. She also hid minced onion in with the meat. Jon, Justin and I knew the reaction the Cubs would have if they spotted us slicing an onion at the campout. They would never touch the casserole.

We delegated Karl to get the charcoal going for dinner while Justin, Jon and I assembled the casserole. Justin cooked a mountain of spaghetti. John and I opened cans of cream of chicken and cheddar cheese soup. Connor was nosy about dinner.

“Whatcha makin’, Daddy?” my son asked.

“Chicken tetrazzini,” I replied.

“What’s dat?”

“Spaghetti and chicken in a cheese sauce,” I explained. “We’ll sprinkle parmesan cheese on top and bake it in the oven until the cheese on top is golden brown and crusty. You’ll get the crusty, crackly cheese on top and the oozy, creamy cheese, chicken and pasta below.”

“Mmmm ... sounds good, Daddy,” Connor said. “Where’s the oven to bake it?”

Just then Jon plopped the first of the four Dutch ovens on the picnic table we were using for prep. “There’s the oven,” I said.

“That’s not like Mom-Mom’s oven,” Connor said.

“Watch and learn, young man,” I teased. “That oven will bake this casserole perfectly, just as good as if Mom-Mom made it.”

“I can’t wait,” Connor said before scampering off. I helped Jon bring the four Dutch ovens over to the table. Some of the Cub parents were curious about our dinner prep too, particularly Shirley Hirst, one of the Wolf moms. Shirley didn’t camp much. Her husband was out of town and Jordan begged his mom to come until she agreed. Shirley eyed the big black pots as we plopped them on the table.

“You’re not using those dingy pots, are you?” Shirley asked.

“Of course,” Jon replied.

“They’re great for cooking on the campfire,” I added. “That is why they look like they do.”

“Are they sanitary?” Shirley sniffed. “I wouldn’t want any of the boys to get sick.”

“They’re fine, Shirley,” Jon said as he pulled the top off one of the Dutch ovens. The inside was spotless, a light coating of vegetable oil was protecting the patina and preventing the oven from rusting.

“These are the best things in the world to cook with on a campfire,” I added.

“Our scout troop has been using these babies since before I was born,” Justin bragged. “Nothing beats cast iron for longevity or heat distribution on a fire.”

Shirley still seemed skeptical about our Dutch ovens but she realized we weren’t going to give her food poisoning with the pots. Justin, Jon and I piled the casserole mix into the four Dutch ovens, sprinkled parmesan cheese and paprika over each and then put them in the fire to bake for forty-five minutes. The Cubs were fascinated by our method of testing and adjusting the temperature of our ovens – hold your hand about six inches above the top of the oven. You were at the right temperature if you could stand to keep your hand there for three to five seconds. Less than three seconds meant your oven was too hot. Remove coals and check again. If your hand stayed on longer than five seconds, then you needed to add more coals to bring the heat up.

We threw some foil wrapped loaves of garlic bread in the coals about ten minutes before it was time for dinner. We flipped them around every couple minutes to keep from burning the bread. We cracked open one Dutch oven at the proper time and checked inside. The parmesan cheese was golden brown and crispy, perfect for our casserole.

We set up a serving table and went to work dishing up our food for the pack. Parents and Cubs both complimented us on how nice our casserole looked. We served salad and garlic bread with the chicken tetrazzini. Everyone ate plenty, but there wasn’t a spoonful of casserole left when dinner was over.

“I am impressed that men can actually cook,” Shirley Hirst commented after dinner. “That was very tasty. Do you really believe you can teach young boys to cook this way? Bryan can barely nuke a hot dog for his own lunch if I ask him to.”

“Bryan might not be ready for make something like this for a few years, but he’ll learn eventually,” Jon said. “The Scouts taught a clueless guy like me, so we’ll certainly be able to teach Bryan.”

“Check back around twelve or thirteen,” Justin added. “Scouts that age can handle a casserole like this with a little supervision. By the time he’s fifteen, you can hand him the recipe and tell him to go make dinner. He’ll be able to handle it.”

“That would be nice,” Shirley agreed. “Do you teach the boys to do dishes too?”

“Of course we do,” Justin said.

