I cannot keep my eyes open, but I cannot sleep for the pain in my feet from walking, the chigger bites all over me in spite of my use of every preventative, and now, remedy known to man. My voice is gone from singing silly songs. The heat is so oppressive that in my tent the air singes my nose. I have not been dry for a week from either sweat, or swimming. Although I shower every night, and swim every day, I am filthy, yet I am still going. I am at Boy Scout camp on my next-to-last-day, and I am having a ball!

I have 17 boys in camp. As Scout Master, the burden to teach, cajole, berate, and comfort falls on me. I would like to tell you I have been perfect in my administration, but that is so far from the truth that I cannot even fudge it. As a leader and a teacher, I have done well. The proof is in the pudding.

I am always amazed at how camping draws a bunch of individuals, each weird in his own way, into a cohesive, functioning group in just five days. We have white boys, black boys, brown boys, Jewish boys, boys of other faiths, and a boy with one leg. We have athletes, and boys who can barely swim. We have studious, quiet boys, and others who are loud and wouldn't recognize a book if you hit them with it. We are a mixed lot, but now, we are a unit, a troop, we belong, and that is critical to us all.

My job as Scout Master is to teach, and I have done that. I have taught knots, fire starting, cooking, cleaning and a myriad other life skills, but that is the easy part. I am also tasked with teaching this rabble to be men.

As we sat around the campfire one night, it was time to teach. In the dark, around a fire, even in blazing heat, boys will learn lessons that they don’t get anywhere else. Here, it all hits home.

For my Scout Master’s minute that night, I asked the questions, “What makes a man? When do you know you are a man, not a boy?”

The answers were varied, and what you would expect. Attributes such as responsible, loving, honest, and strong were mentioned, and all were good answers.

Since strong was mentioned last, I focused on that and told the story of my grandfather, who was the strongest man I have ever known, and a drill instructor in the Marine Corps.

In boot camp, I was getting strong myself. One day, I was lifting weights and this huge drill instructor came up to me, yelling in my face, “Private, who is the strongest man you have ever known?”

I told him, “Sir, my grandfather, sir!” By the look on his face, I could tell he wasn’t expecting that. Perhaps he thought I would say him.

“Why?” He demanded at the top of his lungs, scaring me more than I already was.

I couldn’t think of a thing to say that made sense so relied on my emotions and blurted, “Because he told me that a man is strongest when he stoops to help a child.”!

He looked at me and I could see I had either said the wrong thing, or, less likely, the right one. He said, quietly, “Don’t ever use your strength for evil, only to do good. It is the obligation of the strong to help the weak.”

That is the lesson the boys got. The next day, the older were helping the younger, people were rushing to help the one legged kid walk the trails, and all mixed as a unit. They are becoming men.

What bug bites, what heat? So what if I am sweating, and tired? We have built men this week. Yeah, I am having a ball!

David Wilson Atwood is a local writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted, at: www.starchasers.us, or david@starchasers.us