Editor's Note:
My son and I belong to a group of dad's that started camping with their sons through the YMCA. We have since left that organization but continue a program that we have developed on our own to teach messages we think are important, enjoy time with our sons and each other, as well cook a little barbeque. The lessons taught this weekend are derived from a book entitled "Raising a Modern Day Knight", by Robert Lewis. After each trip, one of us are cajoled or volunteered to chronicle the weekend's events. It was my turn this time and so, the following is our story. Our sons are seven and eight years old. We camped west of Ft Worth, Texas at Possum Kingdom Lake and a freak wind camp up creating a dust storm the likes of which had not been seen in our part of Texas in at least twenty years, maybe more.
So, to that end and having had my name drawn from a hat, with evidently no others in it, we will embark on my ego-centric, myopic observations of a weekend to cherish while using a box of Q-tips to get the grit out of my ears.
On Friday, as I sped about the entire DFW Metroplex to find a kid’s size “5” wading boot for the inevitable gully washing rain that was being predicted with 100% accuracy and would undoubtedly occur Saturday morning between three and six a.m., I happened to be talking to Sir Tim on my cell phone as he passed by going the opposite direction pulling a barbeque pit on a trailer! Be still my beating heart! Sir Tim deserves special recognition and is now our camp hero.
Duh, ya’ll been waiting all this time on me while I say goodbye to Mallory?! (My daughter who goes to the same school.) Sorry.
Downtown
Mineral Wells and barbeque for dinner. You gotta love a frosted mug waiting on you thanks to Sir Todd, and whose bright idea was it to give all the boys crack cocaine? The windows vibrate with shrieks of seven and eight year olds in total joy from being out of school and off to a fun weekend! Images of Lord of the Flies comes to mind. Peel them off the ceiling, tie a rope around their ankles, put a handkerchief in the mouths and get them to a place where they can run around! Now! By the way, the twins behind the counter seem to have different colored hair. Oh, well.
Short jaunt to the camp grounds that surely is somewhere close to the
Ah yes, concrete block cabin, carpet, refrig, microwave, grocery store, ice, coke machine! Oh man, the things we sacrifice in the name of roughing it in the great outdoors to spend time with our sons. The scrum of boys run their little hearts out with flash lights covering the ground at high rates of speed from shoreline to cabins, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Freedom’s just another word for exploring a camp ground in the dark with your second grade buddies.
Make the bed, bring in the portable T.V., empty out the ice chests full of meat and everything else into the refrigerator. Wonder why we’ve got this cabin all to ourselves and nobody wants to be in here with me? Hmm. Well, go figure. Sure hope my sinuses aren’t sore like they are sometimes when I wake up on these campouts. I’m going to have to figure out what causes that.
Rub seasonings on the ribs in preparation for the big meat snack grilling tomorrow. Sure hope we don’t get rained out by the big gully washer that’s coming. Takes a long time to rub all the meat. Gather round the camp fire and chill, baby! Whew! I’m ready to kick back. Seems like I just got comfortable in my chair.
“Where’s Canon?”
“In your cabin.”
“I’d better check on him.”
“Hey. Don’t you want to run around with the other guys?”
“No. I just want to put in a movie and snuggle with you in the bed.”
Some offers really are ones you can’t refuse.
Predawn and it’s time to hit the floor running. Ye-haw! Coffee, raw sugar and cream. Light the fire in barbeque pit and yes, we will go fishing, I promise. The scrum takes awhile to form, but form it does. The fish aren’t biting but, the fun is in the casting.
We head down to the pier to cast. In the morning sky, clouds are blocking the eastern sun but they part just a little and it starts to clear. When they do, the water turns golden with the early morning sun and creates silhouettes of little boys throwing rocks in the water. It kind of takes your breath away.
Thirty minutes later, a miracle from God has allowed no lip, scalp or any other exposed skin to be penetrated with a treble hook as the rod and reel is passed around and another one or two show up at the end of the pier. Time for breakfast!
Off goes the scrum and dads to Sir Bill and Sir Kelly’s cabin for a light caloric intake of scrambled eggs with sausage, sausage links, tortillas, cheese, hot sauce, juice, milk and waffles with syrup. We all want to save our appetites for meat snacks after the chili cheese dog lunch.
As me and Sir Todd cross the yard on our way to visit the barbeque trailer by Sir Tim and Sir Stephen’s cabin, which is now busily smoking two racks of pork ribs and one rack of beef ribeye ribs, I make the comment that the weathermen missed the mark by a mile last night and it sure is going to have to get busy if the wind is going to blow twenty five to fifty miles an hour today like they said it would. A few minutes later I notice the breeze has picked up a little.
We move the trailered pit behind the cabin to block the stiffening breeze. White caps form on the water. Trees start to make breaking sounds. Hmmm. There seems to be some dust on the horizon.
Gather round as Sir Scott tells the history of Knights, squires and paige’s. I catch myself wanting to raise my hand and be picked to answer the questions. As it turns out, Knights are honest, protect the weak, take an oath to be obedient to the king and to God, keep their word and, back in their day, owning a horse was the equivalent to owning an airplane today! Cool!