Justin, Jon, Karl and I took care of clean-up and washing dishes after dinner was over. The kids played red light, green light and flashlight tag until it was time for our evening campfire. Every den did a skit or two. Jon, Karl and I did cheers for the performers after every skit. Jon told a fascinating story about British POWs in World War II who built a tunnel under a wooden gymnastic horse in the middle of their exercise yard in the prison camp. The intrepid pair tunneled under the horse to outside the wire and escaped. They managed to travel the whole way to the Baltic coast without getting caught. They hid aboard a Swedish freighter and escaped to Sweden. The boys made s’mores before we sent them to bed.

Noah, Connor, Hunter and I woke up early and packed our things. We grabbed breakfast at the McDonalds in Morgantown on our way home. I needed to catch a plane to LA. Leaving the campout early was bittersweet. I enjoyed working as a Cub leader this winter and spring. This was my last activity, other than summer camp until next winter. I was going to miss working with the boys and the other leaders.

I grabbed the 11:50 AM flight out of Harrisburg. I got into LA around 5:30 PM after one layover in Detroit. Traffic across LA to Oxnard was terrible.

I stopped by the workout room early on Monday morning to do my daily workout before our meetings began. I bumped into Dylan Harris in the workout room.

“How was your camping trip?” Dylan asked.

“The boys and I had a good time,” I answered. I had told Dylan about our trip during lunch one day during the last OTA.

“You like being a father, don’t you?” Dylan asked.

“I do,” I replied. I could see Dylan was trying to work up courage to tell me something. “Any particular reason you’re curious about fatherhood?” He gave me his famous lopsided grin.

“Well ... yeah,” he admitted. “Beth and I are talking about kids.”

“Congratulations,” I said, giving Dylan a pat on the back.

“Do you have any second thoughts?” Dylan asked. A kid is a big responsibility.”

“In spite of my tender age when I became a father,” I replied. “I have no regrets. Being a father is the best thing I have done in my life.”

Dylan and I hit it off almost immediately when we met last year. We had our Paradise connection to start off. Beth Kirkland was introduced to Dylan Harris by my neighbors Jeremy North and Katie Trimble when the two couples double dated when they were sophomores at Notre Dame. Dylan got to be friends with my brother Kyle while he and Kyle went through the draft process together three years ago.

I liked Dylan’s calm demeanor and polite but insistent leadership. He recruited me to join the Fellowship of Christian Athletes on our team. We found our rhythm quickly as a receiver/QB combo. I would never have done as well if I hadn’t befriended Dylan on and off the field last season. I was looking forward to what we could do together this season as we got to know each other’s tendencies better.

This week’s OTA was similar to the previous two weeks. Our day was filled with meetings – receiver meetings, passing game meetings, offensive meetings and team meetings. We got out on the fields for ninety minutes of drill each day. No pads, no contact and all plays were done without opposition, i.e. no defensive back tried to prevent me from catching the passes that Dylan, Mark, Taylor or Jay threw to me. We didn’t have to fight off press coverage either. It made the pass catching easy.

Coach Tolbert, Coach Moore, our receiver’s coach and Coach Davis, our offensive coordinator called me in for a meeting in Coach Tolbert’s big office Monday after our on-field drills. We met in Coach Tolbert’s big office.

“We called you in to discuss your role with the team, Andrew,” Coach Tolbert announced when I was seated.

“More time outside instead of in the slot?” I asked.

“You probably will spend more time on the outside this season,” Coach Moore agreed, chuckling.

“That’s not the purpose of this meeting, Andrew,” Coach Tolbert said. “We need you to step up and become a leader for our receiving corps.”

“That sounds great, Coach, except I’m one of the most junior receivers on the team,” I replied. “Mike [Wimberly], Nate [Cook], Dan [Burns] and Jake [Cook] all have more time on the team than me. Shouldn’t you be having this discussion with one of them?”

“You are the rising star,” Coach Tolbert replied. “You are exactly who we want setting the tone for the younger players we have coming up. You wouldn’t know it, but we do. All four of the guys you named stepped their game up last season AFTER they saw how much time you spent studying film and preparing for games. They subconsciously started following your example last year. That is the beginning of leadership.”