Cub Scouts Experience

When I was young, my father enrolled me in the Cub Scouts. Being in Cub Scouts--and later Boy Scouts--really shaped who I am today. It has taught me skills for survival and taught me about people. Some of it was taught to me, some of it I learned for myself. It was in June of 2008, I think, that my Cub Scout pack went on a weekend campout. I should mention that my father was at this point the Cubmaster of the pack. The campground stretched across a small peninsula that jutted out into Island Lake. The lodge/cabin there was a wooden structure with two large rooms inside; one for eating and one for sleeping. We didn’t sleep in the cabin though. We were big boys, so we slept in tents on the various tent pads located around the camp. My tent was
Some families came up for the day to watch their little boys shoot arrows and rather unsuccessfully make fire. I was wandering around camp when I found a fantastic looking stick on the ground by the front of the cabin for me to play with. I leaned over and picked it up. It was smooth to the touch, the rough outside probably scrubbed away by weather. It had caught my eye because it was curiously shaped like a gun, and whenever a little boy sees something that looks like a gun he’s going to wind up playing with it. I took a few practice shots at trees, aiming careful and quietly saying “pew!” when I fired. I was so engrossed in my game that I didn’t notice that my next shot was pointed at the older brother of one of the cub scouts. I whispered “pew!”. I looked up. He was looking at me. I looked at him. That was when it
He had joined our side to keep tabs on our position so the older team could corner us. We realized it too late. The other team was hot on our trail, whooping and shouting like a pack of howling hunting dogs. They cornered us at the ceremony site--a clearing in the woods away from the main part of camp. Most of my army was spared from harm because they weren’t the target. I was. They surrounded me, pushing my friends away. I was afraid. I clung to a thick red pine with all the strength in my little arms. The older boys were chanting an intense drumbeat of “to the beach!”. Their intentions were clear. If I didn’t hold on, they would drag me away to the beach and beat me with the small tree. My friends slouched to the side, helpless against the fray. I still grappled the pine, my hands trying to find a crack or crevice in the rough bark to hold on to. I was wearing a hoodie that day, and one of the older boys began to pull at it in an attempt to rip me off of the tree. The pressure of the hoodie seared into my neck. I gasped for air, every breath a battle. Sweat drenched my brow. The hoodie cut deeper. The pressure of the horde swelled. My eyes darted like a cornered animal’s. I didn’t want to play anymore. The throbbing drumbeat matched my racing heart. It filled every pore in my body. Tears pushed at my eyes. The game was out of my control. The bark scraped against my hands. They were slipping.The mob would envelop me. I’d be helpless to