7. Military Time

 

There’s no life like it (Part 7) - Military Time

When the boys were teenagers, we ALL looked forward to the summer. Summer meant Cadet camp. One or more of the older boys was selected and off they went. And two-, four- or, if we were really lucky, six-weeks later, they would come back. What happened at camp is their story to tell.  Here is a pregnant pause just in case one of them wants to tell their story.

Back at home the whole dynamic would change. The life to which we were accustomed was altered, pecking was re-ordered and there was just a little less testosterone around to spark teenage explosions.

The year Christian was in grade 9 turned out to be a brilliant cadet year for him as well. He loved sailing and took every opportunity he could to go up to Jericho Beach where the cadet sail boats were stored. Also, in a beautiful moment of unity, my boys had chipped in together and bought their own little sailboat for $200 (including trailer). They painted it orange and called it POS – Piece of Ship!

Christian sailed at every opportunity. He even received an award during a regatta at the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club.  It was for sportsmanship rather than skill because he’d turned his boat round to rescue an overturned fellow competitor.  All this contributed to him being given the amazing cadet camp experience: six weeks sailing on Lake Ontario. We were all really looking forward to it.

But it was not to be.

On the last day of school Christian’s exuberant friends ‘doggy-piled’ him. For those who don’t know what a doggy-pile is, it is like being swarmed, but by friendly humans. He broke his collar bone and spent the summer knitting it back together again.

 

We could not complain though. The summer before we had been fortunate enough for three of the boys to have gone away to cadet camp at the same time. When we went to pick them up there were seven busloads of teenagers needed to be sorted and returned to their families. We found one of ours. Then, after a bit of asking around and explaining that although Cadet Summers was standing with us, our family was not yet complete, another Cadet Summers was found. But the third was not there. The buses were all emptied, the parents’ cars had all driven away except for ours, and the Transportation Officer was talking anxiously into her phone trying to help some administrative list-keeper find yet another Cadet Summers. I hate causing trouble. For a second, I wondered if maybe I should just be grateful for what I had. But Simon was eventually located, having been shipped to the train station instead of the bus station. We all make mistakes.

The next year, we made a doozy of a mistake ourselves.

Perhaps the most coveted Cadet camp spot of all was the six-week engineer course. The skills taught at this course could be translated into money throughout the year. The graduating cadet would be one of a few qualified to take out the large boats other cadet corps used for weekends on the water. So when Mark was chosen we were really happy for him. He was too. He received his travel instructions. He had to be at Vancouver Airport at 00:30 Aug 1^st.

The first few weeks of the summer passed the way they do. There was the beach and bike rides and the park and more beach. Richard’s job was going well too. Having been sentenced to terrible car ownership in the earlier days of our marriage he was now released into a whole car lot of possibilities. The first car he bought was a Chevy Impala. It had a terrific sound system and made his long, long commute much more bearable. Next, he bought a Chevy Camaro. Apparently, we were a Chevy family now.  An aside here, for our silver wedding anniversary, he bought a Chevy Silverado truck. But that was much later. This summer, Richard had just bought the Camaro. The boys drooled when he brought it home. It had a T-roof, and an even more awesome sound system than the Impala.

July was spent, as I say, at the beach and having fun. Peter and Becky’s birthday was July 31^st. We held a big outdoors party for them. And the next day, we were going to take Mark to the airport.

All day he packed and then, after supper he and his Dad headed for the airport. But when they got there, the airport was bare. No where could they see the familiar cadet uniforms. Mark looked at the travel orders again; Vancouver Airport, 00:30 Aug 1^st. It was August 1^st. It was almost midnight. So where was everybody?

Slowly, slowly it dawned on Mark, he was one day late. By the time 00:30 came around, it would be August 2^nd. He was devastated. That was it. He had missed the transport. He and his dad drove sadly back home. Nothing had ever happened to him before that was this bad. He wouldn’t get to go to camp, he wouldn’t get his engineering qualification, he would be the laughing-stock of all his friends, and he would definitely be in trouble with his officers for being a no-show.

Mark went to bed that night the saddest fifteen-year-old I’d ever seen.

His Dad went to bed that night a little tiny bit cross.

But Richard woke up early the next morning with the biggest grin on his face. First, he drank his cup of coffee and then he opened Mark’s bedroom door.

“Get up Mark,” he said. “I’m going to drive you to camp. In the Camaro!”

Mark almost squealed. He jumped out of bed, smoothed out the creases of his discarded uniform and slung his kit bag over his shoulder. Fourteen hours later the Camaro rolled back into the driveway, “Success,” Richard beamed.

And that is the story of how Mark, the coolest cadet around, arrived at camp in a Camaro.