When I was a young buck, I was in the boy scouts. Go on, laugh and make your jokes, I’ll wait.
Anyway, I distinctly remember my first camping trip with the scouts. My first night roughing it. Living off the land, being one with nature.
That’s how I thought it would be, anyway.
But what happened was a little bit different.
My parents dropped me off at the meeting place, a local church, early in the morning. The game plan was we were going to do some cleanup on the church property, then we were going to set up camp and be manly men.
We started off cleaning up the inside of the church. Dusting, sweeping, mopping it down. Then we moved onto the church grounds where we scoured the parking lot looking for nails and glass and picking up any debris or trash. Finally, we moved onto the cemetery, that resided on the church property, and made sure the headstones and surrounding areas were free from debris, and the old flowers were disposed of.
As morning moved to evening, I began to wonder when we were going to leave to go to the campsite. As I saw no one hurrying to get things rolling, I went to my scoutmaster.
“When do we go to the campsite?” I asked, eager to use my new camping supplies purchased for this big event.
“What do you mean?”
“Aren’t we camping out tonight?” I asked. I hoped I didn’t screw up. I had looked forward to this all week.
“We sure are.”
“Well, when do we go to the campsite?”
“We’re already here.”
I looked around the graveyard. There seemed to be a lot more headstones than before.
“Yeah, why?” He asked.
“But this is a graveyard.”
“We aren’t camping in the graveyard.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Where are we camping?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a clearing. 10 feet out of the graveyard. “You aren’t scared, are you?”
“No.” I was.
About an hour after our conversation, we set up camp.
About an hour after we set up camp, I called my mother to come pick me up.
Screw camping out in a cemetery.