I was happy our 8-year-old grandson was going to Cub Scout camp. I wasn’t too happy I was the designated adult to accompany him, especially when the temperatures were predicted to be 110 degrees on the last day.

But off we went for an adventure, water bottles, sunscreen, bug spray and lunches in hand. I didn’t realize I’d also be assigned a group of eight boys to keep track of that week.

I’ve always admired elementary school teachers. I knew there was no way I could tie shoes, dry tears or teach a child how to add. I’m too sarcastic, too math-challenged and a bit too impatient for little ones.

So when I saw I was in charge of eight kids, I was petrified. But I was with another adult each day. We successfully herded 14 second graders from station to station for five days, even though some days it seemed we were herding cats.

The camp letter advised that each child should bring a big bucket, the kind found at Home Depot or Lowe’s, to sit on and for them to store their belongings.

Most of the buckets were as big as the kids, but they bravely carried or dragged them along all day long. At least once a day, one of the boys left his bucket at the previous station, and he and a buddy had to go back and get it.

The activities were not only fun but they allowed us to see the personalities of the boys. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a kid in five days.

We had a wanderer, lost in thought most of the time. There was a complainer, one who smiled no matter what happened and one who cried on and off. There was a bully, and we showed him zero tolerance.

We had a sharp-shooter in the bunch who didn’t miss the middle of the target at the BB range. Another surprised us with his map-reading skills.

Lunch was always fun – they ate everything their parents packed, including the carrot sticks. The only thing left at the end of the lunch break was the crusts from the bread.

Little by little, we got to know each and every boy. The one who complained about others looking at him? We did some coaching, and by the end of the week, he was telling the others “Stop it. I don’t want you to do that.”

The small one who cried that first day? Turned out he had swimmer’s ear. We talked to his mom at the end of the day and she assured us he was getting drops every morning and night.

By the second day, he was feeling much better. For the rest of the camp, he was my best friend. He was also one of the smartest kids in the group, proving size doesn’t matter.

We found out the bully had an older brother who picked on him. There were lots of talks about treating others how you want to be treated and lots of time outs.

He improved a little bit each day. By the end of the week, the others accepted him, and he wasn’t such a bully.

On the last day, the kids were wild, and we let them play tag with each other, get sopping wet under the hoses and keep 10 balloons from hitting the ground, all the while climbing over and under tables.

Watching my grandson make friends and happily go from activity to activity are memories I’ll treasure. He fit right in with the boys, never complained, willingly participated and volunteered at every station.

Every day, I was hot, stinky and sweaty.

It was one of the happiest weeks of my life.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.