Well, spiritually, anyhow. My back and sides still ache from sleeping (or, trying to) on a malfunctioning air mattress and I can feel the start of a cold from the chilly rain we encountered with the Cub Scouts out there this morning. Mr. B., with the resilience of youth, shrugged it all off. I remember. This sort of adversity used to be fun when I was young. Everything is fun when you’re young.
I did not actually climb the rock’s pink granite dome this time. I took a nap in our tent, instead. The other older father, about ten years younger than me, did climb. He contrived to fall about five feet in a cave the boys were exploring. He landed on his back and spent the rest of the trip hobbling about. I expect to be fully recovered from my aches and pains by Tuesday night. Next year’s trip, after which Mr. B. will be a Boy Scout, will be my last. The Boy Scouts don’t mind if parents come on their campouts but it’s not encouraged. Mercifully.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 