Backyard Camping

I am a Boy Scout. Always have been, always will be.

I have two other best friends who are Scouts: Ruter Agati and Reyniel Catabian. We were so good at being scouts that we were actually exempted from High School CAT because of the ranks we held in Philippine Scouting. We were therefore spared from marching under the hot sun on Friday afternoons, and taking orders from batch mates who formed part of the Corps of Cadet Officers of the De La Salle-Zobel CAT Program.

But we were not totally free of any activity. While our classmates marched to the cadence called by other batch mates, Reyniel, Ruter and I (La Salle Zobels' Scouting Triumvirate, as we have been called) -- together with another batchmate, Enrique "Rico" Manuel -- handled Cub Scouts from the lower grade levels, one troop each.

One of the two highlights for Cub Scouts (3rd, 4th graders and 5th graders) was the annual backyard camping (another was the annual Father & Son Camp). On the weekend of the camp, our troops would try to outdo each other in scouting skills and abilities.

That year, the camp had an extra challenge: the weather. It had started raining on Friday afternoon, just as school had already ended and as the troops were already starting to pitch their tents. Since they were kids, we couldn't have them camping on the rain soaked grounds (there was no storm, mind you, but enough rains to soak the campgrounds (where the swimming pool is now located)). Despite all this, the kids didn't want to go home.

They wanted to sleep in tents. They wanted to grill their hotdogs on sticks over a camp fire. They wanted to use their brand new sleeping bags, and eat their Spam from the can.

And we wanted them to experience all this too.

So we made sure that they did.

When the rains started, everyone moved into Gym 1, each one hoping the rain would stop. But it didn't stop. It didn't get stronger, but it didn't stop.

So... Reyniel, Ruter, Rico and I divided the gym into four sectors -- one sector for each troop -- and we started pitching our own tents on the concrete floor of the gym. We couldn't use pegs, so we made do with rocks to hold up our tents and poles. Soon enough, the Cub Scouts were doing the same thing. In no time at all, we had transformed the cold floor of Gym 1 into a camp ground worthy of any Jamborette.

As the kids excitedly started to unroll their sleeping bags and put stuff inside their tents, we found a large piece of corrugated metal and brought that into the center of the gym. And then we had Cub Scouts gather wood for the camp fire that night.

In short, the kids slept in their bags inside their tents and they got to experience the traditional lighting of the camp fire complete with the story of the "Four Winds". They also got to cook their hotdogs on sticks, and fry some eggs and Spam in their camp cook kits. We did everything you'd do at a regular camp, except drive the pegs into the ground.

Everyone went home happy on Sunday afternoon.

I realized then that life throws us a curve ball every once in a while. More frequently for some. What we do with that pitch is all up to us.

We can either: 1) watch the pitch go by; 2) take a blind swing at it and miss, or; 3) keep the ball in sight and hit it with all your might.

I've learned that options two and three are always the wisest choices.

You may not be able to drive the pegs into the ground (the favorite part of every Cub Scout who has ever pitched his own tent), but if you take stock of what you have around you and decide to make things work, that'll probably be the only thing you will miss.

And believe me, the fun and fulfillment you get from choosing to make do with what you have will far outweigh peg-driving any day.