But I hold in high regard the many valuable life skills the Scouts teach our children. So it was with bated anticipation and sweet nostalgia that we set off last weekend for a Girl Scout campout in the wilds of Anaheim — two nights of roughing it at a bucolic RV park underneath the 91 Freeway, set amid the sprawling tract homes of Orange County, where the professional baseball team borrows the name of another city.
It's good to get away from it all.
After a two-hour Friday afternoon drive that should have taken 30 minutes, our first stop was a Mimi's Café in Chino to sup and let Inland Empire diners know how loud and obnoxious a gaggle of hopped up, frenetic and mildly psychotic San Fernando Valley girls can be. When our little ladies began chanting “kill, kill, kill!” as the overburdened waiter set corn dogs and spaghetti before them, I knew our time was short.
By the time we pulled into camp, it was dark and our Scouts needed to run wind sprints to release their car-restrained energy. Off they went in every direction, a pack of caffeinated hyenas, while we parents set up camp.
Pitching a tent at night can be a trial. But I've done it many times and didn't need the assistance of the dozen charming, badge-starved 12-year-old girls who kept asking if I needed help.
“Do I look like I need help?” I asked, receiving only chuckles in reply.
A bonfire and s'mores ensured that our troop would be howling late into the night. So we zipped up 10 girls safely within their own eight-man tent, set a perimeter of adult tents around them to prevent escapees, and prayed for daylight. When they finally passed out, not one realized how much more comfortable camping is with an air mattress.
