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H E Double Hockeysticks

 

Scout Tent

Photo by Patsy Wooters

Since June, I’ve wanted needed to write about what’s going on but felt I should wait for perspective.

Some words should stay in my head. 

In June, I was ready to toss in the proverbial towel. Actually, I wanted to fling the towel. And maybe some other things.

At my kid.

We’ve found that when he’s in line of sight of a parent, our guy tends to have great behavior.

The problem starts about thirty seconds after we’re gone.

We can’t leave him alone with other adults (he won’t listen) or kids, and he simply does whatever he wants.

The first week after school ended, our son was scheduled to attend Scout camp for a week.

I was concerned; he’d been generally out of control the entire school year. After a 45-minute explanation of our boy’s background and behavior, the Scoutmaster assured me of his ability to wrangle uber-hormonal psycho creatures (aka pre-teen boys) and made me feel a bit silly for doubting his superior ability to handle our kid.

In hindsight, I should have listened to my misgivings; he’d been to camp before but never without his sister or Hubby. In this case, he was surrounded by older boys, most of whom he’d annoyed at some point. Although he brings it on himself in most cases, being “targeted” (in his mind) by older boys sparks flashbacks, which feed his aggressive behavior.

Upon arrival, he found that his expected tent mate would arrive a day late due to incomplete paperwork. To prevent any possible new bunk mates joining him, he urinated on the wooden tent platform.

Although it was his own doing, sleeping alone in a tent in the dark woods left him disgruntled. By the time his pal arrived, he wanted revenge.

He started a game of Cops & Robbers (that’s still a thing?) but got upset when two “officers” slammed our little “cat burglar” against a tree for resisting arrest. He then suggested a dirt clod fight (which the other boys were enthusiastic to join). Our guy became enraged when his intended tent buddy, in a clear betrayal (at least in our boy’s mind), hit him in the head.

“I’m going to kill you!” he yelled, before running a quarter mile into the woods.

Upon returning to camp, he found that it was his turn to wait tables at dinner and he would have to serve the table including his turncoat Brutus. Screaming obscenities, he ran back into the woods.

A week of camping turned to three days, as the seasoned Scoutmaster called to inform me he could not adequately provide supervision for our child.

I understood.

Unfortunate timing, as I was out of state with our daughter, five hours away. I’d intended this to be a week off for Hubby to take some time for himself after months of non-stop projects at home and work.

When I called Hubby to relay the news, he was almost home. He works 20 minutes from the camp. We live an hour from the camp. He turned around to retrieve our son and sat in accident traffic. For FOUR hours. So much for time to relax.

If only the boy could have had his incident an hour earlier…

 

 

So began the summer from h-e-double-hockeysticks.

 

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