Camping in Philadelphia

Dear Dad,

There are days that the pain of missing you is as sharp as it was the day you died. Today is one of those days. I got home from a Boy Scout camping trip and all I wanted to do was call you up and tell you all about it. I wanted to hear you reminisce about all the times you froze as I told you about my first experience in a lean-to. But I can’t do it, and so I will attempt—as I have so many times before—to alleviate the pain by writing about the weekend instead.

On Friday night the scouts gathered at the Somerville church for a 5pm departure. I raced home after work in order to take a quick shower so G3 and I could get there on time. In the car, G3 told me the rules of the weekend. In short, he didn’t want me to get in the way of his fun. He told me I wasn’t allowed to speak to him unless he spoke to me first. It was best if I pretended to be invisible. He didn’t want me to embarrass him or give his friends anything to laugh at. I was only permitted to go on these trips if I didn’t let on that he was connected to me in any way. It was a steep price to pay in order to be involved and present in his life, but he didn’t really leave me much of a choice.

We stopped at Burger King for a quick dinner—the fact that they have the Impossible Whopper makes it appealing to me—and managed to get to the church with a few minutes to spare. Two boys, along with G3, joined me for the drive to Philadelphia. I knew that leaving during rush hour meant we would hit a great deal of traffic, so I stayed on the back roads for as long as I could—avoiding the turnpike. Staying off the turnpike also meant not paying tolls which is always a plus.

We arrived at Fort Mifflin around 7:30. The fort dates back to the Revolutionary War. Back then, it was known as Mud Island Fort. In the Fall of 1777, the British defeated Washington at the Battle of the Brandywine which enabled them to take control of Philadelphia. In order to bring supplies to the troops, the British needed to be able to traverse the Delaware River. Americans at Fort Mercer in New Jersey and at Mud Island Fort in Pennsylvania actively prevented supply ships from reaching their destinations. (This served a secondary purpose of permitting Washington and his men to retreat safely to Valley Forge, where they famously spent the winter suffering in the bitter cold and snow to train with Baron Friedrick von Steuben.) Frustrated by troops garrisoned at Mud Island Fort, the British laid siege to it in October. In early November, the British began the longest bombardment of the war. They fired so many cannons at the fort that much of it was destroyed. Then on November 15, the Americans burned what remained and abandoned the fort with the flag still flying high. The tour guides were adamant that the Americans never surrendered, but they didn’t exactly win either. In fact, I think it could be debated that the Americans actually did surrender by default. If you leave, doesn’t that in essence mean you are turning the fort over–surrendering it–to the enemy? But America has a habit of perceiving things in a way that makes her look good. 

During the Civil War, the fort was used as a prisoner of war camp. Confederate soldiers captured at the Battle of Gettysburg were imprisoned there. It remained an active Fort throughout the Korean war. It was decommissioned in 1954.

After claiming beds in the Barracks—the younger scouts slept in one room and the adults stayed in another, while the older scouts slept in the casements—we gathered in the museum for a ghost tour. Allegedly, ghosts of men, women, and children, who once upon a time resided at the fort, haunt the buildings and grounds. Cries of children long dead have been heard. Soldiers have been seen. And mysterious presences have been felt. I didn’t buy any of it and it found the tour less than exciting. However, a crowd of children—not all of whom are well behaved—can put a damper on even the most interesting of tours. As always, G3 kept close to the tour guide and remained attentive through the duration of the tour.

In the morning, I was up at dawn and out on the grounds early enough to watch the sun rise over the Delaware River. It was a pretty sunrise, a moment of peace before the scouts emerged from their sleeping quarters. For breakfast, the youngest scouts scrambled eggs, and made sausage and pancakes. The food wasn’t bad. When we finished eating, the scouts cleaned up and then we headed outside for a flag raising ceremony. Once the flag was raised, we broke up in various groups and headed into Philadelphia. G3’s group voted to go to the zoo. Before we left, G3 changed into jeans, a polo shirt, and his dressier jacket. “You don’t look like you’re going to be warm enough,” I commented. He looked at me as if I were the dumbest person he’d ever met, “We’re going into the city. I have to look nice,” Well, of course he did. It was the first of many times this weekend that he reminded me of my brother, and I smiled thinking about it because you used to make that observation constantly. In the car, he proceeded to put gel in his hair and slick it back into a ponytail. It’s as if he were going to a nightclub instead of the zoo.

