of a Southern Yankee
BY DAMIAN DESMOND
Within a few years, I myself was wearing the Boy Scout uniform and learning the same Scout Law. (Yes, I can say it as fast as Charlie.) As I made my journey through scouting, I had a plethora of wonderful experiences and made great friends. Bonding with young men my age, going on camping trips, attending scout meetings, climbing in rank and earning honors, combined with the invaluable skills I picked up, prepared me for so much in life. My favorite memories center around the annual pilgrimage to summer camp. The fun times I had earning merit badges, performing skits or singing songs around the campfire, surrounded by hundreds of other scouts and leaders, will never be forgotten. But just like anything in life, there were a few times I did not particularly enjoy. In all the years I attended summer camp, 95% of my memories are wonderful. The few unpleasant experiences, though not horrible, still taught me just as much as the positive ones.
A Scout Is… Shortly
after I was adopted, I was introduced to my new mother’s brother, Uncle Charlie. Uncle Charlie was unlike anyone I had ever met. He had a boisterous, jolly personality and was the kind of person you couldn’t help but feel good around. If he wasn’t doing hilarious impersonations, he was telling stories that had everyone in stitches. One of my favorite things Charlie did was recite the Boy Scout Law. Except Charlie did it in a way that left me laughing and perplexed at the same time. He would start out veerrrryyy sssllooowwwlllyyyy. “A Scout is….” and then as quickly as he could, would fly through the rest, “Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent!” He would say it so fast, it sounded like one long word. I would laugh every time because it sounded so ridiculous. At the same time, I was in awe that a human could talk that fast. And I was boggled, because I was too young to know what half of those words even meant.
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One experience recurred at every summer camp and was really more of a nuisance. Every year at the beginning of camp, there was a ritual that all scouts had to go through—the dreaded swim test. Now, I wasn’t worried about the swimming portion (I was an excellent swimmer). It was another part that I dreaded. You see, the test took place in a lake. A lake that had God-only-knows-what living (or dead) in it. Think about it—you had to jump into a lake in which you couldn’t even see your own feet, much less the bottom. Take a murky lake, a young boy’s wild imagination, and a myriad of horror films that took place AROUND LAKES!!, and you’ve got a recipe for paranoia. After I easily passed the swim portion, it was time for the dreaded moment. Each scout was required to dive down to the bottom of the lake and grab a handful of…well, whatever you could grab—weeds, mud, muck, a severed hand…I absolutely hated this part! With my luck, I was going to put my hand right into the mouth of a waiting snapping turtle. But I knew what I had to do, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to wimp out with all these other boys around me. Talk about a humiliating week at scout camp! Oh well, here goes nothing. Taking in as much air as my still-forming lungs could hold, I dove down, kicking furiously and pulling the water with my arms just wanting to get this over with. It probably wasn’t more than 10 feet deep, but it seemed like 100. The entire time, the hideous things that awaited at the bottom raced through my head. No turning back now. Finally, my hand would hit bottom. If a scream could travel through bubbles, I’m sure everyone at the surface would have heard me. As my hand groped through muck and God knows what else, I quickly closed it, and turned back toward the surface. Again, kicking like a madman, I made my way back toward lifegiving air. Bursting through the surface of the water with lake muck oozing out from between the fingers of my outstretched hand, I had passed the swim test. The rest of camp would be a breeze. Every single summer until the age of 18, I returned to summer camp. And every year, even though the test got easier, I never did completely get rid of those horrifying images of what lay in wait at the bottom of the lake.
