Joy Among The Mud

Twelve boys and a couple adults were all laying hands on a 1969 Ford Station Wagon. The exercise session was courtesy of my families  1969 Ford Station Wagon.

It’s muddy brown crust the result of heavy rainfall and a fruitless effort by the boys of Scout Troop 177 to pry it from the mire. The station wagon seemed to be perfectly content in calling the muddy road home for a few more days. I, however, was not. Well, not without my dad. 

I can only speak for myself but I may have given less than 100%. In fact, I was putting more effort into looking like I was trying. 

Fake grunts and tensing your muscles takes more effort than one would think.

     I was 11 years old and my boy scout troop was in the middle of its annual week camping trip.

It was my first with the troop and once my dad was back to work it was the beginning of the longest time spent away from either of my parents. 

“What do you say we give it one more try boys,” asked my dad. 

We all managed to grunt a collective “sure why not.” 

Why not,  I thought. I’ll tell you why not, the thought continued. How about I’m tired of the mud. How about I don’t know some of these folks and they seem kind of sketchy. How about I am going to miss you.

That last thought would never be expressed out loud by an eleven-year-old boy among his peers. Especially when many of their fathers could not come along for the fun. I thought about that last item. I was lucky my father wanted to spend time with his son and the rest of this motley group.

We all gave one more push and I can honestly say that I gave 100 percent that time. I realized I was lucky he had spent some time mucking around in the wilderness with my friends and he was eventually going to have to go back to work.

I may have also realized the mud was not going to let go of that car until the sun came out and added to the effort. 

We all released a collected sigh and gave in to the reality of the situation.

“Oh well son. I guess I’m here for one more day.”

“Oh well,” I added, my stoic face betraying my inner joy. “At least one more day.”

 

Fathers Day posts from the past.

I still miss him.

Cruising With The Top Down.