The zoo, in the cold, in November, isn’t much fun. Luckily, there were two other mothers who I like on the trip. While the scouts headed off on their own—after we gave them a meeting time and location to reconvene—the three of us walked around and chatted. The cold put a serious damper on our visit because many of the animals were hiding in places where they could keep warm. Not many of them were outdoors. Seeing the tiger, of course, was the highlight for me. I was born in the year of the tiger, and so they are one of my favorite animals. We did have fun watching the animals in the primate house. Monkeys are always entertaining. G3 and his friend—whose mother was one of the mothers on the trip—caught up with us at one point, and surprisingly, ate lunch with us. Since G3 wished me to be invisible, I had expected him to avoid me completely at the zoo. I was happy he chose to spend even a little time with me.

We had to leave the zoo by 2:30 in order to get to Independence Hall. We had reservations for a tour. I think the tour was a waste of time. We had already taken G3 a few years ago, and the rest of the boys looked bored out of their minds. They had absolutely no desire to be in the same room where our Founding Fathers debated and signed both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. The tour guide was good, but I overheard some of the boys later on complaining that it was the worst part of the whole weekend.  G3 was frustrated and annoyed with them. He wanted more of the history—in fact the tour we were on was much shorter than the one we had taken the last time we were there—not less. As we walked into the room that once seated some of America’s greatest statesmen—Jefferson, Franklin, Washington, Hamilton—I remembered that the first time I set food in Independence Hall was several decades ago when the four of us took a trip with Middle Gary’s Boy Scout Troop. It seemed in some ways that I had come full circle, and again, I almost reached for my phone wanting to call you.

G3 declared that since we were in Philadelphia, we absolutely had to have Philly Cheesesteaks for dinner. It was an easy sell and the adults in the group agreed with him. One of the moms with whom I had spent the afternoon asked for recommendations in a Facebook group, and several people recommended a place about a ten minute walk from Independence Hall. G3 approved. It wasn’t the best cheesesteak he ever had—that would be the place we took him to before the District Championship last spring—but it was close. That sandwich might have been the highlight of his day. We topped it off the meal with milkshakes, which was definitely a highlight for me.

Following dinner, we drove to Pine Hill Scout Reservation across the river in New Jersey. It was cold. Super cold. Below freezing cold. So cold that by the time we got out of the car, frost had already begun to form on the ground. The scouts were going to sleep in tents, and I had brought our one person tent to sleep in, but it turned out there were lean-to—three sided cabins—for the adults if we chose to sleep in them instead. One of the other moms and I chose to bunk in a lean-to. We figured, as far as warmth was concerned, it would be the same regardless of tent or lean-to. But the lean-to was definitely the easier option. We didn’t need to set up tents in the cold and in the dark. Nor would we have to break camp in the morning. We just had to lay out our sleeping bags and go to bed.

But first, there was the scout campfire, and G3 had been selected to be the evening’s emcee. He did a good job. He was loud and confident as he introduced each patrol and the skit they planned to do. None of the scouts seemed to have put much work into the skits, but the boys seemed to enjoy them because there was a great deal of laughter. I certainly felt that I missed something, since I didn’t see anything funny with anything anyone said.

I did not sleep. Well, okay, I must have slept a little because I had a really strange dream. I was back in Korea, though it seemed it was supposed to have been a short visit, only I couldn’t quite seem to figure out how I could leave. I was trapped teaching in an English language academy and I wanted to stay, but I also wanted to go. I couldn’t make up my mind. G3 was there and he was happy. Kati kept calling me, but every time I picked up the line went dead. At some point I woke myself up coughing and then I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I was too cold. I could not get warm even though I had on several layers. I know you can relate. I probably need a new sleeping bag. Mine is twenty years old. I bought it before I went to Peru. At the time, it was a great bag. It kept me warm in the Andes and on top of Kilimanjaro, but it’s old and worn and very used. If I do the city trip next year, I will definitely need a new bag. 

Now that I’m home, I’m struggling to stay awake, but I don’t want to nap because if I nap I won’t be able to fall asleep early tonight. My body also hurts—every single muscle. I didn’t do much at all this weekend in regards to physical activity. I didn’t even walk far. I’m going to guess that I shivered so much last night that shivering made my muscles sore. Did that ever happen to you? Were you ever so cold that the next morning you were in pain? I had no idea that shivering could be a form of exercise.

I miss you!

PS-I cannot write essays about work here. It’s best if I write anonymously on a platform other than my own website. If you are interested in following my teaching adventures, message me on facebook and I’ll let you know how you can find me.