Matthew Keenan

It’s camping season, and Cub and Boy Scouts everywhere are heading to the outdoors. But against this Saturday Evening Post image you have a subplot that Norman Rockwell’s canvas would never touch — beginning with the adult leaders.

There are two groups. You have the scouting pros — uniforms that appear West Point-issued, plastered with patches and beads dangling from the belt. A kaleidoscope of colors, icons, images, with lots of red, white and blue. This presentation, combined with additional features (e.g. bad hair, conversion vans, sweat pits) can prompt an uneasy feeling in some moms.

First impressions, however, can be misleading, because one of the patches likely says “trained” and another says Wood Badge — that means your son’s leader has a clue about responding to unexpected emergencies. If you are a helicopter mother, after all, you want a leader who is skilled inCPR, can separate a wall from a funnel cloud, and knows that a tourniquet should not be tied above the shoulders.

Admittedly, some of these leaders need to spend less time at Roundtable and more time at Lifetime Fitness. Still, he’s not your son’s yoga leader, so get over it. Drop off Johnny —you can still make your Pilates class.

And then you have the new school dads. Lightweights who think roughing it means a hotel without a concierge level. These softies would drag along a Laz-y-boy recliner if it would fit in their Lexus. Dads who think the Scout motto “do a good turn” relates to corkscrew techniques. These guys understand Baden Powell is a signature clothing line at Nordstrom’s. These dads have kids in Cub Scouts, a.k.a. ‘Scouting light.’

Boys love campouts and hate the meetings. In pack meetings, the boys run wild and eventually end up in a women’s restroom staring at the Kotex machine.

Picking the campout date means dodging the religious and school holidays, baseball tournaments,RV and Boat Show, dance recitals, BBQ competitions, and finally settling on a Friday night. Everyone commits. The expected number of Scouts and dads: 75.

And then the lone ranger arrives: severe weather! When I was Cubmaster in Leawood this would freak the softies. By Friday morning, the e-mails would roll in: “Johnny’s not feeling well.” “I need to start an addition on the house.” “I pulled a muscle getting out of bed.” “Look, we are going to come out later. Like next month.” “The dog ate the directions.” “I want to come but my wife says it’s too cold out.” “We’ll make the next one.”

By midafternoon the cancellations continue. The ‘confirmed’ list goes from 75 to 12 in about eight hours. I would never cancel the campout. Kids don’t give a darn about cold fronts — what they care about is bringing a pocket knife to make a spear and then playing in the fire. So around 5, I’d drive to the church parking lot with the Keenan boys in tow amid wind gusts and dark clouds. Eventually two, maybe three cars of other dads and Scouts pull in. Guys, like me, with lots of patches. We drive out, set up camp and watch weather patterns worthy of the Weather Channel. Saturday morning we return home, drop all the gear in the entryway and my sons declare to their mom, “It was awesome!”

A month later it’s time for the May campout: “We’ve got a fast-moving cold front, folks!”