Prayer Session

Ian Burns • Creative Non-Fiction

Growing up, I was a part of boy scouts, as many boys. It was something a few of my friends got me into, and something I can’t help but say I had a fun time with. Spending time with my buddies outdoors, learning interesting skills and seeing things I hadn’t seen before in my life. Not to mention that my dad was happy to pay the fees and costs along with it to see me out of the house for a few days. It was here I shot a gun for the first time, here I spent my first week away from home, and here that I realized I was different from many.  

It all started at my second Scout Camp. It was at some sort of wilderness preserve with the word “Ranch” in the name, which always confused me because it was in the middle of a giant forest. This was a week-long camp, where we signed up for three different “Classes” to take each day. Every day the boys would get up, trudge down to the dining hall for breakfast and then make our separate ways to each class. The forest was both inviting and foreboding it seemed, perhaps the unknown elements gave it such duality. It was damp pretty much the entire time from frequent rains but temperate as it was still mid-summer. This wetness caused the earthy smelling air to weigh heavily. 

 On the last day of this we reached a clearing that gave way to a large shooting range where some older boys were shooting skeet in a shotgun class. Nick and I were in the targeting rifle class, but this seemed much more fun. We kept our distance so as not to draw too much attention to ourselves and listened to the shots echo into the forest behind us. Pretty soon however we noticed the sun was setting, and this was normally the time our first aid class would be ending, it was time to rush back to camp. We ended up back late and in the scout master’s office. He spoke to us sternly but maintained his rugged geniality. It was easy to tell he wasn’t too mad.  

“I’ve heard you boys have missed First-Aid the past few days,” he said with a chuckle. “We can’t have you running off to every nook and cranny of the ranch you know. I know First-Aid isn’t as thrilling as some of the others but it’s a necessary skill.”  

Even though it was a minor interaction it was still quite scary for us kids to be lectured by the Scout Master. He finished up rather quickly however and dismissed us to our tent with a broad smile on his fat face. As we walked back, I could tell Nick was done with our little adventures. 

 “Well, we got caught now what. He’ll probably call my dad, I’ll never come back to camp again!” he whimpered. 

 “Couldn’t you tell he barely cared? He probably did the same thing when he was our age. I for one want to see what’s past that field where the shotguns were. I bet no one’s even been in that forest past the range.” I was already planning the next episode in my head, but Nick wasn’t having any of it. 

“You just don’t know when to quit do you? He’ll be on the lookout now; we can’t miss any more of that” he responded.  

“But if we were here at camp sick, we’ll be excused from everything, that would give us the whole day, camps totally empty when everyone’s out during the day I’ll bet. No one would miss us.” At this point it seemed to me that Nick regretted bunking with me; so, I left it alone the rest of the night.  

On the third day, however, everything changed for me. This day was a break from our regularly scheduled instruction time in our various “classes.” The plan for our troop that day was to go down to the lake and pair into groups to Kayak around the lake. As we were marching down, it started to rain, and hard. Everyone made for the big gazebo by the lake for shelter. The one’s hauling the boats were hit the worst. Nick and I happened to be two of them. When we finally trudged in, we were soaked to our boots and freezing. One of the scout leaders (below the scout master rank-wise) announced that we would be having a “Prayer Session” to pass the time and wait for the rain to calm down so we could get onto the lake. Now, to preface, I knew that the Boy Scouts were a Christian Organization, we said grace before eating which I had done before a few times at a relative’s house and wasn’t a super big deal in my mind at the time. But this was different. It was my first “prayer session”. It began and the boys around me closed their eyes and lowered their heads in silence. My family was mostly non-religious on the whole; so, the whole thing seemed sort of off to me. I didn’t want to look out of place, so I followed the crowd and lowered my head thinking, “How do I know when to look up?” Every few seconds I opened my eyes a sliver to see if it was still going on. Eventually, the scout leader that originally proposed the Prayer Session said, “In Jesus name Amen,” all the boys followed after him “Amen.” My eyes darted left and right checking to see if anyone noticed that I neglected to say the phrase myself. “Now then,” said the scout leader as he scanned the crowd through his circular glasses—the kind I always imagined Piggy as having in Lord of the Flies. As his gaze roved us cold and shivering boys his eyes fell on me. 

 “Ian, what did you pray about?” he asked. Stunned, I looked around to see all eyes on me, awaiting my response. I can confidently say I knew this was the wrong answer, even at the time, but I told the truth.  

“Not really anything sir, I don’t believe in God.” I said through chattering teeth. The man looked horrified. His wrinkled face became even more gnarled as if he had just caught a whiff of something foul but even worse than that, as if that foul thing was me. The other boys didn’t look much better. Nick stepped back away from me, as did some of the other boys who reckoned they were too close. Like they might catch the atheistic virus. Not a word was said for what felt like five minutes but couldn’t have really been longer than 30 seconds. Then, the scout leader simply pointed to another boy and asked the same question, not daring to even respond to what I had said. I was grateful for this however, and I tried to forget the episode. That particular leader never looked at me the same again. 

It wasn’t over. I hadn’t faced the final boss of piety just yet; this guy was just a minion. When we returned to camp, my presence was requested in the scout leader’s tent. When I entered the tent was dark, a single gas lamp was lit on the small wooden table next to the man’s cot. It cast eerie shadows over his grave face as he sat there, not speaking as I entered. The charismatic and affable man who had chided Nick and I about ditching the previous day had become cold. “Sit” he muttered and gestured to a stool much lower than the chair in which he sat. An arrangement that had not existed when I had been in the room yesterday. He had prepared for this. “I heard what you did today young man,” he grumbled to me in the near darkness. I responded quickly. 

“I didn’t do any—” Before I could finish the scout master erupted. 

 “I KNOW YOU’RE WRONG!” He stood up quickly from his chair knocking it to the ground and stood above me, pointing his oversized finger in my face. In the dim light it appeared that the man was shaking. I didn’t move. “I just know you’re wrong!” he sputtered, his jowls moving as he shook his head vigorously.  

I sat still, averting my gaze, wishing with all my strength that I had just made up some bullshit on the spot and avoided all this. Eventually he sat down, never fully regaining his composure but at least calming down. “And what does your family think of this? Do they know? Does your grandmother know you hate God?” He clearly didn’t know my family very well. I still didn’t respond. “Well?! Do they?!” he spat again.  

“We’ve never talked about it sir.” My courage and arrogance gone, I just wanted to give this guy what he wanted and get back to my tent. I was lucky because this seemed to convince him that my family and I were all simply too far gone. He shook his head again in disgust and glared at me, the dancing light highlighting the creases in his fat face. 

 “Go” he ordered. I picked up my hat that I had dropped when he had leapt from his seat and scrambled out of the tent and back to my own.  

When I got to my own tent, I rushed in and sat on my cot. I was honestly afraid. Nick was there lying down, but I could tell he was awake. I told him what had happened. He turned over to face me as I told the story. When I was done however, he simply rolled over again, silent. With that I knew I would find no allies here. I knew that my time in the Boy Scouts was over.