Hmmm. Standing out here by the barbeque pit while we’re learning about Knights is kinda nice. Seems like the wind gusts are about sixty miles an hour. The white caps are now about two feet high, the water the color of the dust and we can’t see the other shore. Don’t leave your mouth open long. But….at least no rain. It’s surprising how loud gale force wind is when your out in it for…..hours……at a time.
Nature calls. I return. Jousting has ensued with a kid on a dad’s back, a pole with a padded boxing glove and Canon has already lost on the back of Sir Scott. Will I never live this down?! A treasure hunt begins. The scrum heads over to Sir Bills and Sir Kelly’s after holding up a clue to the sun, written on a piece of paper backwards. The dad’s kind of look at each other, because we all expected them to use a mirror. How creative. The scrum comes back and figures out the final clue out to call Sir Kelly’s cell phone for a win. Oh, yeah!
More wind. More dust. More noise. More smoke for the meat snacks. It’s time for chili dogs. Chili’s a little gritty but good.
Meat snacks are ready. God is good and so are the ribs!
Time for the camera scavenger hunt! From the list of things to take a picture of, we hunt for “Things that fly”, “Things that are squishy”, “Things that are round”, “Things from God”, “Things that are spooky” and on and on for twenty seven pictures. We spread out and the boys are in charge of picture taking. A ton of fun!
Free time and maybe even a nap happens. More wind, more dust, more noise and more than one tired boy is ready to go home and see Mommy. But, only for a minute.
Dinner preparation begins. Night falls and at the camp fire Sir David reads Jack and the Beanstalk to us all. You see, Jack was brave, which is a quality of a Knight and he was loyal and obedient to his mom. Sir David needs to take his Giant’s wife voice to Broadway.
Dinner is tenderloin basted in rock salt and honey, asparagus and potatoes thanks to Sir Tim, Sir Todd, Sir Rick and I’m sure others. I bite the palm of my hand in remembrance. Sir Bill wanted to rub the tenderloin all over his body.
The wind dies, the campfire heats up and the boys get tired. Dutch oven cobbler is started and burned but we all glow.
The sun shines through the window Sunday morning and under the cover of our sleeping bag much tickling and some wrestling takes place. I make a mental note to tell time to stand still, but it doesn’t listen. I think that this moment and the Friday night snuggling is really why we came.
Finally, pack up and be down at the main lodge for breakfast and last ceremony. We gather round as Sir Tim goes over the qualities of a Knight again and as twelve or so boys sit on the front row with their backs to us in the mid morning sunlight all the dads watch and become grateful for the weekend, the boys and the message.
Sir Stephen speaks to the boys (but really to the boy in all the males) about the lesson his father taught him about doing the right thing. Your heart always knows what the right thing is, so listen to it in all you do in life.
He then got on one knee to Knight his son, Stephen, and he told of he and his son being on the scavenger hunt and looking for “Something made by God” to take a picture of and his son had turned to him and said, “Well, Dad, it’s you.”, and when he told this story, his voice was full. He told his son how much he loved him and showed us all what we would do when it was our turn with our son. Then he touched each shoulder with the plastic sword and told him to arise as Sir Stephen. Luckily, I had a rag in my back pocket.
I’m guessing each dad was remembering being seven at that moment, complete with many mental images of what they knew and experienced with a “dad”. Their own personal reference points unique to them and only them. I flashed on a time damn near fifty years ago now, when men smoked their Camels with no filters, drank their coffee black and wore ties to baseball games. Life had been hard for that generation and they learned to “take it like a man”. They didn’t get on their knee in front of their sons and they didn’t get on their knee in front of other sons and dads to tell them how much they loved them, how proud they were of them and how glad they were their son. Things are different today and that’s good. But, I needed that rag again and again as dad after dad knelt before their son and I realized these ceremonies often end up being for more sons and dads not there than the ones actually present.
Then, it was time. He must become Sir Canon. I knew what I needed to do, but if I said what I felt, I would literally never finish.
“Your mother and I are proud of you. You are good and strong and perfect, right now, just the way you are. I love you. I Knight you as, Sir Canon.”
Where’s that freakin’ rag?!
In a circle the boys raise their swords and in one loud voice with Sir Tim, belt out “Knights Rule!”.
Hugs and handshakes all around and we’re in the van on the way home. About an hour later, with the droning of the tires on the road starting to make drowsy I hear my name.
“Dad, were you starting to cry when you were standing in front of me?”
“Uh…yeah.”
He looks out the window for awhile.
“Uh, Dad. Do you love me more than you love God?”
One, two….ahem. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Look of shock. “Do you think God will be upset about that?”
“No. I don’t think so. He’s big enough that I think he can handle it.”
“Oh…. Are you sure?”
“I really don’t think he will mind, honey.”
“So, you do love me more than you love God.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh…. Okaay.”
“Can we go fishing again?”
“You bet.”
Knights Rule.
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