Mormon Mayhem. Keaton Albertson

items and I knew that I was not currently carrying any uneaten snacks in my pockets. Unsure of what the staff member was referring to, I played oblivious. “What pocket?” I asked.

      “Your back pocket,” the staff member repeated.

      Dirty’s eyes darted over to me and he strained himself to look at my backside without moving his head. A worried expression crept across his face.

      “Hand it over,” the staff member said, extending his empty palm.

      I reached toward my back pocket and found my homemade slingshot. Being somewhat relieved that there was not a stolen bag of Doritos sticking out of my pocket, implicating me into the campsite raid, I retrieved my slingshot. I reluctantly handed over to the staff member the weapon that my father had crafted for me and then realized that being found with the stolen items might have been a lesser punishment.

      “You know that you boys aren’t supposed to have these.”

      “He has one too,” the other staff member stated, pointing at Kmart Cowboy.

      Kmart Cowboy immediately handed his wrist rocket to the man.

      “You can have your Scoutmasters get these back for you before you leave. Please keep in mind the rules and regulations of Camp Maple Dell while you’re here.”

      “Yes, sir,” Fire Crotch responded.

      “You boys best be on your way back to your campsite; there’s some thieves roaming about stealing food and causing mischief.”

      I raised an eyebrow in mocked surprise. “Really?”

      “Yes, but don’t you boys worry. We’ll sure blue find them. Nothing gets by us up here. Ain’t that right, Jim?”

      The other staff member confidently nodded his head in response to his companion’s remarks.

      “Okay, well, we best get back to camp efore someone steals our stuff, guys,” I said to my compatriots.

      “I hate thieves!” Dirty added while shaking his head in disgust.

      The four of us separated from the staff members and began walking toward the smaller trail that led toward our campsite. As we walked away from the two men, we began assessing what had just taken place.

      “I thought we were busted for sure!” Fire Crotch stated.

      “Yeah, no shit!” Kmart Cowboy agreed.

      “It’s a good thing they didn’t search us,” Dirty said, pulling out several bags of cookies from his shorts. “I’d have a hard time explaining where I got these from.”

      “What the hell do you still got those for?” Kmart Cowboy asked.

      “I was saving some for later.”

      “Share the wealth, man,” I said, snatching up one of the bags of cookies. I began eating some of the sugary yum-yum’s and then reflected back upon my slingshot being confiscated. “I better get my shit back,” I stated. “If they don’t cough up my slingshot before we leave I’m going to break into the lodge and take it back myself.”

      “My dad’s going to be pissed for me taking my wrist rocket here,” Kmart Cowboy stated.

      “It’s not that big of a deal,” I consoled, “and it actually might help us out with an alibi.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, if you’re definitely caught for something, you might as well use a lesser transgression to cover for a larger one. Like, we’d be in deep shit if we get caught for raiding that other campsite. But our Scoutmasters know we were up to no good so we have to come up with something. So, instead of getting busted for the campsite raid, we substitute hunting squirrels. Either way we’re in trouble for something but the slingshot offense is less serious than shitting in some kid’s sleeping bag. So we’ll just assume guilt over sneaking out of camp to go hunt squirrels in the pine forest. And then we won’t be suspected for looting those other Scouts’ food and whatnot.”

      “That’s pretty smooth,” Dirty commented.

      “Thank you. I take pride in my work.”

      Surprisingly, after returning back to camp, my father made no mention of the conversation that he had overheard in the pine forest. I received no lecture of morality from him, which I normally had to suffer through whenever my father caught wind of me speaking of inappropriate topics. I later figured that my father was uncomfortable with the prospect of having this discussion, as he had put it off for the remainder of our stay at Camp Maple Dell. I was hopeful that he would forget all about the occurrence and move on.

      Prior to leaving summer camp, my homemade slingshot was returned to me and Kmart Cowboy was given back his wrist rocket. I secured my insect specimens and packed away the rest of my gear. Just as I was preparing to leave camp with the rest of the troop, my father pulled me aside and broached the topic of the impending morality lecture. “When are we going to have that discussion about what I heard you boys talking about out in the forest?” he asked.

      I knew that my father did not really want to deliver this lecture and was only going through the obligatory motions of his priesthood duties. Thus, I decided to give him an out. “We already did,” I responded. “Remember?”

      My father furrowed his brow, thought for a moment, and then said, “That’s right, we did.” To this day, no such discussion has ever taken place.