We Be Loyal Scouts

Keep reading, and you'll know what I mean.

At work, before our lunchroom discussion typically gets out of hand, we generally talk about funny, goofy stuff that each of us have lived through. We have a handful of good storytellers, and this is always interesting. Today, we talked about scouting, and how, at least for the guys, it was all extremely fond memories, especially since none of us got molested by our scoutmaster.

I was a Cub Scout, and a Weblos Scout. We had a freaking blast, too. We did the Pinewood Derby; we whittled crap out of large hunks of wood; we went camping. We took a trip to southeastern Kentucky and rode our dirt bikes on a mammoth, oval-shaped dirt track. I could ramble on incessantly for hours about all our shenanigans and adventures, but there is one tale that stands like a tall weed above all else; one story that would be the pinnacle of our young, scouting lives; one event that I fondly remember like no other. It is a story that I have dreamed about as an adult. If I had to choose a handful of stories concerning my youth, this one would be up at the top:

I remember once, back when my twin bro and I were 11 or 12, we took a trip to Lake Cumberland in southern Kentucky and stayed at a resort/campsite for several days. Being the mischievous lot, a group of us scouts went out one day in search for some femalians to torment.

It was approaching dusk. While we were outside wandering the lovely area, we came upon a building and heard laughter. Not just any laughter, mind you, but squeaky, high-pitched, girly laughter. We also heard showers running. We quizzically looked at each other, and collectively had the same thought: We have struck gold.

We quietly moved in unison toward the corner of the building, our curiosity having a full and inescapable grasp on all of us. We inched closer.

By the time we made it to the wall, the volume of the voices and laughter and water running increased tenfold. Then, we all realized the reason why we could hear the girls’ hyena-like laughter: There was a hole in the wall, a hole that in actual size was smaller than a ping-pong ball, but figuratively it could have been a cave opening. We began scrambling for position, our boyish levels of testosterone kicking in like a backfiring old car with a distributor problem. My brother and I were larger than the rest, but we were also more polite, so we hung over the short kids’ shoulders trying to get a peek into the obvious man-made hole until it was officially our time to view. It felt like an eternity, waiting there behind them, listening to their gasps and snorts.

When it was my time to perv, it was even better than I could imagine. There they were - a gaggle of unbelievably cute, young, teenage girls, corralled together by streams of hot water. They were glistening under the fluorescence of the flood lamps overhead. I wished to God I could be transformed into a bar of soap; into that bar of soap. Never before in my life had I wished for anything more.

I cannot remember what we said to each other during our show, and, the weird part is that it makes no difference at all. It was damn near impossible to remain calm and quiet, but we did, and over the course of the several days while were at Conley Bottom Resort we tried like hell to relive the glory of that initial day to no avail.

If I had a chance to relive that day over I would respectfully decline, because to tarnish my recollection of it in any way would be a disservice to myself I would not want to bear. I have rarely told this story because selfishly I wish to keep it to myself, and, as I told my co-workers at lunch, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I wouldn’t trade anything for what that day and those memories hold for me. It was a rite of passage. It was about a group of boys growing up in a hurry. I smile every time I think of this story. I’m sure the rest of the boys in the group do as well. I’d go out on a limb and say that if those girls found out today what was going on behind their backs some twenty odd years ago, I 'd bet they would smile too.