Men, have you ever been a member of Indian Guides?

Yes. I was the son from 1st to 3rd grade in the Quilna tribe, so that would have been 1979-1982. My father and I were Big Thunder Lizard and Little Thunder Lizard. My brother joined then and continued after I was too old. It was an incredibly positive experience for me; some of the happiest moments and best memories of my childhood were from events I did with my father through Y Indian Guides, especially cabin camping at Deer Valley in western Pennsylvania.

I was in the Y guide program with both my son and daughter and, while both were positive experiences which generated some great memories especially of campouts, they were distinct experiences because the two groups of dads were different.

My daughter’s tribe was a larger group who had a good deal of fun on the campouts. Once the girls were their bunks the evenings were spent literally playing with fire including, at times, burning some non-traditional herbs in the peace pipe off in the bushes.

My son’s tribe was smaller but a really good group more involved in sharing stories once the boys were in bed. A different experience but positive none the less.

We actually had one campout with both groups when my daughter was in her third year and my son in his first year. The two groups got along ok but more importantly I really enjoyed the experience of doing the activities (hiking, horseback riding, archery, canoing, etc.) with both of my children while they were still young enough to be impressed by Dad.

This all ocurred in the early 2000s. As a matter of fact I missed my daughter’s first meeting as I was stuck in Florida unable to fly home during the week of 9-11.

I…I…I never considered that The Dads were hanging out and doing fun stuff after we went to bed! :eek:

I mean, of course you were but…god, kids are so self centered.

Yes, son, back in the 1970s. It was okay. I still have my stylish leatherette vest with the patches on it somewhere.

Man, I swear I wore my vest out in public a few times too. Embarrassing.

In a box in the attic I’ve still got a balsa-wood totem head we carved.