The most amazing things happen when a not for profit group known for doing good deeds and for citizenship willingly puts a few hundred testosterone-laden boys together for a week with a candy store, tents, teen counselors and some crafts.

They burp, swear like pirates, and they have some mean stories to tell. Or story, depending on you you're talking to.

My oldest son walked in the door yesterday. As is customary, I asked him how everything went. He collapsed on the chair with his hand to his head. It wasn't a swoon, because that is along the lines of what drama queens do. And we all know there is nothing dramatic about being a teenager.

He was tired. I could see it. He began by mumbling that he hadn't slept in a week, being coupled with his younger brother and another young man who talked. A lot.

Then, tempo began to speed and pitch and volume began to rise as the throes of Odysseus were unleashed unto the living room. "Oh my GOSH mom. I couldn't get to sleep! Those two wouldn't shut up. I told them to be quiet and go to bed. But no. They kept talking and talking. When I finally threatened them with violence, after like an HOUR [his eyes bugged out here for emphasis] I was finally like, 'ah! Now I can finally get some rest. And then some kids in the next TENT started getting loud! I wanted to yell at them to shut up but then I'd just encourage them.'"

Now, he regained strength [he's powered on hot air, just like his mother, God Bless him] " Then, just as I was finally about asleep, a half an hour later, settling in, closing my eyes, a big bird landed on top of the tent and yelled "CAW! CAW! CAW!" [I give points here for his arms flying everywhere from his inclined position as he shrieked in bird noises].

His regaling of the past week's events went on for about an hour, complete with a slide show and a short video of some boys drumming on a scout's stomach while complaining the video had no sound [I love irony].

Now, my younger son didn't have much to say about things. He's a young man with a lot of big thoughts, but he tends to keep them to himself unless it has to do with making armpit noises [he's to the pit what Satchmo was to brass] or bodily sound effects in general. Getting him to open up was as difficult as trying to wrestle oysters from a can with a pitchfork.

"I liked Geology," he finally volunteered. This thrilled me [probably for the same reason I'm thrilled by anything-I'm a cheap date intellectually]. Knowing that I had just chosen geology to be the subject I would be teaching him next year while he home schooled and that he'd just stated he liked geology was a big relief. That is, until he completed the sentence [and wrecked my whole Hollywood montage, complete with hugging boxite] with "No. Not the subject. That was boring. The camp counselor let us bribe him with candy, and it was REALLY easy."

[Le existential sigh]

"I took Indian Lore, and it was pretty good." Great! Another entire statement about the week! Let's work with it! "We had to make a moccasin and mine turned out terrible."

Then he finished.

"Some fat kid ran off with the instructions."

[Sorry. No videotape.]